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hyunnipie · 1 year ago

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me after reading yet another mind blowing chapter :

fo reel tho. i am in love with your writing like i get so excited when you post new chapters.

TOOTH AND CLAW, lee minho

CHAPTER THIRTEEN ⎯⎯ normal

⎯⎯ pairs ‣‣‣ gang leader!lee minho x fem!witch!reader ⎯⎯ rating ‣‣‣ 18+ ⎯⎯ genre ‣‣‣ smut ‣ historical!au ‣ fantasy!au ‣angst ‣ crime drama ‣ strangers to frenemies to lovers ‣ soulmates(?) ‣ hurt ‣ dark fic ‣ slow burn ‣ mythical!au ‣ historical!au ‣ fantasy!au ‣ magic!au ‣ mafia!au ‣ detective!au ‣ peaky blinders!au ‣ switch!minho x switch!reader ⎯⎯ warnings ‣‣‣ inappropriate language ‣ gore ‣ death ‣ attempted murder ‣ murder ‣ mythical creatures ‣ corpses ‣ magic ‣ witches ‣ werewolves ‣ curses ‣ monsters ‣ inaccurate historical references ‣ references to peaky blinders ‣ cigarette smoking ‣ alcohol consumption ‣ flashbacks ‣ horror imagery ‣ blood ‣ scars ‣ fires ‣ arson ‣ panic attacks ‣ trauma ‣ bigotry ‣ gross men ‣ asshole parents ‣ writer makes their own mythology for a universe ‣ author begs to not be murdered ‣ let me know if I missed any ⎯⎯ word count ‣‣‣ 14.8k words

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If there was one thing that Lee Minho knew that he detested, it was fear. He had seen death, he had caused it with his own hands, and it left him feeling small in a world of giants. At the fifth unofficial burial that Minho conducted in wartorn dirt, he promised himself that he would never be scared again. Fear was weakness. Fear could be exploited. Minho would never allow himself to feel such a way again.

Though, despite it all, hot spikes of fear stabbed at his skin. Hours had passed since he left you - and they continued to scorch his chest in its heat. Minho palmed his chest with a grimace of pain. He had been more than scared. He had been terrified.

The scars you held on your back were from his own kind. You were so fragile, so easily broken – he could tear you apart. Your scars were only proof of such a feat.

Because no matter how hard he tried, Minho still felt fear. Not of the shovels that played through his ears nightly. Not of the explosions that had caused him to drown in corpses. But you. Your body, your dead body, caught in his hands with blood falling from wounds he had made. He was a werewolf, he was not meant to dance with precious porcelain dolls like you.

The fear had developed faster than Minho could ever have predicted. There was something about you. The glassy stare of your hidden eyes, the dyed colour of your lips, the fixed posture on your back. No, Minho knew it was something more. Something that brought you a sense of importance. He wasn’t sure what caused it exactly, but he had always felt the presence of it, even when he ignored it. A drastic failure on his part.

Minho should have never given in to his desires. He should have known better than to trust his control. He should have ignored your request for help – the intrigue that stirred in his mind always brought trouble. Minho should have done everything except for those things that he did.

Yet, the last thing Minho should have done was leave you. His heart had ripped from his chest once he left the Yang manor. The way you looked at him, how that bliss and pleasure froze to sorrow. He had caused you to form into the porcelain doll once again. The thought, the images of you, hadn’t left his mind all night.

He laid on his bed and basked in the darkness his room provided. Not even the candles strung around his room were lit. Minho didn’t allow that. He didn’t deserve the light. Not even the moon shone bright in his window, it was instead dim and barely offered a moment of sight. The goddess herself was furious with him. Minho dug his nails into his chest, the spikes continued to burn him.

How selfish of him to worry about himself. You had trusted him. You had allowed him the honour of touching you. But, Minho took your trust and allowed it to die in his hands like so many bodies. Minho could not bear the thought of what was going through your mind. It would only result in more bloodshed, figurative or otherwise.

Because that was what Minho did best. People always managed to get those around him injured. He always brought death. If that happened to you, Minho knew he would never find satisfaction in life ever again. You had to be protected from him, porcelain broke too easily when stuck around claws.

“Are you still moping over that witch?” his bedroom door opened, and a warm light broke into his room behind the silhouette of his mother. Both his parents had arrived the previous morning, doting on him and Felix like they were children. It had provided the chance for Felix to tell them all about his Red, simply to irk Minho.

It worked. But, Minho did not let his younger brother know that.

He sat up from his bed, slower than someone crawling through the sludge of rubbish. Minho covered his face with his hands, darkness returned to his eyes. The light wasn’t deserved. “Mother, I’m not moping.”

The mattress creaked by his feet, and he heard his mother sigh. Her comforting hands, adorned in a ring from his father, pulled his hands from his face. Her look was stern, eyes frozen in a squint and lips tightened to a line. Minho detested the expression. There was never anger on her face but always worry. It hid in the eyes identical to his own.

“You’ve hidden away in here all night,” he pouted, like that of a childish puppy, and she cupped his face in her hands. Warm, and comforting, but it was not what Minho needed. Minho wanted back that ice that made his veins itch in desire, “she is just a witch. It should not be affecting you this badly.”

No. Minho bit down on his lip – words of denial built on his tongue. You were not only a witch. You were the furthest thing from that only. He wasn’t sure how to describe you. Minho knew there were not enough words in his vocabulary to do the work justice. But he did know one thing: he knew you were something special. You walked with purpose. You carried elegance with the tongue of a snake. You trenched through bars without a male escort. Your body told stories he could only wish to learn.

There was so much Minho could say about you, though it would never be enough. No words he could muster would be enough. But, none of the words he could use were of your species. Minho didn’t care about that. He never did. “I don’t know why it is.”

“This reminds me of when you were a child,” she swiped stray pieces of hair that had stuck to his forehead. Her eyes, a golden brown, shone brightly through the room. Like the light of a candle. Minho clenched his jaw and looked out the window. The moon was still horribly dim. “After that fire you witnessed, we were never able to visit the old farm and teach Yongbok to ride the horses. You were far too sad, your father had to carry you the entire trip home.”

His eyebrows furrowed. Minho had no recollection of a fire. He could remember the family farm, as well as the stables that he always loved to play in. They always stopped in a village for a single night, Minho could not remember much of the place despite the number of times he stayed there. It was an annual trip after all.

Surely he would recall a fire. Especially if it left him so saddened.

His mother waved her left hand, the ring on her finger shone in the sparse moonlight. He had always liked her ring. When his parents first met and realised their soul bond, his father had been poor. All he could afford was the ring, and he had sold many belongings to do so. But, even after their empire began in Minho’s childhood, she refused to improve the ring. “You refused to go anywhere after that day. So stubborn, even now, you’re just the same.”

“I don’t remember a fire,” Minho thought of all the times he would travel to the farm. Nothing. There was no recollection of a fire so horrible. The only fire he could think of was the night his father had accidentally burnt documents under the assumption they were old newspapers. It had only caused scorch burns along the bricks of the fireplace, but that was all.

She chuckled, as though the topic were light to discuss. As though no fire tortured his childhood mind. “Oh!” Minho grimaced under the tightening of his chest, he could feel the ghost of your gentle hand on his palm. Stiff, subtle, but exactly what would calm his mind. “You had meant to be sleeping but you snuck into the forest, and you witnessed a house burn down.”

His heart raced in remembrance while his brain continued to remain idle. The hair on his neck stood to attention and the pads of his fingers twitched. Minho urged his brain to catch up with his body’s memory, yet nothing occurred. Still, a simple blank image appeared while his body caused the spikes of fear to stab his chest. “How did I get home?” Your voice played in his mind, as it often did, and your childhood home came to mind.

Burnt.

Surrounded by a forest.

In a small village.

The odds were far too minimal. It was too improbable to be reality. “A lovely boy helped you find us when the sun rose.” Minho closed his eyes, the tap of his mother’s finger on her chin created an ambient noise. He could see the bright fire. Burning wood, mere inches from his face and around him in a short circle. His legs tensed, the smell of smoke was a distant memory to his nose, but it was all Minho could sense. “What was his name again?”

It was all around him. The fire had encircled him. He was trapped. Inside of the house. Minho was not a mere witness to its flames, he was a near fatality. But… no. There was another. A small silhouette, right in front of him. The thick smoke masked her from his eyes. He couldn’t see her properly.

“Oh! I remember!” Her hair was lifted in the air, as though she stood upside down. The fire burned bright around them both, rolling over her nightdress without catching the material to the flames. She looked like a doll. One caught in a place she should never be. Glassy eyes, dress torn, and back coated in slick red. Blood. “His name was Wooyoung.”

His telephone had begun to ring and Minho opened his eyes in shock. His hands shook, not dramatically, but enough for him to be annoyed by it. They refused to stop despite his attempted stillness. He needed you. Your cold hand on his always left him still. His mother took no notice of the shaking, instead, she whispered goodbye and kissed his forehead. The door closed behind her with the softest click, he almost missed it under the loud ringing.

Back to the darkness. The moon remained dark through his window. Minho walked over to the telephone, the fire still burning in his brain. His memory was still covered in a layer of fog, even as he fought to remember it. Facts felt missing from his mind – like a jigsaw puzzle with scattered pieces removed. The doll’s face, he could see details and yet nothing would collect together and form properly.

Until she pressed her palm to his own. Sparks. Brighter than the flames and stronger than anything he had felt. He would have stumbled, even now Minho clenched at his chest for balance, but the doll’s hand was strong. She held him still. She looked like you. Same face, same hair, same glassy stare. Minho could feel it in his spine, the touch had blunted the spikes of fear and created stability. You were almost identical to the doll. All she needed was red lipstick.

You would have said something. It would have been in the blunt tone that Minho hung from. Your nose would have been tilted to the sky and your stare would have been cold. As though it were no deal worth mentioning. He knew you would have spoken of a boy, of him, being in your home the night it burned down.

It was a coincidence. That was all. He could not have been in your home the night werewolves set it alight. Minho wouldn’t have engaged in such things. It was impossible.

“Mr Lee, I am going to be needing your blood.” His blood felt frozen inside his veins. It was you. You had telephoned him. Even after he had left you near-nude in the Yang manor. The fire extinguished within his mind, the fog and smoke dissipated as the young doll melted into the darkness. Your voice. Your words. You. It was a wonder how just a simple string of words created a sea of peace in his mind but the chaos of a stampede in his chest.

Your voice was quiet in his ear. He could feel the tense anguish emanating from you. Minho could see you, in your nightgown with your ankles crossed in the armchair. Your lips stuck in a line while you clenched your jaw. Even mad, you would look breathtaking. His heart raced.

He knew of his mistake. You knew of his mistake. But, Minho knew he would not change the reality of what happened. You had been hurt by his kind, your precious body scarred from dangerous claws. Minho clenched his jaw as an old nightmare sat in his mind. Your body, bloodied and weak in his arms, sunglasses fallen and eyes gone of the light and passion he adored.

Dead. In his arms. With fucking Kang Taehyun smirking above your corpse. His idiotic pack war. Minho would rather live life never getting to see you again than allow you to be a casualty to Taehyun’s greed.

“This could not wait until morning?” Minho wished for his expression to remain stoic. However, his wish remained unheard as the smallest of grins fell upon his lips. Just your voice, no matter how tense, brought him comfort. He was sure you detested him further than the beast – not that he could fault you for such beliefs. It was his own hand that fed the fury within you. “Would you not agree that this hour is rather absurd for a telephone conversion? Though, I won’t complain. It is always nice to hear your voice.”

Minho grimaced at his own words. He could feel the festering anger build within you as each second passed. Once again it was his fault. He had always been blunt with you, just as you were with him, and he had never shied from discussing his inner thoughts. Though, he wasn’t sure what to do. Minho knew he was no longer trusted to say those thoughts any longer. That trust had burned in a fire of lust and betrayal hours earlier. “I only learnt that I would require werewolf blood a few moments before I contacted you,” warm light erupted in the corner of his eye. A spark alone. It was gone before Minho caught the cause in his eyes, “Perhaps you should instead consider yourself fortunate that I still elect to converse with you, Mr Lee.”

Minho doubted you would ever completely understand the luck he felt whenever your lips whispered a mere word to him. That fortune only grew over the hours since your union at the Yang manor. He had never been so blessed than to have been gifted the sound of your voice, the sight of your brief grins and the touch of your hand on his skin.

He had never been so taken by someone in his life. Someone who he was never meant to encounter. His destiny had always been clear – bleak. Minho was destined to die young. Without a single person by his side. He had lived through a great war and came out alive. He had been told of his singular future when he was a child and still stood tall. You were never meant to step into his life. Yet, you had.

Perhaps that made you his charm of luck. Never had Minho felt so alive as when he met you. The fire that raged within his body burned too bright, only that your ice could dare tame. A match to his wit and a soft hand to hold. All his life, his father had talked of the day he met Minho’s mother. How it felt as though something clicked within his mind. It made sense, the werewolf mating ritual had worked that way for centuries.

That was, until Minho.

He was, and always was meant to be, alone. There was no soul designed by the goddess of the moon waiting for him in the world. He had known that for certain since he was seven. Even before that night at the witch’s parlour, Minho felt nothing in his heart. No spark of life tingled when he would gaze at someone meant for him. The space in his body was a mere void, there was no shape of the one person who was supposed to be his love.

“I don’t deserve to hear from you, Red.” He could never be more thankful that you still spoke to him. Even if it included the resentment he deserved.

“It seems we are in complete agreement.”

There was malice in your tone. A subtle inflection that was enough to make his head spin and fist curl together. Never did you speak with emotion clear in your voice. It had always intrigued him, pulled him in further to your mystery, but Minho knew he was not mistaken. There was a shatter in your facade. Not completely broken, but enough of a crack that things could spill through. It seemed your anger was the first of them all.

Minho should snap his bones for such a feat. Of course, he had desired to see the mask slip from your cheeks, but never in the way it had. He desired for it to fall as it had that morning in the field. Where he had felt your passion, strong and addicting. That was the only way it should be removed for him.

Never from pain. Pain that Minho inflicted himself. “Tomorrow night, I will need you to come to my home and I will take the blood then. You don’t mind syringes, correct?”

“You seem as though you want to cause me some pain,” he had never been one to avoid bluntness. It went against who he was. Evading truth with manipulation, answering a question with directness yet still alluding to those around him was entertaining. Minho indulged often. But, never with you. You had always been able to see him properly,

Even if he wanted to tangle your mind in a web, he knew it would never work. You were like him – you enjoyed the same evasive behaviour. “That would be correct.” Minho clenched his jaw to avoid the whine he wanted to make. He knew why, he knew that he deserved it. He never should have gotten involved with you. Minho should have trusted his mind the moment he first saw you that first night. But, Minho was weak. And the price was your porcelain facade. “Only slightly though, I do still need your influence in the future.”

The ice in your words was barely a promise, but it cooled the inferno in his mind. Minho looked out the window of his bedroom, the moon shone brighter than it had before. Not overly so, but his room shined under the cold glow of its growing light. A large shadow slipped down the street, twice the size of any human he had met, with pointed ears and a low growl he almost missed.

The beast was back. Minho stirred in his emotions. Should he say something? He was sure you already had an idea it still roamed, but guilt poked his skin with fiery rods. If he spoke, you would be gone sooner. If he stayed silent, you would require his help longer. He could keep you in his life.

How atrocious of him to think of a monster as someone who would aid him in his self-inflicted trouble.

The light of the moon dimmed once again, leaving his room in the utter darkness he created. “I look forward to that day.” You stayed silent, but Minho felt your frustration. He knew it was his own fault. Your emotions must be as troubled as his own. He dug a finger into his thigh to hold back his tongue from speaking more. There was another spark of light in the corner of his eye. He turned to catch it before it left.

The candle on his bedside table. It was lit. A small flame that Minho was certain he had never set.

[—]

The apothecary was used to daft smells. Ingredients that tangled in the air and destroyed the nose of anyone misfortunate enough to smell. With the numerous jars opened, all with their own rancid smells, it was a punishment on your nose. “I still cannot say I agree with adding worm’s wart. It is rarely required in the drought.” It smelt of blood, sulphur and the buckets soldiers used as toilets in the infirmary tent. You scrunched your nose at the smell, a gag built in your throat from the senses. The tongue of newt, the third one you required, felt like slime on your fingers and the scent was like that of mould.

Your night had been spent with little sleep and your nose completely focused on research books. It was a stroke of luck that you had found a potion for Areum. One that was risky. One that barely anyone had been able to make correctly. One with no name. You hadn’t heard of such a potion before that night. Yet, it had been scrawled along the back of Mi-Sook’s diary with recipes for the other untamed potions hidden in your apothecary floor.

It would be worth the trouble if the potion of fertility could bring Areum and Jeongin the baby they desired. “It will make the drought act immediately instead of over an hour,” you placed another slimy tongue into the second dish on the table. Nari knew of your deal with the Yangs, though you had lied about the risks it would cause. It was simpler that way, “though I do agree that the smell is atrocious.”

The other potion was a sleeping drought. To place Jin-Ae in an immediate peaceful slumber while you and the others who knew of her curse would attempt to rectify it. Your stomach churned at the oncoming night. A horrible feeling. Sending someone to the spirit world was dangerous, especially for a human to do so, it was why you had to put her to sleep. There would be risk, but, you had already warned Jin-Ae of such chances.

She agreed that it would not harm her. She was physically unable to die.

Nari sipped from her tea, loose leaves of flavour stuck to the thick rim of the black mug. All morning, the delirious smell had irked you. You couldn’t guess what was inside of it – something you prided yourself on doing. “What recipe is that again?” It smelt delicious, it left your mouth drooling just from the smell alone.

You closed the jar of tongues and walked over to your sister with the dishes in hand. Without a moment’s breath, she handed you the mug to taste the tea, her other hand still measuring the worm’s wart. “Soobin’s great-grandmother’s, I believe… though I can’t quite remember the exacts.” You sniffed the tea first. Still, you couldn’t guess it, but you ignored that irk in your gut and took a long sip from the drink. The taste bloomed on your tongue, your head filled with a field of daisies. Your skin tingled as the flower’s smell overtook the worm's wort. It was as delicious as it smelt. “He said it’s supposed to help nausea pass.”

Inquisitively, you hummed and handed back the mug of tea. “I will have to ask for the ingredients.” She smiled at you, swiping the knife over the measurements to ensure it was exact. It was no surprise it made her grin, just the chance of peace between you and Soobin must have felt joyful. You had intentions to act friendly with him, he did make your sister happy after all. Though you had no promise of staying nice if he continued to treat you as less. “Could you please grind some chicken bones?”

You closed the jar for Nari and reached for the small vial of vampire blood you kept on the bottom shelving. Nari nodded and poured the measured worm’s wart into the dish, walking to the side to collect the bag of bones. An unfortunate requirement for witchcraft. “I missed this,” you poured two drops of the blood into each dish, letting the silence tense through the apothecary. You looked over your shoulder to watch Nari, her long hair fell sweetly down her shoulder and her nightgown flowed under the sun’s rising glow. She elaborated on her words. “When was the last time we worked together without fighting?”

Teeth sunk into your inner cheek — it was always her that made those arguments occur. Never was your intention to fight with her, you doubted that she engaged with the behaviour on purpose, but the last two months were a repeat of the same attitude. A deep resentment in your gut blamed Soobin for the change in your relationship with Nari.

Before him, you both were friends. Quite good friends in your opinion. You took care of one another, would fight for each other and even when her frustrating tendencies surfaced you were always there together. The bond had always been strong. Then, once she began to date him, everything you did caused her agony. Even when those actions were things she once adored.

Alas, your sister was happy. Soobin made her happy. That was what mattered most. Not your bitterly affected ego. You only hoped she knew you were attempting to be better and see him as the man she saw him for.

“You have a point.”

“I never quite thought that men would be what divided us,” she giggled to herself as the bones crushed between the mortar and pestle. Worry tingled in your spine under the crack of each bone. You grabbed the final ingredient’s jar with slow movements, clenching your jaw to ignore that stress working through you. The small jar was warm to the touch, despite how it had sat for weeks alone. The candle wax, once etched with runes before it melted into your own blood and mixed. Your stomach churned, you had never expected to need to use the ingredient of your blood again. “Especially a werewolf! We should be lucky that -”

You huffed and placed down the jar of blood wax, the knife beside it lay in wait to be used. “We agreed to not speak in such ways anymore,” since the previous night’s disagreement, Nari had continuously begged for forgiveness. Through her tears, kneeling and grovelling, you hadn’t been sure of what to do. Thankfully, Eui explained after your morning shower that she talked with her after Soobin left. All to help her see reason. “Don’t tell me you have already forgotten?”

She sipped from the tea, her expression forlorn even before the heavy frown melted her smile. “You’re right. It is an old habit.” You understood that, both your mother and grandmother had spoken far worse rhetoric regarding werewolves. It was unfortunate that all her life, Nari had acted as the sponge to it. “He did hurt you, though.”

“Which is the fault of the man, not his species.”

You bit down harder on your cheek, ignoring the desire to yell your thoughts. Such as how she was infatuated with a man who treated you like the dirt beneath a pile of animal faeces. Then the time she had been betrayed by an orc, yet convinced your mother to not curse the entire species. Nari had insisted that not all orcs are bad.

You could still hear the laughter of your grandmother at Nari’s words. Yet, they both had listened to her. In the ways that Nari was not listening to you. Though, you were sure it was a slightly different situation. The relationship between orcs and witches had always been tame compared to the battle between your kind and Lee Minho’s.

Nari sighed and nodded her head. Her mouth opened to speak, but the bell above the apothecary door rang as it opened. You found yourself staring at the freckled face that glowed far brighter than the sun. “Good morning, Red!”

You straightened your posture and clenched your fists on the knife. Nari stared at the door with dark eyes. Her squint was harsher than you had seen before, the wrath rolled in waves of heavy emotions. Under her water, you felt suffocated.

“Good morning to you as well, Yongbok,” you looked away from him and slid on your sunglasses. Your heart was rapid within your chest. A werewolf. His kind could not take over your mind. They could not use unguarded eyes for the weakness they were. And yet, fear tangled in your spine from the chance his kind had advanced without your knowledge.

He had lied to you for years. There was a chance that he could do anything to you.

Rationale argued the fear in your mind. Yongbok had many opportunities to hurt you in the past, ones he never partook in, but the chance of it ate at your throat. It didn’t mean that he wouldn’t take those chances in the future.

“Nari, could you please finish out the final measurements for me? I will be back shortly,” you tilted your head upward while she nodded. You returned the knife to the counter, beside the jar of blood wax, and went to the door. Yongbok grinned. You were thankful that you had gotten dressed for the day, unlike your sister who stayed in her nightgown.

Quickly you glanced over his shoulder. An older woman stood there. Her head was faced down under an overly brimmed hat, the thin short veil covered her face. Her white blouse was pinned to her elbows, but the long black gloves she wore hid the rest of her arms. Black hair, aged with grey streaks that shone under the warming sun, waved slightly through the strands.

Only when she looked up at you, a cigarette hung on her lips, did you want to close the door and leave. Her eyes. They were just like Minho’s. Her face was like Yongbok’s, with the same constellation of freckles along her cheeks, but the cold gaze was identical to her eldest son. You turned back to Yongbok, his grin looked wicked instead of the warm one you always saw.

“Red, my dear friend, it is about time you finally met my mother!” He had thrown you to a wolf desperate for a feed. Her piercing eyes scrutinised you, the lamb awaiting the oncoming slaughter. You stepped out of the apothecary with a slow foot, and the door behind you slammed shut. “This is the one I’ve told you about, Mother.”

“Of course,” two fingers met across each side of her cigarette, and the woman removed it from her lips. The smoke fell out in a long breath as she stalked closer to her prey, “how could I forget about the witch that enchanted both of my sons?”

Whether it was your bloodline or the relationships you shared with her sons, you could feel the tension. A drop of sweat rolled down your neck, only alighting the senses of the wolf. The fear of a lamb, you were sure that the hungry predator found it delicious.

You glared at Yongbok, and he only offered an awkward smile in return. “Lovely to meet you, Mrs Lee,” you spoke through clenched teeth as you turned to her. Her lips were pursed and the deadly eyes stared at you. “I had no idea you were back in the city. Is there anything I can help you with this morning?”

“I was simply intrigued by you, my dear,” the faintest of smiles found a way onto her face, a deep dimple joined in her right cheek. It wasn’t malice. The starved wolf instead held the same grin as her cub, only muted. “I never would have believed that a decent witch existed. Yet my boys swear you are all that and more.”

Yongbok grinned and turned away from your confused stare. He joined his mother on the street, jumping down the steps to your door with haste. “That was more Minho than me. I moreso insisted that you held him by the neck.”

Mrs Lee inhaled from her cigarette once again and her smile grew. It was warm. As a mother wolf’s smile should always be. She watched her youngest son with fond eyes, “You also said that she smelled different,” Jealousy stirred in your gut. Never had your mother shared such a smile when she watched over you. “I have to say I do agree. There is something more, but it is quite faint.”

You ignored the immediate offence that grew in your throat. Yongbok was not a human, despite how you had always known him. He was a werewolf, as was his mother. They meant your scent of sage.

“While I appreciate the fact you don’t detest me, I can’t help but wonder,” a feeling akin to that of relief warmed some of the ice in your bones. You weren’t sure why. Minho would not be in your life longer than necessary, though the idea caused your heart to sink, and Yongbok was lessened from a friend to that of an acquaintance. Their mother’s approval should not warm you as it did, “what exactly is my scent then?”

The wolf stepped closer, but you weren’t the little lamb that originally shook in her presence. You stood still as she smelt the air around you in silence, a comforting warmth floated in your body. The feeling left you frigid. It had not been the same as when she stalked you like meat beforehand. This was worse.

“For some reason,” the wolf grew closer and you clenched your jaw. Her smile was still just as warm as when she had been watching Yongbok, “you smell like Minho. His old scent… though it’s weak.”

Old scent?

Never had you heard of a werewolf’s scent changing as they grew older. It would have been recorded in your family's books if they had heard of the phenomenon. You would have to question him about it that night.

You wanted to groan. Even when Minho wasn’t around, he still played on your mind. The fascination grew the more you learnt of him, you doubted it would ever stop. Your heart thumped at the mere thought of him, and you curled your hands together and squeezed tight. He pulled you in with such ease. He had since that first night you saw him.

She looked you up and down once more before the mother wolf retreated. Stormy skies replaced the stern stare she held, her smile bright like Yongbok’s own. “I heard your grandmother passed,” those positive lights faded when her gaze turned to the apothecary behind you.

You tilted your forehead and furrowed your eyebrows. “I didn’t realise you knew her.”

“We only met once,” she frowned with tight lips. The two fingers that held her cigarette pinched tight on the stick. Dislike shone brighter than before on her expression, no mask dared show through it. Your grandmother had always been one to divide opinions, but the majority of people tended to agree with Mrs Lee. You’d seen many people spit at her grave since she passed. “That was more than enough time.”

A simple wave was her only goodbye. You had survived a wander through the wolf’s den. Her manner had been far kinder than her son had shown you the previous day. An unfortunate reality that caused you to sneer.

Alone with Yongbok, you were unsure of what to say. It had been a while since you last spoke properly with him. Yet, your ego continued to poke you in the gut. He had lied for years. He knew who you were and how you trusted him with that knowledge. But the courtesy was not given in return.

Yongbok should have known better than to believe your opinion of him would change based on his blood. But, he should have rationalised that you would change your opinion because he omitted honesty.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It broke the thick silence between you. He stared at you with large eyes, lit with stars that sparkled along his cheeks. You turned away, but the puppy-dog eyes continued to stare at your back. “Did you not believe I would continue our friendship?”

Yongbok walked back toward the steps, and you turned back to him. His pout was long, cheeks flushed and his eyes watery as he avoided your gaze. “I don’t know.” His voice was tight, the low tone you had always known for him grew deeper under the weight of it. Your mouth formed a frown at his expression. Pain. Pure pain. “We always were taught to keep it secret. Especially from witches.”

You knew the lesson far too well. Familiar lessons had always been important in your childhood, and that remained in your current life. The lessons that you heavily detested still played an unfortunate role in how you thought, even when you attempted to defy the thinking.

You couldn’t be mad at Yongbok when you would do the same thing as he. It was far more dangerous for a werewolf than it was for a witch. A werewolf would lose any portion of humanity and control they had if the wrong person discovered the truth.

“I wanted to tell you. This whole time. I'm so sorry, Red.”

You adjusted your sunglasses and turned your body fully to face him. “It’s okay, Yongbok.” He sadly smiled at your words, hopefulness bright in his eyes, “however, I believe you owe me a favour.”

[—]

Timing. It was a fickle process when it came to the creation of potions. A single moment extra of stirring could turn a potion from the exact colour to an atrocious pot of sludge. Precision had to always be employed, or else the result would be maddening.

It was why you kneeled on the floor, your face hovered over two cauldrons. One hung from the hook on your fireplace, the flames distraught beneath the heavy metal. The purple mixture bubbled away as you sliced the wax melted with your blood into the liquid. The second cauldron sat alone beside you, a wooden spook stirred it alone. The closest heat source it had were three candles, lit with a blue flame as the rune etched into the wax glowed black.

You couldn’t trust Nari to watch over the potions. As of late, she was far too easily distracted. Her lost focus could easily result in a neverending slumber drought instead of the sleeping one you intended to create. You clenched your jaw and watched the wax melt into the purple mixture — you weren’t much better than her. Just a silhouette could make you flustered on the chance it was Minho.

A muttered charm left your lips and the fire burned brighter, its flames a burnt orange of heat. The blood released further into the liquid and you stirred it together with a spoon. Two minutes. Anything less would kill the potion to that of water and anything more would create prolonged death. Once that was done, you would simply need the werewolf blood and the second cauldron could bubble away for hours.

Those forbidden potions always required longer hours of brewing. You were just thankful that this one required a day at most.

Hyunjin and Eui sat together on the couch, her legs hanged over his while he mindlessly drew shapes onto her thigh. He was not meant to be there, you weren’t sure why he had even arrived at your home. You could forgive Changbin, who stood with Jin-Ae in the corner, whispering together with his hand comfortably on her waist. He wanted to ensure that she was safe. Even when they refused to admit such closeness with each other.

Your sister was upstairs in your bedroom, finishing the ritual designs needed for the night. She wanted to ensure everything was perfect. You understood that, her intuition had been annoying her all day, as had your own, but it was unnecessary. Alas, you both had been taught to trust your gut. And her senses for danger were often stronger than your own.

It left only one more person in your home. Lee Minho himself. He sat in silence on your armchair, the sleeve of his top rolled to the forearm. His protruded veins had made your mind delirious, and the heat from his stare burned you brighter than the fire.

You couldn’t dare look at him. He was not even supposed to arrive at your home. You had taken Yongbok’s blood to ensure that you could avoid Minho. It left two situations. Either Yongbok had forgotten to inform his brother that the deal was done, or Minho simply did not care.

It was most certainly the latter. Minho wasn’t one to enjoy being ignored. You had refused to let him speak the previous night over the telephone. In fact, you had ended the telephone call the moment you gave him the information he would need. He had even been mid-sentence.

Not your finest moment, but you blamed it on the mortification that took hold. Had it been him, you knew he would not have acted so immature but he also was not the one left alone. One minute left. “I will be awoken, right?” Jin-Ae asked the question loud enough for the whole room to hear. You had already told her how it would work. That she would be asleep for two days at most.

You assumed that she had just grown to distrust witches over the centuries she had lived. “Of course you will!” Eui moved from Hyunjin’s lap to face the woman, you were sure her loving warm smile was displayed brightly on her cheek. “And then, once you’re awake, you’ll be a proper human again!”

A break of silence went through the room. Tension — more than what had already been built. She would be safe with the sleeping drought, that much was certain to you, but there was no promise the curse would be removed. All of you knew that.

Though, it was still a chance larger than what she had in the past. She wouldn’t be able to die regardless. Time’s up.

You lifted your hand into the air and whispered a spell under your breath. The cauldron, boiling from the fire, lifted into the air around you. It slowly moved toward the exposed brick floor beneath you and sat nestled on the empty area to your left. The stirring spoon stopped as it landed, the liquid a vivacious purple — it smelled like that of lavender. Perfectly made.

Four chimes played from the grandfather clock in the hallway and shattered the silence between you all. “I suggest you get a drink, Jin-Ae,” you looked over your shoulder. Her eyes were wide, the long hair you had always associated with her seemed to resemble string instead of the usual silk. Each wave was uneven, strands poked outward and some stuck to the skin of her cheeks, “this will taste atrocious.”

“Joy,” she muttered. You doubted anything that tasted bad had touched her tongue before, the wealth she had always displayed would ensure it. Perhaps she had lived a life of only luxury despite the curse that haunted her.

Jin-Ae left the room, with the others falling behind at the chance for a drink, and only you and Minho remained. You were sure that it was a plan from Changbin, his pointed stare at you was enough to think that. The silence returned and thickened around you.

He didn’t dare speak. And you were not going to be the one who broke it. You turned back to the second cauldron, still cold and waiting for the fire. It needed the blood and that would be all. You reached for the vial of werewolf blood and held it gently, your eyes squinted to focus on the liquid.

“Did you know that you tend to scrunch your nose when you focus?” His voice made your blood run hot. Burning lava destroyed the pieces of ego and pride that desperately held onto your control. He hadn’t spoken the whole night, his voice was croaky. Yet it sounded immaculate. Your fingers twitched above the cauldron, the vial nearly fell from your hand as it shook.

You unscrunched your nose almost immediately, a large stomp from your ego squashed the urge to hold your nose in surprise. “I didn’t know that,” you admired it bitterly and tapped a drop into the cauldron. It danced through the dark liquid and caused a small bubble to pop on the surface.

Without turning to face him, you hung the cauldron above the fire. You waved your hand to lessen the flames so it would not overheat. Now, it just needed to boil away for a day. Easy. “It’s a cute mannerism. Though you make it look far better.” No. Not easy. How dare you think anything that somehow involved Lee Minho would be easy.

“Why are you here? I’m sure Yongbok told you that I already took his blood instead.” You stood from the floor, the bones in your legs popped at the sudden stretch, and stared at him through your sunglasses. His heat remained steadfast, eyes stared right back up at you from his seat on your armchair.

Directness was often the best way to go when it came to Minho. You would agree it was best for yourself, too, but the idea of being similar to him made your heart stutter in its beats and your fists curl together with fury. “I know the risks that you are taking tonight,” you kept your expression frozen as you watched him. The emotions swirled in your gut, desperate to break through and take him in your arms, you buried them beneath layers of mental concrete, “I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

“There is no need. Men, and werewolves especially, cannot be near a ritual.” There had been one seance in recorded history that involved a man. He had attempted it help his sister, a ghost lost between worlds, pass to her desired realm. It didn't work. Instead, he died and was cursed to live as a phantom much like her. Your mother had taken both you and your sister to the home he haunted when you were children as a warning. Men brought death for everyone. “It’s dangerous.”

“As is attempting to summon a dead spirit to remove a curse,” you gathered another reason to torture the two bodyguards whom you were hesitant to call friends. They would have overheated you and your sister that morning, and it went right back to their boss. Bastards. “It would settle my own mind to know you aren’t in any more physical danger than necessary.”

You turned up your nose and dusted your dress, the black fabric clung tight to your skin. You couldn’t decide whether you would rather wear more layers in front of Minho or be completely naked before him. Nails dug into your palms and you clenched your jaw, your heart was erratic in your chest at the conundrum of emotions you felt.

“It may astound you, Mr Lee, but I do not care whether your mind is at peace or not.” The lie was bitter on your tongue. Unfortunately, you wanted to ensure he was not stressed, you wanted him to feel peace around you. But, he didn’t deserve to know that. He had ruined that for himself.

Everything fell back to silence between you. His jaw, tightly clenched together, clicked as he burned his eyes through the floor. A soft frown was on his face, just the slightest bit lower than the usual way his lips sat. The slight downturned curl made your eyes widen.

Why was he frowning? He was someone who hid behind a calm expression. Always. Yet, now he frowned. Your heart felt like a hummingbird in your chest at the implication it came from your lack of care. You knew better than to believe it though. There was something else in his mind.

It wouldn’t have been due to your words. If it were — you weren’t sure how you would react. The mere idea made your own frown grow.

In walked the four others, each holding a shot of dark rum in their hands while Jin-Ae held two. You looked away and poured the cooling drought into the prepared glass, steam still dissipated from it. Good. Its effects would weaken the colder it was. They all cheered to the shots, but the noise fell quiet.

You could feel him staring at you. The burn on your neck as you worked in silence to avoid missing the glass rim. Your hands shook, just slight enough that the glass barely wobbled, as the memory of his previous visit walked into your mind. How tense it had felt, how close you were, how close you were to kissing him. Now, you knew how soft his lips felt on yours, how good of a kisser he was… you bit your cheek and focused back on the pouring.

Fuck. He was right. You fixed your face of the scrunched nose again. How did you not know you did that? Your mother would have disciplined it during your childhood if she knew. How long had you partaken in it?

“Rules are simple,” you turned back around with the glass of sleeping drought nestled in your fist. Their shots had all been drunk, except for Jin-ae’s second, and they watched you with slightly wavy gazes, “all of you must do what I say and stay in this room. People may be injured if you don’t. Understood?”

Three hushed nods. Perfect. You gave them more information in quick succession. To leave the potion alone, that your cat was asleep in Nari’s bedroom and that when it was done you would all meet them downstairs.

Lilac steam danced into the air above the glass in your hand. Strong lavender. Your eyes felt heavy just from the smell. Gently, you handed it over to Jin-ae, she stared with wide eyes and took it in a shaky hand. The liquid swirled inside the glass but none spilt onto your carpet.

“See you on the other side,” she whispered the words to everyone but it was clear who the words were meant for. Changbin watched with his lips tight in a line as Jin-Ae drank the entirety of the drought. Her face contorted in disgust at the strong taste, but you already saw her expression fall to relaxation. “I’ll be back soon, Binnie.”

Through the slurred words, Changbin blushed and helped her to take her final shot of whiskey. She did so without complaint, dropping the glass in his hand when it was finished. Eui caught onto her torso, and the sleep-drunk woman hung an arm over Eui’s shoulder — her eyes half closed.

You led them both upstairs and instructed Eui on how to place her if Jin-Ae was unable to do so herself. Her eyes seemed to glow in the candles leading to your bedroom door, and they crinkled as she nodded and smiled.

Her confidence in you was palpable. You could only hope that it would be proven correct. It has been a long time since you held a group ritual alone. Nayeon has always been with you for support, but she was busy with Wooyoung and ensuring everything went according to plan. Your sister, while you loved her, had no experience leading a ritual. It would just be you.

Eui carried Jin-Ae, who was almost entirely asleep already, into your bedroom. You looked inside of the room, all the candles were lit and the bag of herbs you would require sat tied beside your place. Matches laid beside it and the ornate box, engraved with your family crest, completed the final requirement.

The curse needed a place to stay once it was removed from her, after all.

“I have a bad feeling,” your sister held both arms across her chest and stomach, looking at you with a saddened gaze. Her sunglasses were gone, sat on your mattress beside the chalk she had used to create the designs along your floor. “Do you think something will happen?”

You looked away from your room and to Nari. Neither of the others had heard her fear. It would not help the final result if they did. You closed your door slightly as Eui laid the sleeping body of Jin-Ae in the correct stance. “They all know the risks. So long as we follow the regular rules, everything shall be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Nari held your hand in her own. A gentle hold, one for reassurance. You weren’t sure if she was asking for it or attempting to provide it. The truth was that you weren’t sure. How could you be?

Too many factors were different to how you usually ran these group sessions. There was no certainty. No normalcy. “Yes.”

You both walked into your bedroom and you closed the door behind you. Eui was far more prepared this time. She already sat on her knees with her palms facing upward on her thighs. Her eyes were closed and her lips pursed as she waited. Nari mimicked the posture beside her, looking at you one last time with worry before she closed them.

Your stomach stirred. There was no time to restart anything. You could only move forward in the ritual. It would be a waste of days for everyone if you cancelled the entire ritual. Not to mention, Jin-Ae had already taken the sleeping drought and entered her state of unconsciousness. There were only two days she would be like that.

You removed your sunglasses and placed them on your vanity. The flames all around your room seemed far brighter. As though it was not just from the dozens of candles etched with runes. You knelt on the floor, your sister on your left and Eui to your right.

In the centre of the chalk circle was Jin-Ae. Her legs were spread slightly and her arms flat on the floor. Her eyes were shut calmly and her expression relaxed. She looked somewhat at peace. Innocent almost. You held the bag of herbs in your hand and poured the entirety of it atop her slowly moving stomach.

“Remember to keep your eyes shut, Eui. Only when I say you can are you allowed to open them,” she nodded without opening her eyes and you looked over to your sister. She knew the words were at her as well. While Nari was safe from danger if she allowed herself to watch — it was never the desirable choice. Madness was promised to anyone who stared into the flames. No, it would leave Nari mindless and broken. That was if she were fortunate enough for such a fate.

You lit a match and threw it onto the pile of dusty herbs. All of them caught immediate fire, burning a bright orange as lavender roamed through your bedroom. None of her clothes caught flame, and neither did her skin. It was as though her body laid underwater as the flames washed over in large waves.

Smoke filled the room as you all began the chants. The orange flame on Jin-Ae turned to a beautiful purple while the other candles all burnt black in their fire. The smoke was thin. You barely felt it around you as the smell enchanted you with its lavender aroma.

The fire grew larger, the height taller than you. Its colour remained purple, though the hue of it shifted from vibrant to a murky mud, and your chants stuttered on your tongue. It wasn’t normal. The fire was never meant to be so large.

There was a pop sound and the fire hit the roof. Its flames turned green as they painted your roof in scorch marks. The lavender smell was charred. It smelled as though it had walked through an acre of fire. It smelled incorrect.

You picked up your chanting to the correct rhythm once again, raising your volume to match the others. The fire looked sickly in its deep green colour atop Jin-Ae’s body. More smoke rolled from the fire, and the burnt smell of the herbs grew suffocating. It was thicker, like the smoke from your dream, and pitch black. You couldn’t see much through it – only those flames that burned atop Jin-Ae and Eui, her eyes closed tight.

Her face was scrunched in what appeared to be agony through the depth of smoke, her head tilted down to her shoulder. Like a child attempting to shield their eyes from violence. The ends of her hair caught in the pull of the smoke and lifted into the air. “She looks like you,” her voice was bleak, charred with tension that caused it to croak.

Your throat closed against the smoke, it had already delved into your lungs and curled to choke you. Something was wrong. “Eyes closed,” you turned to where your sister would be sitting. The smoke was too thick to see her, the fire too bright that the gleam in your eye only further aided in the blindness, “that is for you as well Nari. Keep them shut.”

The fire before you burned brighter. It enticed you to look closer, to gaze into the flames that would cause you madness. You turned your head back to Eui to avoid the temptation. It only led to trouble. You had heard of death for some who gazed into the fire. “She cannot hear you.”

The thick scent of burnt lavender surrounded you as the smoke coated your skin in its sludge. Eui’s voice was not her own. It sounded the same, and yet there was darkness. You could feel it prickle your skin and create gooseflesh of fear. “Eui, focus on the chanting,” your sister continued to speak for the three of you. Her voice was loud enough that it thumped in your ears next to the crackle of the fire.

“There is no time for chanting.” She was clear through the smoke, as though it had parted so you could witness it. Her face had looked up and stared at you, though her eyes remained closed. Eui’s features had smoothed in relaxation, no crinkle or dimple within her skin of fear. However, something was obvious. A sparkling tear slipped down her cheek. “You are too late.”

Too late. Your eyes flickered over to Jin-Ae, the green fire on top of her whispered for your attention. She slept soundly, her clothes unmarked from the flames. Still, you could not see your sister. Her voice was clear through the smoke, chanting in rhythm as she was meant to, but you couldn’t find her. Too late.

You continued to chant, quietly as you looked down at your lap. There was laughter in your ear, wicked and dark, from Eui’s body. You felt small, your voice almost silent to the joyous noise. “Futile, I had hoped my lineage would bring around stronger witches,” your lips trembled as you continued to whisper the words. Nari carried the ones for the spell, she would sustain it well enough, and you transitioned to a chant of protection. One for everyone in the room, “but look at what the gods graced me with. Someone who would destroy her own blood for a stupid dog. And the other, so close to death. You still don’t know anything do you Red?”

The voice brought back its laughter, you glanced back up to Eui and felt your heart drop. More tears fell down her cheeks, her smile was big, and her eyes were wide open. They were burning brighter than the green fire on Jin-Ae’s chest. The laughter slowly turned into a piercing scream of agony as the bright white light where Eui’s eyes were meant to be melted at her skin. The skin on her cheeks grew dimples as it melted inward to her bones.

Burnt lavender turned to burnt skin. You leaned back in fear, unable to turn away despite how you tried. Nari still chanted peacefully. As though the screams had not hit her ears and like everything was fine. “You have disobeyed your family,” the voice was darker as the light melted more of Eui’s skin. Her hair caught fire in the glow and a burning black flame rose through the strands. The two arms, still placed on her thighs with her palms upward to the roof, bent at improbable angles. The snapping of the bones shocked you and you stood up straight with a wince. Her melted hand, the skin like goo on her bones, forced yours into its hold. “You will regret everything, traitor.”

The white light from her eyes was hot. It dried the tear that attempted to slip down your face. You were burning alive. You were melting like Eui. Your eyes screamed in pain but you couldn’t look away despite how you tried. It was like the green fire of madness. You had told Eui. You had warned her that the fire was dangerous to look at for multiple seconds. But, she had done it. She gave in to the temptation.

Eui was dead. And her body was burning as your ancestor used her like a doll. Mi-Sook. You recognised the voice. It pounded in your ears and muted the sounds of your sister’s chants. Her hand, more bones than skin, cracked as she grabbed your face with inhumane strength. The pointed ends of her fingers dug into your cheeks, your blood was hot as it dripped down your skin. “Goodbye,” she forced you to look at the fire. You attempted to look away but the bones were too strong.

It started with a feeling of spinning. Your head felt clouded as it turned in numerous circles at a speed you had never witnessed. Your body shook as the green fire seemed to move closer – you knew it was impossible, a trick of your mind, but you still attempted to recoil from it. Your skin felt of burning wax, you were positive that a drip hit the skin of your hands.

Was this how you were meant to die? With a forced stare into a cursed fire? Eui had always been unfortunate. It was just within her luck that she would be killed by the madness she would have seen. Though, how much luckier were you? You were a witch who gave in to a werewolf because your heart believed it was good. You were tormented as a child by things you could never control. Not even your mother liked you. No amount of luck would save you.

And yet. The warm light that burned too bright and melted your face turned cool. An icy blue that helped you breathe. You tried to look upward toward the moon’s light, but your body was unable to move. The bones of Mi-Sook’s hands continued to hold you despite you’re inability to witness them.

The light disappeared within a moment of its appearance. It left you in darkness. You could barely see your surroundings. It certainly was not your bedroom. There were no fires. No bodies. No chanting. It was silence around you. Refreshing silence that chilled your spine as you attempted to run. The hands on your head had gone, you couldn’t feel them, but still, you were unable to move. It was as though a rope had tethered you to the spot.

It took you a moment to properly see the large cliff in front of you. You were not on it, rather you were above it, looking down at the dark stormy sea and the waves that crashed onto the rocks beneath it. Three people stood at the top. Mi-Sook was the only face you saw, her long white wedding dress was coated in blood.

A woman was bound behind her, a wolf asleep beside her feet. They all watched toward the cliff’s edge, where a man was screaming as he stood in the air. You couldn’t hear any of the words. There was no noise at all. His eyes were warm as tears fell down his pale cheeks. Mi-Sook didn’t care. You could feel her anger. It was so strong, you felt drunk on it.

She did resemble you. The same hair, the same face, and the same eyes. Her hair was caught in the air, standing upwards in a messed fashion and the eyes identical to your own glowed with red fury. The man lifted over the edge, the dangerously sharp rocks were far below him. The drop would certainly cause his death. He clawed at his neck, as though he couldn’t breathe.

Still, you saw him try to speak. There was no voice in your ears but you could see how his lips struggled to form words. Mi-Sook also rose slightly into the sky, and her hand lifted into the air, clenched in a fist. Her laughter. You could hear it again. It was just as wicked as when she stole Eui’s soul. You wanted to claw your ears from your body to make the noise stop.

Her other arm lifted into the air and the wolf, no longer asleep, followed the man into the air. They stood beside one another, the poor creature howling and – you assumed, at least, – whimpering. No. No. No. You wanted to look away but your body still could not move. The rope that you were sure you felt around your stomach tightened, it made you grimace. You were going to witness the creation of the werewolf. A curse of revenge from a scorned woman. From the first ever witch.

Both the hearts were pulled from the wolf and the man, yet they continued to live. Their bodies screamed and howled in agony. Mi-Sook joined her hands together, and the two hearts followed in pattern. Forming one concoction. A monster.

They slumped into the air at the same time, moving together to transform like their hearts had. Two beings that were never meant to be one. It was not a werewolf, those were creatures blessed by the moon to form balance with their counterparts. It was a lycanthrope. A true beast that was doomed from the very beginning.

The transformation was painful. You felt yourself wince just from witnessing it. The one body grew larger in height, and the legs snapped into a crooked posture. The face elongated into a wolfish snout. Black fur burst through the clothing as it tore to shreds, sinking to the raging sea below. The creature screamed under the full moon in the sky, begging for death.

Her laughter was pounding in your mind, maniacal and untamed. The amalgamation landed on the grass of the cliff’s edge. It fell on all fours, snout high in the air as it sniffed. Mi-Sook walked through the air toward it, patting between the pointed ears with a wicked smile. The creature whimpered under her touch before its eyes shut and it slumped to the ground. Not dead, but put to sleep, awaiting orders from its creator. A weapon.

Mi-Sook turned to the woman bound in chains. She forced her chin upward and you saw the tear-stained cheeks of the beautiful woman. Her mouth was gagged by a ripped material, her clothing was almost gone leaving her nude. Numerous scars littered her body, blood accompanied it all. Jin-Ae. You recognised the misfortune. It was Mi-Sook who cursed her.

The moment the material fell from her lips, Jin-Ae was begging for mercy. More tears fell from her clouded eyes and she attempted to cover her body with her arms. Mi-Sook did nothing. She just stared with a sneer. “You are a disgrace to your kind. You took pleasure in destroying what meant most to me,” the mistress. Mi-Sook had written of how her fiance had betrayed her and how she wanted them both to pay. You could still remember the stolen memory of approaching a kissing couple with betrayal in your heart. It was all Mi-Sook’s. The lycanthrope was her fiance and Jin-Ae was the mistress. “Now you can watch everything you love die.”

Jin-Ae was lifted into the air much like how the man and wolf had. Words fell from the witch’s tongue. Latin, spoken with power that you wanted to cower from. It was strong and dark. Too dark. Vicious. The curse. Black runes slipped from her mouth and into the sky, circling Jin-Ae’s body as though to taunt her. Each word created a new rune to appear around her.

Once they were all spoken, each rune attached to her skin with a searing burn. Jin-Ae cried in pain as the black runes turned blue on her raw wounds. Burning her to immortality.

They melted into her skin and disappeared from your eyes, as though nothing had happened. Mi-Sook threw her hand to the side and Jin-Ae was forced over the cliff. Her screams fell along with her body. It echoed against the rocks of the cliff in tandem with the crashing of the waves. When had you been able to hear those? You closed your eyes tight as the ultimate splat on the rocks occurred below.

There it was again. The bright light. Cold yet nurturing as it coated your skin. You felt your body move without control, but your eyes could not open despite how you tried. The movements were almost motherly, as though someone was holding you to their chest as they took you away from the past and back to reality.

When your eyes opened, you were back in your bedroom. The smoke was gone. The fire was small and purple on Jin-Ae’s chest. Your sister still kneeled and chanted to the room, her eyes calm and quiet as though nothing happened. But, when you turned to Eui, you knew it was.

Her body was slumped on the ground. Empty sockets sat where her eyes would be, the skin surrounded it like cooling candle wax. Her hands were mostly bone, her outfit ripped and her hair charred. There were dimples in her skin from fingers clawing at her cheeks. You looked up to the roof – the scorch marks were there as well.

You fumbled for a blanket from your bed and covered her body. Nari did not need to see it. No one ever should. Her pain was obvious on her body, no lie could convince someone otherwise. Eui was dead. You could only hope that Mi-Sook had taken her soul before she glanced into the flames, or else she would be lost forever. A ghost.

The ornate box beside you glinted under the fire. You quickly grabbed it and opened it fully on your lap. The curse. You had heard Mi-Sook speak it, meaning you could save someone. You could save Jin-Ae. You spoke the curse again, quietly so that your sister would not hear and interrupt. The runes appeared on her skin, just as sickly black as when they first began from Mi-Sook’s tongue.

You summoned the runes into the box for holding, watching as they melted into the velvet felt within it. You wanted to cry as the words continued to fall, but there was no time. You couldn’t risk anyone else. You couldn’t prove that you were as weak as your family believed. When they all melted into the box, you closed and locked it. Jin-Ae took a large breath despite the sleep state she was induced into. She was free. The curse had been removed after centuries.

The fire dissipated as it was gone, and the chants from your sister died on her lips. Your room fell dark again as you waved your hand and extinguished the candles all around. “Eui?” Her voice was quiet as she called into the room. Her body must have felt the change, but she had still not known the truth of what happened entirely. Unfortunately, her call would never get the answer she desired. “Eui?”

Still, you could smell lavender on your nose. It was taunting. “Go outside. Just go and have everyone leave.”

“But -”

“Now!” you hadn’t intended to shout, but you couldn’t allow Nari to see Eui’s body, even when it was covered in your blanket. Your voice broke at the end, a crack that would have left you mortified had you not been so preoccupied. There was too much to do. You had to get Jin-Ae away to rest, clean up the ritual and take care of the corpse. You couldn’t mourn, you could not feel, you had to focus.

Eui did not deserve to be remembered in such a state. She deserved to be remembered as the smiling woman who spoke of love to everyone despite her own misfortune. You couldn’t let Nari see it. You couldn’t let Hyunjin see it. Oh, how were you supposed to tell Hyunjin she had died? In a way that was beyond even your magic to bring back.

Nari ran out of your bedroom, sniffling to herself as she closed the door behind her. You placed a hand on Jin-Ae's forehead. She was alive. She was breathing. But she still had another day of sleep before she could wake. You stood up onto your shaking legs, collecting the candles from across your room and placing them in the basket on your vanity.

You looked up. How would you get the scorch marks from your room? You didn’t deserve to get rid of them. How could you allow Eui to attend another ritual? You were smarter than that. You knew the danger and you risked her life. You lost that risk and let her die. It was all your fucking fault.

Jin-Ae was completely unharmed from the ritual. Her clothing was as perfect as always, her hair managed into its usual slick style. You picked her up and put her on your bed, resting her head on a pillow. You went to grab the blanket before your fingers hit the empty air. You had no more blankets, only the one that was rather occupied.

You still had Eui left. But, you didn’t know what to do. Where would you put her corpse? What would you say to the police who investigated? You felt useless. You felt immobile, your arms were heavy on your sides as you tried to lift them. And you felt empty. You had caused death. The death of someone who deserved nothing but happiness.

It went against everything you believed. You were a nurse in the Great War. You did not bring death, you aided the sick and prevented fatalities! How could you change so much over just a few years?

Your bedroom door was rushed open and there stood Minho. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was a mess, as though his fingers had been occupied through them more than anything else, but his eyes were on alert. Horrifically so. He found you with ease, you were sitting on your bed close to crying after all, but you were sure his eyes acknowledged the corpse half hidden under a blanket at your feet.

You looked up at him from your seated stance. “What?” you snapped at him, your voice hoarse from the tears that threatened to slide down your cheeks.

“Hyunjin,” No. You had lived this before. Your sister had done that same run and stare the night Hyunjin was shot. It was too familiar. It was too soon. Too many deaths, “he just started convulsing and screaming.”

If he wanted your attention, he certainly chose the correct words to do so. You stood and ran past him, mindlessly grabbing his hand to pull him along with you. You could not lose Hyunjin as well. It was the third time he would knock on the door of death, how could you ensure he would make it back once more? You hadn’t saved Eui. You had destroyed Hyunjin the first time you tried. You would not survive if you lost them both in one night.

Bile rose in your throat as you saw Hyunjin. His body rolled on the floor and his fingers dug into the skin of his cheeks. Both of his eyes were squeezed shut, his body shook under the weight of his cries — pure agony. You were choking on it. “Hyune!”

“What’s happening?” he managed to cry out the words through his sobs. Your eyes widened as new burns grew on his soft skin, the short nails on his fingers tore through the skin of his cheek. Your breathing was shallow and rapid. Back in the trenches. No time to breathe. Too much was happening at once. Bodies everywhere. Your hands were dark. Coated in blood.

You cradled his cheek to offer comfort. You could not do it to him again. You could not be selfish and destroy him once more. Saving him without would be near impossible. But you had to do it. Hyunjin could not leave you. Not again. Never again. “Did any of you drive a car here?”

“I did,” Changbin confessed, with the keys already hung on his fingers.

“Take him to the hospital,” it was a barked order that left your throat sore. Changbin seemed ready to follow, his hands already on Hyunjin’s shoulder to lift him. Minho was different, his eyes held a flint of defiance that made your gut bubble in fury, “Nari and Minho can stay with him and treat the wounds. He may make it if we do.”

Minho shook his head, and your jaw clicked with the anger you felt. “Nari can do it alone. I will stay right here with you.” The words he didn’t say went between you. He saw the dead body. He saw your eyes, raw with emotion that had not yet spilled. You couldn’t say much of it, if you did it would mean letting your sister know the truth without proper preparation.

You stood up from Hyunjin and turned to Minho, your heart shook as he whimpered without your touch. “People are dying and you want to argue?” Only a moment of staring occurred between you both, before you huffed and turned away from him. “Fine. Just get him to the hospital now. I don’t care whether you are here or not, Mr Lee.”

All of you rushed to get Hyunjin into the vehicle. His breathing was shallow, his eyelids almost sunk into the holes his eyes should occupy. As though nothing was there at all. You forced aids down his throat to offer more time to travel to the hospital. You could not lose him again. Never again. Nari had sat beside him and continued to tend to his burns and cries while Changbin drove them away.

A deadly growl echoed through the street. Your heart dropped. You could not deal with the beast. Not today. Minho seemed to feel similar, as he followed you inside and upstairs to your bedroom. No word was spoken between you as he helped you remove the final pieces of ash and chalk from your flooring. There was no debate, no argument, no simple whisper to one another.

Carrying Eui’s body was much easier. Even without proper discussion of how to do so, the dynamic was strong enough to work. You held her head and he collected her legs as you carried her downstairs to the apothecary door.

Which left the final problem still unanswered. There was nowhere to place her. The beast was too close. An idea fluttered in your mind. One that hurt your heart but was the best thing you could do in the little time offered.

You dragged her corpse outside and left her slumped on the fence that Jin-Ae had been found on. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered it to her corpse, your blanket drawn along her shoulder and body. You kept your face stoic as you cut into your palm on the fence. It would attract the monster.

Stood in the dark of the night, no sunglasses to shelter your eyes and no one outside with you for protection. The beast turned a corner and you stared at it, the monster stared right back. It was the first time you had seen it. The black eyes left your head delirious as it stalked closer to Eui’s body. Your fingers twitched to explore the matted fur along its pointed back. It was beautiful.

No. Not beautiful. Why did you think such a thing? No murderer could be appealing to your eye.

It walked closer, fur catching the moonlight. Fur. Two hind legs that it stood up on and two arms that curled down with sharpened dirty claws. A snout, long with a wet black nose. Black eyes that haunted the souls of so many women. Teeth like daggers, dripping with blood. It looked like a shifted werewolf, only wild. You knew better. Werewolves were tamed, they were loved, they were balanced. It was why they had soulmates – a gift from the goddess of the moon.

The beast was not. The beast was a lycanthrope. One that was hunting for the bride that would never come. Two souls that were never meant to join, desperate to find someone to tame it.

You were pulled back inside of your apothecary by a warm hand. Minho’s hand. He held your shoulders and you looked around your apothecary, the door locked behind you and cold on your back. Everything felt crooked. The walls were closer than before. Everything shook under your breath. Were you even breathing? You tried to focus on it. A failed attempt.

Your chest was tight and your vision blurred. There was a table. You stumbled from Minho’s stability and into the table. The support was not enough. Your nails dug into the wood, it splinted beneath your palm. Your body was tilted, your mind just as crooked, stuck in the warped reality. You wanted it to stop. You couldn’t control it.

Fuck, how do you stop it? You couldn’t breathe. You were choking. Your eyes were heavy with tears and the table creaked in your hold. Was Minho even in the room? You could not see him. Everything was blurry. You saw some lights. That was all.

Until you screamed. One that had been buried within your body for months, perhaps even years. It shook in your ears and rattled the storage of your apothecary. Shelving collapsed to the floor, vials of liquids and herbs broke onto the ground. Years worth of collection for the ingredients destroyed and shattered among glass. Hooks that held dried flowers stood in the air, twirling in a whirlwind storm. Pieces of paper, receipts and notes for your orders caught in the air, tangling in the internal tornado.

Chaos.

Pure chaos.

The table broke and you fell to the ground. Glass dug into your knees and what felt like a spider's eye squished against your skin. More vials of potions and palms that you had made broke with the furious storm. All your stock was destroyed as you crumbled in on yourself.

Your throat was hoarse and pained as your scream stopped. Everything came to an end. The twirling wind dissipated and left your papers and ingredients thrown around at random. The shattering of glass and spilling of potions finished. But, everything was destroyed. Your entire apothecary was ruined. Years of work, destroyed in a few measly minutes.

“Are you okay?’

The first words you had said to each other since Hyunjin left. Such a stupid fucking question, did he honestly believe you were okay? That you were doing fantastic? For the smart man you knew he was, he could be absolutely stupid. And he had gotten away with such idiocy for too fucking long.

You stood up and glared at him, seething under your fury. It fell from your skin in waves that you were sure Minho could feel more than you. Pieces of your hair lifted into the air and something within your stomach sparked alight. The heart burned in such a delicious way, you felt it rage inside. “This is all your fault Lee Minho!” His eyes widened and he stepped backward, close to your home yet still inside the ruined apothecary with you. You waved your hand and you felt yourself lift into the air, barely an inch off the rubble and floor. “You have always wanted to see me at my end, was it worth it? Because of you, I have lost a friend tonight. Because of you, I may even lose another!”

Everything you had worked for was ruined. People were dead and the blood was on your hands. Your sister was on the verge of leaving your home for a disgusting policeman. Everyone you trusted had lied to you. But it all started when he entered your life.

You could still feel the ice of when he left that night at the Yang library. The fire within you burned brighter as you floated closer to him. “If you hadn’t insisted on flirting! If you hadn’t begged to touch me! If I hadn’t gone to your stupid office that night, then none of this would have happened!” You had never felt so much anger in your entire life. Even as a child, you never got so angry regarding the treatment you received. Heat glowed on your skin and nipped at your heart. You felt bright. “Everything was normal before you! You took my life and destroyed it! What for? Fun? Was it fun Minho? Are you happy to see me like this?”

When had you gotten so close to him? It wasn’t like the other times. It wasn’t tense because of the desire and pleasure that licked at your skin. It was tense from anger. From fire. His eyes were focused on you but he kept looking over your shoulder. How dare he. He couldn’t even focus on you long enough to listen to you scream? You wanted to shove him. You wanted to push him through a wall so he could know of the pain you felt.

“I have done so much for your stupid gang and what have I received in return? Nothing! I got a fucking werewolf tearing my sister and I apart. I got a disgusting policeman constantly trying to grope me. I got left naked in a mansion in the middle of fucking nowhere!” You were crying. You didn’t realise it until the salty tears slipped down your neck. Your voice shattered under the sobs. The fire inside you burned brighter as you pushed your finger into his chest. “Get out of my house. Get out of my life. Leave me alone. Our deal is over!”

You were seeing red. You weren’t sure where he had gone. When did he leave? He was right in front of you a moment beforehand. You knew he was gone. You couldn’t feel his warmth. The fire inside was too bright. Your skin felt slick with sweat.

Heat.

You turned around slowly and gasped, collapsing to the floor once again. A fire. Large and overpowering burnt through your store. From the windows that were only fixed the previous week to where you stood. Yet, the flames left you unharmed. They licked at your skin but you were fine. How had it started? There was no ignition causes inside the apothecary. It had been fine just moments before!

You sniffed and curled your legs to your chest. You were so small. So weak. You wanted your old life back, you wanted things to be normal again. Tears fell from your eyes and you sobbed into your knees, the fire around you slowly evaporated into the air. Ash coated the floor with the rest of the rubble. Scorch marks stained the wooden floors like they had your bedroom roof.

You were cold. You wanted a hug. What were you supposed to do? You weren’t entirely sure how to think anymore. There was so much to do. So much to fix. You wanted your control back. It had been stolen from you. Who stole it? Was it even Minho? You weren’t sure, perhaps you had taken everything out on him.

How had the fire started? Was it you? Your magic? And the room, how did it collapse on itself? It was impossible. No witch could create such chaos. Especially without muttering a single charm or spell. And yet, you had done the impossible. But, you hated every second of it. You just wanted normal.

A hand tapped your shoulder and a warm body sat beside you on the ground. Minho. You didn’t look up at him as you cried into yourself. His warm coat landed on your shoulders, warming your body as he pulled you closer. His arm, though tense, wrapped around your torso and tilted your body closer.

No words were spoken again. Perhaps that was a good thing.

⎯⎯ notes ‣‣‣ no murdering of dahlia is allowed 😠 this has been planned since the very first chapter… but it was still painful to write

if you're able to support me and my writing, you can buy me a coffee here ♡

138 notes · View notes

hyunnipie · 1 year ago

Text

WAAAAAAAHHHH this is beautiful i’m losing my mind

Lost in Translation

Pairing: Lee Minho x fem reader

W/c: 26.5k

Warnings: accidental nudity, hospital visit, mention of masturbation, use of pet names, breast/nipple play, clitoral stimulation, unprotected sex, bulge kink, sexual asphyxiation, breeding kink, creampie, oral sex (male receiving), brief mention of pregnancy

Synopsis: The older brother of the boy you babysit is an enigma, in every sense of the word- and you’re determined to figure him out.

[this work was a request by @antoniorhinothethird - thank you for requesting!]

18+. Mdni!

•

The idea of babysitting isn’t some brilliant proposal you conjured up in a day- but it’s not exactly a choice, either. The idea isn’t even yours, in fact, the advertisements you published on the colorful inquiry site at your mother’s behest. But “college courses are virtual these days” and “you’ll be a mother at some point in your life,” according to her. So two months into the semester, you’ll now spend the majority of your time in a new place you’ll call home, just 30 minutes out at the Lee Household.

The Lee household is considerably larger than you’d originally anticipated it to be, spanning a sizable amount of grassland and standing nobly tall at 2 stories high. The exterior of the flashy home is surrounded by paved gravel driveways, lining the neat rows of bushels and vines that surround the off-white architectural build. Giant glass windows reflect sunlight in nearly every room of the house, with the exception of the dimly-lit library on the second floor, which flaunts colossal cherry wooden bookshelves that line the walls and cover most of the smaller windows.

“Joon is usually very mellow in the daytime,” Mrs. Lee tells you as she walks you through a tour of the garden. “You’ll only have to worry about his feeding schedules, which I’ve already written and posted on the refrigerator.”

She pivots in front of you, stopping for a moment and gesturing to the stone fountain by the rose bushes. “Do you like it? It was a gift from my husband. When he’s not running the furniture business, he works in restoration a lot. This was his first project.”

“Wow,” you say, your lips parted at the sight of the koi fish and the cascading waterfall from its lips. “It’s very beautiful.”

Mrs. Lee smiles at you in response, turning on her heel and continuing to the iron gates in the front.

“Do you have any other questions?” She asks, clasping her hands together and shooting you a saccharine smile. She’s intimating, not because of her personality, which you quickly clock as rather warm and inviting. But rather, because she’s so elegant, her navy silk dress perfectly complementing the chunky pearl earrings she wears, making her look like a character from an old film. You’re not sure you’ve ever crossed paths with such an interesting woman before.

“I think that covers everything,” you say finally, giving her a small bow. “I’ll be sure to provide updates throughout the day.”

“Oh, no need,” she says quickly. “Unless it’s an emergency, l know you’ll have your hands full doing your work while watching Joon. Feel free to just give us a little summary when we’re home for the evening.”

She shoots you a little wink when she finishes speaking, clasping her hands together again and smiling down at you.

“We’ll see you tomorrow for your first day!” She exclaims warmly, opening gate doors as you make your exit out of the garden. When you begin down the paved road, Mrs. Lee suddenly gasps, calling out to you again in a frantic manner.

“Oh! Y/n, wait please!” She calls, pulling the skirt of her dress up to her ankles to jog over to where you’re standing.

“My other son will be home from school in the afternoon tomorrow. Don’t be alarmed if you hear him moving about the house. He’ll just keep to himself.”

You ponder the words for a moment, a little frustrated when you realize there will be two kids in the household instead of one, like she’d previously mentioned. But you just nod and smile at her, seeing yourself out of the driveway once again and beginning the journey back home to prepare for your first day here tomorrow.

This castle-at-end-of-the-road is eerily quiet when no one’s home, a once lively sight of rose bushes and marble statues appearing like something out of a horror movie when you’re by yourself. At every corner you turn, your brain runs rampant with paranoia, placing shadowy figures and silhouettes of people where there are none- except for when you’re in the presence of Joon.

At just a year old, Joon is considered one of the cutest ages, only being able to babble incoherent noises and flail his little hands around when he wants something. His closet is full of matching neutral tones, per his mother’s styling, and his sparse black hair is combed neatly to one side.

Mrs. Lee is right about him- he doesn’t cry. Nor does he ever make a fuss, really. He simply sits quietly, in the comfort of his crib, or his high chair, and he curiously peers at the world around him. You’re certain he’s taken a liking to you already, judging at how he smiles when you spoon-feed him mashed carrots and mimic airplane noises. And he only cries briefly once in the day, stopping almost immediately when you put him down for his nap.

This may be an easier gig than you thought.

While Joon naps, you take the opportunity to get some work done in the library, settling comfortably on the velvet armchair in the corner and running through a few of your online class assignments for the week.

Although you’ll be babysitting here for the next few weeks, you’re also completing your final year at university this year, your last semester being completely remote. Which gives you time to take on the babysitting task as a side hustle, and hopefully save enough money to travel a bit after university like you’ve always dreamt of.

At half past noon, Joon is still peacefully asleep in his crib where you’ve left him, the ambient sound of waves echoing softly from his baby monitor as little snores emit from his curled lips. He looks like an angel when he sleeps, and you can’t help but feel your heart swell to twice its size at the sight of him.

The gentle breeze of the October wind travels through the open windows of the library, sending chills up your spine when you sit down to work again. You get up from where you’re sitting on the armchair to latch the windows shut, making sure to lock them, before turning around to take your seat again- quickly startled by the figure standing in the doorway.

“Jesus,” you yelp, one hand clutching your chest in fear as you nearly drop your laptop.

The figure- or man, rather, says nothing, scanning the room like he’s searching for something, before turning on his heel and exiting the room once again.

He’s tall, with a slim yet muscular build, honey tanned skin complementing his chocolate brown tresses. He’s also dressed rather casually in a pair of light-wash jeans and a black top, a black leather jacket thrown over his broad shoulders and left unzipped.

“Sorry, did you need something?” You call out, perplexed by his demeanor. You can’t remember if the Lees warned you of potential visitors, but you’re suddenly panicked for Joon, remembering you left his door open.

“Nope,” the man calls out over his shoulder, not turning around to face you. And then you see it- a black backpack, slung over one shoulder and seemingly filled to the brim with textbooks.

Their other son.

This must be the son Mrs. Lee warned you would be making appearances in the afternoon. But you had assumed him to be much younger, especially considering he’s definitely old enough to be watching over his own brother.

Before you can gather your thoughts to introduce yourself, he’s gone again, disappearing down the hall the same way he so mysteriously appeared. And you wonder, briefly, how he can be so much colder than his own mother.

The first day of your new job is a success. When Mrs. Lee returns home for the evening, she pays you in cash, true to her traditional style, and sends you home with a tin of shortbread cookies as another ‘thank you’, though she’s already voiced it a million times. But the second day is rougher than the first, reminding you of why babysitting isn’t always an easy task despite what it may seem.

Joon is particularly antsy today, flailing his arms around when you try to spoon feed him and whining relentlessly when you pick him up. He needs several diaper changes in just your first few hours of working, and when you finally do get him clean, he’s a crying, screaming mess.

Fortunately, he still goes down for his nap at noon, which means you have a narrow window of time to complete your work for the day and get freshened up. The windows in the library are propped wide open again, a cold breeze coming through as you settle in your new favorite spot and open your laptop.

There are a myriad of assignments to complete today, and you’re briefly panicked that you won’t be able to complete the necessary few pieces if Joon suddenly wakes again. But still, you try, skimming through textbooks and typing away as much as you can to make steady progress. And at the hour mark, Joon begins to cry. Rather he wails, loudly, from the other room, startling you when you’re already in deep concentration working through a practice quiz.

You make your way down the hallway and to the right, where Joon’s room is, approaching the crib and catching a glimpse of his anguished state. His face is a robust shade of red as he wails loudly, bubbles of saliva forming at his nostrils and his eyes squeezed shut. You guide him out of the crib and into the safety of your arms, shushing him gently and rocking him back and forth the way Mrs. Lee taught you. And Joon calms instantly, hiccuping through tears as he locks his gaze on yours and fists at strands of your hair.

“That’s okay,” you coo at him, grazing your finger along his chin and cleaning some of the drool that dribbles from the corners of his lips. “I’m here. Look at you! You’re okay,” you continue, giggling at him when his quivering lips pull into a small smile. He softens in your arms, smiling and babbling with hushed sounds, clutching tightly on strands of your hair as you balance him in your arms.

“You want to come do some work?” You ask, nodding your head as if to coax an answer out of him. “That’s a good baby, huh? Let’s go do some work.”

And you travel back to the library with Joon in your arms, giving him gentle pats on his back as you hoist him tighter into your embrace and balance your laptop with one arm.

When you’re starting on your last task of the evening, you’re interrupted again today by Mrs. Lee’s eldest son, who pokes his head in the doorway and observes as you coo down at Joon’s sleeping figure while working on your computer with one hand.

“Do you want me to take him?” You hear from the doorway, and you crane your neck to look where he’s standing, his hands shoved in his pockets and his backpack slung lazily over one arm.

“I’m okay,” you respond, typing out a word with one hand. He furrows his eyebrows at your failed attempt, approaching you and reaching out his arms to take Joon from your embrace.

“You can’t work like this,” he says, as he peacefully transfers Joon to his own arms. “He won’t wake up if I put him back, I promise.”

“Thanks,” you reply, taking note of his features now that he’s at a closer proximity to you for the first time. He has large round eyes, and long eyelashes that make even you jealous. His nose bridge is sharp and straight, and when he chuckles softly at Joon, you notice his skewed front teeth, ones that make his smile seem sweeter- softer.

As he begins out the doorway, you try to think of what to say to him, not wanting to have another awkward run-in with him like your last one. But nothing comes to mind that won’t be just as awkward as the encounter itself, and you settle on painful silence once again.

As you unlock your laptop, continuing on to your last assignment, you hear the faint noise of Mrs. Lee’s elder son putting Joon back to sleep.

Except he sounds different than he has during your two previous encounters. He’s laughing, babbling, even cooing at Joon as he puts him back to sleep. And though you really shouldn’t intrude, you make your way to the doorway again, where you peer down the hall to listen in on the endearing noises he makes.

“Are you sleepy?” He asks, his voice two octaves higher than usual. “Let’s sleep now, okay? No, you can’t have my shirt. That’s mine, remember? Let’s have good dreams now. I love you!”

You hear Joon giggling from the end of the corridor and you smile to yourself, wholly moved by the tender little moment he shares with his baby brother. He might not be his full-time caregiver, but he certainly knows what he’s doing. As you stay pondering his behavior for a moment, you don’t even notice when he exits the room again, turning to watch you standing around the doorway. Your ear is still leaned into the corridor, clearly having listened in on the private moment.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, straightening your posture, a wave of embarrassment quickly washing over you. “I was making sure Joon got to bed okay.”

He just nods once, looking you over briefly before meeting your gaze again.

“Minho,” he then practically mutters, averting your gaze as he waits for you to speak.

It’s his name, you realize, barely even having registered what he said to you. He’s telling you his name.

“Y/n,” you respond quickly, giving him a small bow and smiling nervously.

And Minho says nothing, pivoting on his heel to exit the corridor and disappear all over again.

For two weeks, your job runs smoothly, no glaring problems or hangups. Joon remains fond of you, obedient at mealtimes and when he’s put to bed. And the system of completing your college coursework goes smoothly, being able to get through several assignments a day while Joon takes his afternoon nap. If anything, you might be more productive than you were before this job, despite balancing it between university.

It’s an overcast Tuesday afternoon, and you’ve spent most of your day working in Joon’s nursery on the rocking chair next to his crib. He’s been a little fussy today, but you find that he calms down a little at the repetitive clicking noises of your laptop keyboard. Once you’ve confirmed he’s asleep, little snores emitting from his lips, you gather your belongings and sneak away to the library again. Only this time, it’s not vacant.

Minho sits in your usual spot today, his legs propped up on the footrest in front of him and a book in his lap. He doesn’t even notice you in the doorway, strands of hair hanging loosely in front of his face as he scans the page of his book. He also looks significantly more casual than other days you’ve seen him around, wearing a plain black t-shirt and gray sweats, a pair of round wireframe glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.

He feels your gaze on him, shuffling about suddenly and closing his book.

“Sorry,” Minho says. “I was just… reading.”

He realizes how awkward he sounds, verbally conveying his actions to you like this, but he’s too caught off guard to form a more coherent string of words.

“It’s okay,” you say politely, setting your bag down on the floor and occupying the chair across from him.

“What book?” You ask, cocking your head at the small red novel he clutches in his lap.

“Hm? Oh, uh… it’s Love and Limerence. By Dorothy Tennov.”

You nod in response, studying the cherub painted on the cover, wielding a bow and arrow.

“Big romance fan?”

“No,” Minho says, chuckling at your words. “It’s a required read for my class.”

“How neat,” you reply. “What class requires romance novels these days?”

“My philosophy course,” Minho says, running the pads of his fingers over the raised text on the cover. “The psychology of emotion.”

“PHIL 105,” you say, knowing very well the course he speaks of.

“Yeah- you’ve taken it?”

“No, but I had a friend who did in freshman year. I’m in my last semester now- my remaining classes are virtual, though.”

“It’s my last semester, too,” Minho says with a little smile, fiddling with the lobe of his ear as he talks.

“Well best of luck to you in the final stretch,” you reply, shooting him a small smile back. “I hope it all goes smoothly.”

Minho gives a half nod, and then furrows his eyebrows together, like he’s just remembered something.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” he says suddenly, sitting up and gathering his belongings.

“Oh, I really don’t mind-”

“Catch you later,” He interrupts with a nervous tone, almost jogging out of the library and back down the corridor.

And just like the first day you met him, you maintain the same idea of him- he’s such an enigma. Appearing in and out of the household, not one to voice his thoughts or his opinions, no eagerness to know the stranger sitting in his house watching over his baby brother. But somehow, like the rest of the household, you can’t help but have a lingering curiosity for Minho, too.

“My husband and I might be late getting back today,” Mrs. Lee says one morning as you feed Joon his breakfast. His tongue dodges the plastic spoon, dribbling mashed food out from the corners of his lips and laughing when you go to dab his face clean with a napkin.

“That’s alright,” you reply, loading up the spoon with more food. “I can wait until you’ve arrived.”

“You will?” Mrs. Lee asks, a kind of sparkle in her eyes as she speaks. “That would mean the world to us. It’s just that my husband has an auction to attend today. And sometimes these events run longer than they’re meant to.”

“No problem at all,” you say, smiling at her as you turn your attention back to Joon. “Joon and I will just hang out a little longer today. Isn’t that right?”

He babbles something in response, a string of saliva trailing from his lips, and Mrs. Lee laughs at the sight.

“He’s really taken a liking to you!”

As she fixes Joon’s hair, Minho enters the kitchen, dressed for the day with his backpack already slung over his shoulder.

“Minho,” his mother says in a scolding tone. “No gum for breakfast. Have a fruit.”

“Can’t,” he replies curtly. “My philosophy exam is today.”

“What does that have to do with depriving yourself of food?”

“It’s bad luck to eat before an exam,” Minho retorts, coming around the granite island to kiss her on the cheek. “Besides,” Minho continues. “I’m ditching my second class, so I’ll be home a little earlier.”

When he turns around, his gaze meets yours, and he instantly stiffens.

His gaze turns cold again, his hands shoving in his jacket pockets as he says nothing to you. He just bows, once, and then turns to exit like he’s suddenly in some rush.

“Bye,” he calls out, and you’re not even sure who he’s addressing it to at this point.

“I should get going, too,” Mrs. Lee says to you. “I’ll call you when we leave the event tonight. And please, feel free to make yourself comfortable after Joon gets put to bed. There’s cash on the table if you want to order something for dinner, and extra blankets are in the upstairs closet if you get sleepy.”

“Thank you,” you say to Mrs. Lee as she gathers her car keys and handbag. And the house is quiet again when you’re all alone, with the exception of Joon’s heavy breathing as he stares at you curiously.

“It’s like a mansion here,” you say to your best friend as you balance Joon in your arms and crane your neck on your shoulder to hold the phone against your ear. “Mrs. Lee is so nice. I thought she’d be stuck up or something, but she’s like a second mother.”

“You hit the jackpot,” your friend voices on the other end of the line. “Any idea how long they need you around?”

“Not sure,” you reply, wiping the granite counter with a rag as you finish up the dishes. “Probably until their son is done with the semester.”

“Son?” She says excitedly. “Is he cute?”

“Please,” you echo, rolling your eyes. “His looks mean nothing considering he doesn’t say a word.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. He just doesn’t talk. We go to the same university and it’s like pulling teeth trying to figure out something as simple as what his major is. I think he despises having me around.”

“I mean, to be fair, I wouldn’t love someone in my space 24/7. It’s probably a territorial thing.”

“He’s not a cat,” you respond, laughing lightly. “He’s a grown man. I just get the feeling he doesn’t like me.”

“Well I highly doubt that,” she says, and you can hear her shuffling about on her end of the line.

“Hey, I have to go,” she chimes in. “But I’ll talk to you later. Good luck with baby Joon and the cat man.”

“Thanks,” you reply, chuckling to yourself.

As you hang up the phone, you turn around to gather the last of the dishes, stopping in your tracks when you’re met with Minho himself.

He’s standing in the kitchen, popping a bubble of gum with his teeth, his gaze locked coldly on yours as he observes the place.

That’s right- he did say he would be home a bit earlier after his exam today. Was he standing there for the entirety of your conversation? You can’t recall how long the phone call lasted, or even the specifics of what you said. But you do know it certainly wasn’t good.

“Hi,” you say nervously, scanning his expression for a hint of what he’s thinking. But he provides you none, kicking off his boots and making his way up the stairs again.

The guilt is still eating away at you two hours later- Minho hasn’t descended the staircase once since the incident, and you can hardly focus on your school work at the thought of what he’s thinking of you.

Here you are, complaining about him seeming “cold” or “off”- the whole time you’re the one talking about him behind his back and stirring up drama. If he hated you before, he definitely despises you now. And if he's as close with his mother as he seemed this morning, you could be out of a job by tomorrow.

In reluctant steps, you ascend the wooden staircase, clutching a small mug of coffee and a stack of buttered toast. You remember Minho saying he’d have breakfast after his exam, a task he wasn’t able to complete due to your impolite conversation earlier. And while you’re not even sure he’s going to give you the time of day anymore, it’s worth a shot to try.

At the top of the staircase, you realize you’re unsure of which room even belongs to Minho. There are rows of doors down the corridor, which you peer into, looking for any sign of him.

A closet, another closet, the laundry room… it feels like a futile task at this point- not to mention, the sinking feeling that you’re intruding, poking into every room in the house like this.

But at the end of the hallway, just across the staircase from Joon’s room, lies one more closed door you haven’t tried yet, and you’re sure this one has to be his.

With a deep breath, you balance the mug of coffee on the plate you’re carrying, bringing your free hand up to knock, just once.

No answer.

You pause for a moment, debating whether to just leave and drop the idea of an apology altogether. But you don’t, instead forcing yourself to knock once more this time, a little harder than the first.

And after muffled sounds of shuffling about, the door finally opens again, Minho standing with a confused expression on his face. He has a pair of earphones in, one side pulled out to hear you, his glasses sat on his face and a number of textbooks on the bed behind him.

“Is Joon okay?” He asks, looking down the hall in panic as you meet his gaze.

“What? Oh! Yes, he’s fine. He’s sleeping.”

“Oh. What are you…”

“I… made you some breakfast. I know you didn’t have any before your exam this morning. And no, gum isn’t a breakfast food.” You chuckle lightly as you hold the items out to him, and Minho looks down at them, blinking a few times before speaking.

“Oh. Uh, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s no problem. Should I leave them with you?”

“Oh, you can put them on the desk over there,” Minho replies, and it’s then that you notice his hands are full with papers. He steps aside to let you in, gesturing to the desk with a piece of paper, and you oblige, clearing the space of a few scattered items and setting down his breakfast.

When you turn around to look at the place, your lips part in awe at the sight of the grandiosity of it. Minho’s room has bigger windows than any of the others you’ve seen, concave around a crescent-shaped seating area that boasts tall ceilings and large glass windows. There are books lining the floors, the desk space and even the window sills, many of them left bookmarked or lying open where they sit.

His giant wooden bed frame is almost hidden behind a hanging curtain, and his desk is nearly inhabitable at the amount of university paraphernalia that lives on its surface.

“Wow,” you say, craning your neck to look around the room. “It’s really nice in here.”

“Thanks,” Minho says awkwardly, toying with a loose hem on his pants.

“You really like reading,” you comment, taking note of the books he has lying around. When you say this, Minho seems to stiffen a bit, shutting some of the books and lining them on their spines along his shelves.

“Yeah,” he mutters, dropping a few books and kicking them away from him.

You nod at him, pursing your lips, well aware that you’re in the midst of yet another awkward interaction with him, but wanting to fulfill the reason you came up here all the same.

“Listen,” you begin. “I wanted to apologize. I don’t know how much you heard of that, but I assume it was enough to be hurt by it. And you’re justified in being hurt. It was totally uncalled for of me to say those things- and sure, you might be a quiet person. But that doesn’t make it okay for me to go around airing it out like it’s my business. In fact I shouldn’t even be on my phone on the job. I’m here to watch your brother, and I get paid for that service, and it’s completely unprofessional-”

“It’s cool,” Minho says, an unchanging expression on his face.

“Oh, um… I mean, if you want to fire me I totally understand.”

Minho chuckles softly, and then shakes his head. “I’m not going to fire you. I am quiet. It’s cool. Really.”

“I mean, I totally get that-”

“Unless you want to be fired?” He inquires with a half-smile, and you chuckle softly in response.

“I really don’t. I love watching your brother.”

“Good,” he replies. “Then we’re all good.”

And although you want to say something else to him, you don’t, feeling as though you should be satisfied with the state of the conversation. You apologized, he forgave you, and you haven’t lost your job. And he’s still quiet, but that’s just who he is.

When Joon wakes from his afternoon nap, it’s nearly 3pm. He’s a crying mess when he’s up again, flailing his arms around to beg for a bottle, which you promptly prepare for him after a diaper change.

With Joon in your arms, you get some chores around the house finished, including vacuuming the rugs, dusting off the furniture and tidying Joon’s toys that are usually scattered about his nursery.

Doing chores wasn’t an agreement between you and Mrs. Lee- in fact, she usually urges you to focus on your schoolwork and take breaks when you’re not caring for Joon. But you want to, feeling compelled to take care of the space as much as you care for Joon. Although tensions are still somewhat present between you and Minho, the Lee household feels comfortable to you by this point, almost like a second home now.

After chores, the library calls out to you again, evening beginning to fall over the neighborhood and painting the sky with vibrant hues of an autumnal sunset.

The windows are still rolled open from earlier, and your velvet couch looks particularly inviting at this hour, beams of sunset setting it aglow and luring you to choose a book from the cherry wood shelves around you.

So you do, selecting a children’s book about animals, comfortably sprawling out on the chair with Joon in your arms. He eyes the book curiously, spreading his short, chubby fingers over the cover and tapping repeatedly, as if asking you to read to him.

And you do, setting the book on your knee to angle the pages toward him, as you begin to vocalize the choppy sentences to him.

“A is for apple, hanging from a tree,” you say, caressing his stubby fingers as he pouts in focus. “B is for buzzing bumblebee.”

Joon’s lips curl into a smile, making his best attempt to clap as you point out the colorful images to him.

“C is for crab, walking in the sand… D is for dolphin, swimming toward the land!”

Joon laughs hysterically now, clapping his little hands and rocking back and forth in your lap. You laugh, too, at his darling reaction, and give him a little kiss on the head as he fiddles with the cover of the book.

It’s moments like this that reaffirm the notion for you that this job was the right idea, after all. You’re inexplicably happy alongside him like this, seeing the world through his eyes and rediscovering things you would otherwise take for granted, like silly picture books or doing chores with him in your arms. You feel so protective of him, eager to make his mom proud and provide a safe, nurturing environment for him as his babysitter- not because you’re paid to do it, but because he now holds a special place in your heart.

The sound of someone clearing their throat startles you from the doorway, and you look up to find Minho standing there, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

“Did you… want something to eat? I was going to order takeout, unless you wanted something else.”

“Sure,” you reply, propping Joon up a little closer to your chest. “Anything’s fine with me.”

“I’ll get Chinese, then,” Minho says nodding. He averts your gaze a little, but you can tell he’s just a little awkward when he’s face-to-face with you like this. And perhaps your best friend is right- perhaps it’s not unusual of him to feel territorial over his household. After all, you are here almost every hour of the day, making yourself comfortable in almost every room, tending to the chores here and eating food from their kitchen. You suppose you would be irritated at the thought of it, too.

As Minho leaves to place an order, you take Joon back to the nursery, where you gently put him to sleep for the evening and program his baby monitor to play calm ocean noises again. It’s like clockwork- he’s out like a light, and the minute he leaves your arms, you’re exhausted, too. The stress of watching over him while balancing your school work might finally be getting to you now- you’re undoubtedly tired, your limbs aching from sauntering about this big house all day with Joon in your arms. And although you’re on a good track, you can hardly remember which assignment pertains to each of your classes these days.

When Minho returns almost an hour later, he holds a thin plastic bag in hand, his other one clutching a fistful of cutlery and two plates. He gives you a small nod when he enters the library, and you put away your laptop to join him on the floor in front of the coffee table.

For a moment, he says nothing as he prepares a plate for you, sliding a cup of wonton soup toward you and dividing portions of chow mein and tofu with wooden chopsticks.

You watch as he breaks a spring roll in half, holding both sides up and comparing to make sure they’re even.

“You’re very precise,” you say with a soft laugh, and a breathy chuckle emits from his lips, too.

“I’m trying to make sure it’s even.”

“However you cut it is fine,” you respond, pleasantly surprised at how polite he is.

When he’s finished dividing your portions, he slides a plate to you, setting a plastic fork down on the napkin beside you and ushering to the food.

“Enjoy,” he says, shooting you a small smile.

And the two of you eat in silence, the room quiet, aside from the sounds of slurping soup present between you two. Although it’s quiet, it feels comfortable, having him keep you company like this. It’s a change of pace from your usual days babysitting in the Lee household.

“How is your school work?” Minho interrupts your thoughts, and you’re momentarily taken aback by him initiating the conversation first.

“It’s good,” you respond, poking at the vegetables on your plate with a chopstick. “It’s on my own time, so I mostly just have to make sure I’m staying on track. But I’m finding it easy to get through despite watching Joon in the daytime.”

Minho nods in response, keeping his gaze set on the bowl of soup in front of him.

“How did your exam go?” you ask, and Minho cocks his head a little. “I got full marks,” he responds after a moment of silence.

“That’s great! I guess you were right about skipping breakfast having something to do with your academic success, then.”

And Minho laughs for the first time- not a chuckle or a giggle, but a laugh, holding one hand up to his mouth as he does. His laugh is gentle and melodic, filling the room around him with its sound, and you can’t help but laugh, too.

“I suppose,” he responds. “I also go nowhere without those philosophy books, so I have them memorized like the back of my hand.”

“Philosophy major?” you voice back, and Minho nods.

“So Love and Limerence is like second nature to you at this point.”

Minho gets a little awkward at this, his smile fading a little as he pokes around his chow mein. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “You could say that.”

And fearing you’ve somehow offended him, you change the subject again.

“Well I’m a business major,” you chime in. “So we don’t get interesting reads at all. And I’m not lugging around a six-pound textbook about returns on investments in my backpack.”

He laughs again, and you feel satisfied at the motion. Making him laugh feels like an exciting feat, like you’ve succeeded at something after trying so hard to. And considering how hard you’ve been trying to break down his walls these days, maybe it is an exciting feat, getting to know the stranger you’ve been sharing a home with for one month now.

“Business is a great field,” Minho says, slurping down the remainder of his soup. “Your parents must be really proud of the direction you’re headed.”

You shrug in response. “They’re indifferent. I don’t have a great relationship with them. They mostly just want me out of their hair once I graduate.”

“You have any post-college plans?” Minho inquires.

“I finished an internship before this whole babysitting gig, actually. I want to travel a bit after graduation, and then I’ll really settle down for the whole 9-5 working life.”

“Where are you hoping to travel to?”

There’s a glint in Minho’s eyes as he presses you for answers, like he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say. It makes you feel all warm inside- not many people usually care what you’re up to these days, your family trying their hardest to send you away to work another job and your most of your friends having drifted apart when you began university. Even the friends you do have are more distant these days, considering their classes are still in person, and you don’t have a need to be back on campus anymore. It’s a bit of a lonely life you lead, so being here beside Minho feels different, but pleasant.

“I’m not sure,” you say with a smile. “I’m not really sure where I belong yet.”

“Hey, I don’t know where I belong, either,” Minho echoes. “So that makes two of us.”

When the two of you are finished with dinner, Minho takes your plates downstairs, despite you offering, and you’re briefly left alone in the library. It’s much later than usual now, nearing 9:00, when you’re usually home by 7. The house also has a different vibe to it this hour, many of the rooms feeling much dimmer despite the same lamps being on, and the corridors feeling much quieter and more haunting. You feel a wave of sleepiness wash over you, and though you don’t want to be asleep when Mrs. Lee arrives, you can’t help but shut your eyes for a few minutes. You can still make out the shape of the bookshelves behind your heavy eyelashes, trying your best not to close your eyes completely, but your mind has already wandered off to slumber, and inevitably, your body follows shortly after.

You’re somewhere between sleep and consciousness when you feel Minho enter the room once again, looming over you like he wants to ask you something. But he says nothing- instead, he unfolds a knit blanket above you, sprawling it out over your legs and pulling it up to your torso. And you hadn’t realized how cold you were before he did, because you’re almost instantly with a wave of warmth and comfort over your listless body.

It feels almost uncharacteristic or Minho to carry out an action this polite- but as he takes his seat across from you, watching as you doze off peacefully, you think he may finally be coming around to you.

“I’m ditching my second class again today,” Minho announces the next morning at breakfast. He doesn’t eat much, you notice, as he bites into a single apple and hoists his backpack further up his shoulders.

“I’ll be home a bit earlier,” he then continues, eyeing you a little, and you give him a little nod.

“Then help with lunch,” Mrs. Lee says, gathering her own briefcase for work. “Y/n shouldn’t do it all by herself when you’re here.”

“Oh, it’s no worry at all,” you quickly chime in, not wanting to be the reason Minho refutes his mother’s words. “It’s what I’m here to do, after all.”

“No worries,” Minho says back to you. “I’ll be home around noon and we can prepare something together.”

For some reason, your heart flutters a little at the implication of doing something alongside Minho- something so planned and seemingly intimate. You normally just take the days as they come, so having a commitment hanging over your head like this is a little nerve-racking. And in all your worrying, you don’t respond to Minho, realizing only as he’s exiting the house with his apple in hand.

“I might be late again today,” Mrs. Lee turns to you, snapping you out of your trance. “But Minho can stay for the remainder of the time. I’ll still pay you the full amount like I did yesterday-”

“I’m happy to stay again,” you reply to her. “Like I said, it’s what I’m here to do.”

She smiles in return, clasping her hands and gesturing to the food on the table.

“I can’t get Minho to eat for the life of me, but help yourself to whatever you’d like. And thank you again, for staying.”

You’re reading to Joon in the living room when Minho arrives home from school. He kicks off his shoes dramatically, tossing his bag on the floor and breathing out a heavy sigh while you thumb through the pages of a new picture book.

“Hi,” Minho says first, his expression remaining stoic and unchanging.

“Hey,” you reply, hoisting Joon a little further up in your arms. “How was school?”

“Terrible,” he responds, making his way around the granite island to collect another apple.

“Why’s that?”

“Professor Kim,” he says curtly, polishing the apple on his button down shirt before taking a generous bite. “A three hour lecture on a Friday really wasn’t a smart choice. ”

You chuckle a little to yourself, adjusting your position on the floor and trying to balance Joon in your embrace. Minho takes notice of your struggle, abandoning his apple on the counter to come take Joon from your arms.

“Thanks,” you say, dusting off your legs as you stand again. “I’m going to get started on something for Joon to eat if you want to wait around. Unless you’re sticking to this exclusively-apple diet.”

Minho chuckles to himself and shakes his head. “I’ll help. We don’t have much prepared right now and I really need to go grocery shopping.” He secures Joon in his high chair, cocking his head toward the fridge.

“Could you just grab his orange juice? It should be the blue bottle on the right.”

And you comply with his request, promptly locating the blue sippy cup and handing it to Minho.

“Thank you,” he says, setting it down on the white tray in front of Joon and twisting it open. “This should be enough to hold him off until we can whip something up with the few ingredients we have. I want to do something with those sweet potatoes, they’re reaching the end of their time.”

Joon is a little fussy as he reaches for his sippy cup, flailing his arms around and sliding the cup across the tray to the edge. The cap seems to loosen as he does, tilting dangerously to one side.

“I got it,” you say to Minho, as you approach Joon. You retrieve the cup from the edge of the tray, twisting off the cap again to secure it properly. And as you do, Joon lets out a particularly loud yelp, knocking his hand toward you and letting the bottle fall off the tray entirely.

As you realize what’s happening, you bring two hands up to push it away from you, but you’re too late- the entirety of the bottle’s contents are spilt onto your shirt, completely soaking you and dripping onto the floor with loud, wet noises.

Minho doesn’t see what happened, but he turns around at the sound of your loud gasp, his eyes widening at the sight of you. Even your hair’s gotten wet, stringy pieces falling into your face, damp with the tangy scent of orange juice and dripping down your shirt. His mind races with guilty thoughts, feeling as though he should have stayed watching Joon, being the one to have been caught in the crossfire of his tantrum instead. Joon’s always fussy before meals- he knows this very well. As his mind races with the urgency to grab a towel, a rag- something, his eyes graze to your t-shirt, and he practically freezes.

Your thin white t-shirt is soaked like the rest of you, painting a clear outline of your black bra as the cold contents drip down your chest and torso. The see-through fabric sticks to your body like a cellophane wrapping, outlining every inch of you, every curve and every raised goosebump as you shudder at the sensation. Minho’s eyes remain locked on your dampened breasts for an embarrassing amount of time, taking careful note of the way your hardened nipples practically protrude through the thin white fabric, almost appearing increasingly noticeable with every passing second. The delicate curves of your stomach are accentuated with your skin-tight shirt, even your navel now visible.

A shake of your hands finally snaps him out of his trance, and you wrap your arms around yourself in a futile effort to cover yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you utter to him, at a loss for words at the notion of being so exposed to him. And Minho is quick to shake his head, now scrambling for a towel.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, pulling a towel off the oven handle and sliding it to you. “Here, use this and I’ll go get a larger towel from upstairs and a change of clothes.”

You want to deny the offer, feeling shameful for having already intruded this much on the Lee household and still needing more from them. But as you look down at your t-shirt, you know you don’t have a choice, the fabric now feeling cold and uncomfortable as it sticks to your flesh.

“Thanks,” you say to him, giving a small nod and not moving your hands from your chest.

And Minho retreats upstairs quickly, trying his best to avert his gaze as you remain in the kitchen.

As Joon babbles incoherently next to you, you can’t help but feel stupid, a sense of shame and embarrassment replacing the excitement you had to be preparing lunch alongside Minho for the afternoon. You’re in disbelief he’s practically seen you half naked like this, and you feel inadequate at not being able to stop Joon from committing the incident in the first place. As you run your hands up and down the raised goosebumps on your arms, you do your best to hold back tears, hoping Minho won’t think less of you for being caught in such a humiliating accident.

Minho is gone for a little while, and you blot at the wet patches on your shirt as you wait, Joon now laughing at your messy state. You can’t help but laugh a little, too, admittedly amused at what a disaster the afternoon has been- and you haven’t even begun the cooking part of it yet.

When he returns, he tosses you a large white bath towel and a gray t-shirt, still keeping his gaze on the floor instead of on yours.

“Here,” he says simply, his veiny arm scratching the back of his head. “I can also get a sweater if you’re cold.”

As you observe the t-shirt, you realize it’s one of his, not one of Mrs. Lee’s. For some reason, you’d assumed Minho would opt for a woman’s clothes as your change, but the t-shirt has clearly been pulled from his closet, and you blush a little at the idea of wearing his clothes.

“This is fine,” you reply, wrapping the bath towel around your body and excusing yourself to the bathroom.

You peel the sticky clothes off your body, crumpling them into a pile and changing into Minho’s t-shirt. It’s a bit large on you, but it’s much more comfortable, hanging loosely off your body and covering every bit of you that was previously exposed. His shirt smells like him, too, a pleasant scent of laundry detergent and his musky cologne.

When you exit the bathroom, you gesture to the change of clothes, your wet crumpled clothes balled in your hand. “I kinda look like you now,” you say, and Minho chuckles.

“You can keep it,” he responds, giving you another once-over and nodding shyly. “It looks better on you, anyway.”

He holds his hand out to you for the wet clothes, which he kindly takes from you to put in the wash. As he does, you go to the fridge to retrieve more orange juice for Joon- except there is none. You desperately search for milk, orange juice- any form of a snack that will keep him busy until his mealtime. But the kitchen is void of anything he can consume, and you begin to panic a little, knowing Joon hasn’t eaten in a good while now.

“That was the last of his orange juice,” you say to Minho when he returns. “And there’s not much else for him to snack on.”

Minho searches the kitchen too, digging through cabinets and moving around jars in the fridge to check for expiration dates. But he quickly realizes you’re right- the fridge is even more sparse than he’d assumed it to be.

“I guess we’ll have to make a trip to the store, then. How do you feel about strapping him into a car seat?”

“I’ve never done it,” you reply nervously.

“I can show you,” Minho says, grabbing his keys off the kitchen counter and spinning them around his index finger. “We can do it together.”

The nearest grocery store is just 20 minutes out from the Lee household. Minho drives a fancy black SUV, and he guides you through how to strap Joon into his car seat, which you carry out with no issues. He drives with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually on the center console as you chat with him about your university courses. For the first time, you notice how Minho seems much more comfortable around you now, cracking jokes occasionally and smiling at your stories about your afternoons alone with Joon. When Joon chimes in from the back seat with his excited babbling, you and Minho babble equally in response, sharing laughter at the ridiculous exchanges among the three of you.

You opt to carry Joon inside the grocery store while Minho walks alongside you, checking off a list he routinely uses to stock up on all of Joon’s favorite foods. And the atmosphere around you is homely, instilling the same sense of comfort in you as your afternoons alone with Joon. One that reminds you why you’re doing this job in the first place- you feel respected here, like your efforts don’t go unnoticed, and like you belong. It fills the lonely void inside of you with the sounds of Joon’s laughter, Minho’s tales of his classes and the trivial tasks of grocery store runs and learning to maneuver a baby car seat.

“I think that’s it,” Minho says as he checks the list one last time. “Milk, juice, bread…” he reads the items one by one again, and then nods affirmatively when he’s ensured they’re in the basket.

“That’s it,” he repeats, shooting you a small smile. “Let’s go pay.”

An older cashier gestures you to her lane at the registers, beginning to scan your items as Minho places them down on the conveyor belt. And then she gives a little wave to Joon, who curiously stares back at her.

“What a beautiful baby,” she says, pausing from scanning with a jar of mashed carrots in her hand.

Joon smiles in response, a trickle of drool escaping his lips.

“And what a beautiful family,” she continues, looking back and forth between you and Minho. “It’s not easy being young parents, but I can tell the two of you are doing a fine job at it.”

“Oh,” you say, chuckling lightly. “We’re not-”

“Thank you,” Minho interrupts, placing an arm around your waist and pulling you a little closer to him.

“We don’t get told that very often.”

You almost freeze at the contact, butterflies erupting in your stomach as he keeps his hand on the small of your back. This woman thinks the two of you are a couple- and worse, Minho is playing along with it. You can’t figure out why he’d entertain such a blatant lie, but you don’t interrupt him either, curious to see where he’s taking this little bit.

“People can be so unfair,” the cashier replies, shaking her head. “As long as the child is cared for, your status shouldn’t matter.”

“Exactly,” Minho replies, throwing his hand in the air like she’s making a point that pertains to him. “You know, when we got married, everyone told us it would never work. And now look at us- our child just turned 1 and we’re already making plans for a second honeymoon.”

“That’s amazing!” The woman says, clasping her hand over her heart like she’s touched by the bogus story.

“It is, isn’t it honey?” Minho says, turning to you.

Thoughts swirl your mind about this performance he’s putting on, but you’re undoubtedly entertained by the whole thing, stifling laughter as you nod in response.

“It is amazing,” you say finally. “We eloped and had a shotgun wedding- booked it to Italy right after and now we’re thinking of taking the little one to Paris for a real ceremony.”

The older woman removes her glasses now, wiping her eyes and shaking her head in disbelief. You can’t help but feel bad for her, seeing how easily she’s falling for your blatant lies, but Minho shows no remorse, grinning ear to ear and keeping his hand on the small of your back.

“Well I’ll tell you what,” the woman says, putting her glasses back on and shifting her eyes around the store.

“Since you guys just made my day, I’m going to provide you with our senior discount. It’s not everyday I see a young couple so beautiful raising such a darling little child.”

“Oh, you really don’t-” you start to say, and Minho interrupts you before you can finish.

“That would mean the world to us,” he says in an exaggerated voice, giving the cashier a little bow. “It would help us out a ton.”

You want to protest, to slap Minho in his pretty little face and ask what the hell he thinks he’s doing lying for a discount like this, but you’re afraid the cashier will see right through your whole stunt and reprimand both of you. So you just nod and let Minho take the lead again.

“Thank you,” you echo back to her,” holding Joon’s stubby little fingers as the woman types a lengthy code into the computer.

And Minho smiles at you, shooting you a little wink as he gathers boxes of cereal and jars of food in his arms.

“What was that?” You practically yell as you exit the store, balancing Joon in one arm and a bag of groceries in another. “You totally lied to her.”

“I didn’t lie,” Minho says. “I told her a different reality.”

“That is literally what a lie is,” you echo back to him, securing Joon in his car seat and lining grocery bags on the floor. Minho slides into the driver's seat again, putting his keys in the ignition but not yet starting the car as he waits for you to get in, too.

“I mean, that was like a 10% discount,” you continue, huffing frustratedly as you wait for him to speak. “How is that worth telling someone a whole list of lies?”

“You know, there’s this really cool theory called the anthropic principle,” Minho begins, looking straight ahead through the windshield. “Suggests the existence of a multitude of universes.”

“What?”

“So,” he continues. “Philosophically speaking, maybe in one of those we're married, and we have a child, and our honeymoon was in Italy.”

You stay quiet for a moment, pondering his words, completely unsure of if he’s flirting with you or teasing you right now.

“And maybe,” he chimes in again. “In one of them, we robbed the store and killed the cashier. And in another, we don’t even know each other.”

“What are you getting at?” You say, narrowing your eyes in confusion.

“It’s not lying,” Minho says with a smile as he finally starts up the car. “We just told her about a different reality.”

“So it’s lying,” you say with a smile, unable to hold back the giggle that escapes your lips.

“A little,” he finally says. “But it was fun, right?”

And you start to say no, but you can’t get the words out, aware you’ll be lying twice today if you do.

Minho takes your silence as confirmation, a grin plastered on his face as he rests one arm behind your headrest to pull out of the parking lot. And you can’t help but smile, too, the spontaneous thrill of lying to the cashier admittedly being some of the most fun you’ve had all week. And the conclusion stands- Minho’s a little odd. But he’s great company.

Mrs. Lee is late again tonight, the second hand on the clock ticking in slow intervals as it nears 10pm. You yawn for the umpteenth time tonight, exhausted from having done so much today, wanting nothing more than to sleep in the comfort of your own bed at home and mentally recharge for another day of this tomorrow. But you’ve promised to wait for her, always eager to wait it out until the last second, because Mrs. Lee always expresses her sincerest gratitude when you wait for her.

“Sorry, she’s really late today,” Minho says as he lowers the volume on the television. You completed a few more chores around the house after dinner while Minho powered through his schoolwork, putting Joon to bed before settling on the sofa and watching old cartoon reruns. Now you’ve been in and out of sleep for the better part of an hour, Minho remaining close by watching infomercials again, peering at your tired figure and feeling guilty that you’ve been here so long.

“It’s okay,” you reply quietly, letting out another yawn. You cross your arms over yourself, still dressed comfortably in Minho’s t-shirt, and do your best to keep your gaze on the television.

Tonight Minho is stuck on an infomercial for artificial plants, the dull narration lulling you to sleep even further as he checks the time on his watch and glances nervously at the front door.

Minho cranes his neck at your figure again, not missing the way gray bags hang heavy below your eyes, your lashes half-lidded as you feign sleep and force your gaze onto the infomercial.

“Don’t you have an early exam tomorrow?” You say to Minho, another yawn escaping your lips as you speak. “Don’t wait up on my account. You should get some sleep.”

Minho shuts off the television, standing up from where he’s sitting and dusting off his pants.

“I’ll take you home,” he announces, fishing around on the table for his car keys.

“It’s okay,” you reply, not wanting to inconvenience him anymore than you already have today. “I can walk to the bus stop.”

“You’re not walking,” Minho retorts, scoffing as you sit up and rub your tired eyes with the back of your hand. “It’s pitch black outside.”

“It’s fine,” you say, gathering your book bag and rushing to put your shoes on. It’s a race between the two of you now, Minho scrambling to locate his car keys while you get ready to leave for the evening.

“It’s really not a problem- where are my keys?” Minho mutters to himself, patting the pockets on his jacket and rearranging stacks of papers on the coffee table.

“I’m fine, really.”

“No, I’ll drive you,” Minho says, still tossing aside the mess he’s made to locate his keys.

“I’ll walk,” you reiterate again, and Minho finally exhales frustratedly.

“Then I’ll walk with you,” he finally announces, ditching the car keys altogether and stopping to look at you. He looks tired, too, evident bags under his eyes and his hair tousled from running his hands through it frustratedly.

“Minho, I really don’t want to burden you-”

“It’s not a burden.”

As he speaks, you hear Joon’s baby monitor alerting you that he’s awake for the evening, wailing loudly when he realizes that he’s alone. It’s perfect timing, too, Minho already having planned to wake him up so he can walk you back.

“Wait here,” Minho says to you as he begins toward the stairs. “I’ll get his harness.”

The dim street lights illuminate the dark paved roads, a crisp chill in the air as you walk alongside Minho with your hands in your pockets.

Joon sits comfortably in his harness against Minho’s chest, curiously taking in the atmosphere around him as you walk in silence to your bus stop. It’s not a long walk, only 20 minutes from Minho’s, but you feel admittedly much safer with Minho by your side, his and Joon’s presence feeling homely even at this hour. For nearly the entirety of the walk, the two of you say nothing, too tired to engage in conversation, but still comfortable in the presence of each other, and not needing to say anything. Joon babbles saliva every now and then, Minho bringing a finger up to wipe his chin, and the only other sounds are that of crickets and the gentle sway of the trees.

“This is me,” you say to Minho when you reach the familiar blue bench of your stop.

You sit on one side of the bench, slinging your book bag over beside you and crossing your legs. And to your surprise, Minho occupies the other side, one hand resting gently on the back of Joon’s head while the other pats his back gently.

“You don’t have to wait,” you tell Minho quickly, and he just shakes his head silently in response.

The silence between you remains, Joon toying with the collar of Minho’s shirt as you wait for the bus. There’s so much you want to ask Minho, so much you still want to find out from him. You’re well aware that you haven’t quite figured him out yet, but you’re undoubtedly sure that he is a nice guy, after all. From lending you his t-shirt, waiting up for you on late nights, even walking you to your bus stop and waiting for the bus with you. You think briefly back to his little joke at the grocery store, smiling to yourself when you remember he’d chosen to pretend you were a married couple for no other reason than to make you laugh after having had such a rough day. And his innate fascination with looking at everything through a philosophical lens, the passion for his favorite subject so robustly present wherever he goes.

“What’s that theory again?” You ask Minho as your thoughts verbalize amidst the silence.

“Hm?”

“The one about the universe.”

“The anthropic principle?” He questions, and you hum in response.

“Yeah, that one. Do you think there are like, a million versions of us right now, just…sitting here?”

“Sure,” Minho replies. “But the conditions would have to be just right.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the theory states that conditions have to be just right for us to coexist in the universe we’re in right now. It’s sort of like a coincidence that this one evolved so that we could thrive in it. So there might be other versions of us, just not as definitive. We might be rocks, or bugs. Or maybe there’s a more advanced version, where we’re still on our honeymoon in Italy.”

“Or the one where we killed that cashier,” you chime in.

“Exactly,” Minho replies, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You ponder his words for a moment.

“Do they all follow the same timeline?” You ask him.

“What do you mean?”

“Do they all last forever? What if we got divorced? Would we part ways in every universe?”

Minho stays quiet for a moment, thinking back to the philosophical theories tucked in the back of his mind.

“I don’t know,” he finally replies. “I’d like to think some versions have a happy ending, but maybe some of them don’t.”

As silence falls over you again, your bus finally turns the corner, making its way down the street toward your stop.

“That’s me,” you say, getting up and gathering your belongings again.

Minho stands up, too, saying nothing as the bus finally halts in front of you, the brakes screeching to a stop with the loud exhaust of the doors as they open.

“Thanks,” you say to Minho before getting on. “For walking me.”

“It’s no problem,” he replies, shooting you a tired smile.

Minho watches as you board the bus, taking your seat toward the back. He scans the aisles momentarily, making sure you’re sat somewhere safe, away from anyone he might deem sketchy at this hour. And when he feels confident you’ll make it home okay, he brings Joon’s hand up in front of him, giving you a little wave as he watches you smile back through the tinted windows, sending him off with a wave back.

From then on, things shift between the two of you. Minho is a constant, always offering to walk you home on late nights to engage in discussions about your university work or his favorite theories. When he’s home early from his classes, the two of you enjoy cooking for Joon together, making trips to the grocery store where the cashiers are now fully convinced you’re a married couple. On late nights, the two of you often engage in lighthearted philosophical debates while you wait for Mrs. Lee to get home for the evening. When he’s walking you home for the night, doing homework alongside you or just passing by, Minho indulges you in all his favorite philosophical questions, and you entertain them, using the opportunity to get a better glimpse into his mind and how he thinks.

It’s exactly this that tears down Minho’s walls, you find- he, in all his philosophically-educated glory, sharing his perspective while you poke holes in his arguments and reach a conclusion together. Sometimes you’ll reach a stalemate, the argument fizzling out with no clear answer. And sometimes he can change your mind almost instantly, the arguments leaving his lips like second nature, always quick to persuade you in the opposite direction and provide clear reasoning. He’s very skilled at his work, and you quickly realize why he’s so passionate about philosophy in the first place.

It’s not something Minho’s used to yet- having a companion like this, one who actually cares about anything he has to say. Someone to come home to, somebody to bask in the simplicities of life with and affirm that he’s not completely incapable of making real human connections. And admittedly, maybe he loves playing house with you, coming home to your home-cooked meals and caring for the baby together.

Maybe this version of the universe deems you a babysitter, and he, just an outcast. But sometimes Minho swears he can see different versions where you’re so much more than that to each other.

In late November, you take your first week off, leaving on a small family trip to a city just a few hours out to go see extended family.

You tell Minho of your little excursion the week prior, and he pretends to be disheartened, but you know deep down he must be relieved to have some space to himself again. Of course you’re not able to watch Joon, and Mrs. Lee has a friend watch him in your absence, but you’re surprised at how much you miss the Lee household when you’re not there. The trip to the city is filled with repetitive questions from family about your major, your internship, your potential salary in an entry-level position and general university questions. And yet all you catch yourself thinking about is Joon, and Mrs. Lee and especially Minho.

You wonder what he’s doing in the comfort of his grand room all by himself, surrounded by books and tall windows. Minho once told you that he can go a whole day without talking when he’s not having philosophical debates with you over coffee. You wonder if he’s talked today, or if he attended his classes or how his exam on Tuesday went. Thoughts of him plague your mind every waking second- whether Minho would like a certain food, if Minho would agree with this statement, even what the people around you would think if you dragged him along and played house with him like you do back home. In this version of the universe, maybe he’s reading a book or watching a movie, but in another, he could be right here, telling his string of lies to your extended family.

On the last day of your family vacation, you find yourself in an old bookstore, and all you can think about is Minho. He’d love it here, you think, grazing your fingertips along the old cracked spines and yellowing pages. And as you scan through the philosophy section, several of the books already piquing your interest, you spot it.

The small familiar crimson book, just barely larger than your hand, delicate to the touch and painted with the same Cupid depiction as the one you know so well. A first edition copy of Dorothy Tennov’s Love and Limerence. You can’t help but smile to yourself, scanning the book’s contents briefly before closing it again and bringing it up to the counter. It’s not like you’re trying to worsen this little developing crush you have on Minho, but he seems to be everywhere you go- and candidly, you just want to have him figured out.

When you return to the Lee household from your vacation, the atmosphere is calm, sunbeams shining through the large glass windows and illuminating the house with a romantic glow. Joon eats his breakfast well, downing his orange juice and causing you little trouble throughout the day. And Minho arrives just after 3, his backpack slung over his shoulder and a book in hand.

Your heart beats erratically to see him again, trying your best to avert his gaze as he enters through the front door and kicks off his shoes. When he makes his way through the kitchen, you attempt to look busy, wiping down the counters with a kitchen rag and balancing Joon in your arms.

“Hi,” Minho says, a little shyly as you keep your eyesight on the granite counter below you.

“Hey,” you respond, pretending like you hadn’t noticed him enter the room, when in reality, you’ve been well aware of his arrival since he parked his car out front.

“How was your trip?” Minho asks, setting down his backpack and loosening the collar of his sweater.

He’s dressed for the chilly weather outside, a simple black knit sweater paired with blue jeans.

“It was good,” you reply, folding the rag with one hand and setting it aside. “I kinda missed it here.”

Minho smiles at you nervously, toying with the hem of his sweater as he hears you speak.

“It was pretty quiet without you here. I think Joon missed you.”

“Did he?” You question excitedly, poking at Joon with your finger and cooing at him. “Is that right? You missed me?” And Joon giggles excitedly, smiling between the two of you.

When the room falls quiet again, Minho clears his throat like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, instead keeping his gaze fixed on yours. The room is teeming with awkward tension between the two of you, two hearts clouded in desire to act on this conflicting emotion of fleeting lust and a mutual understanding of each other, but neither one of you say anything, letting it die with your silence and circle your minds aimlessly again.

“I got you something,” you say suddenly, and Minho’s heart quickens a little.

“Me?” He questions, pointing to himself as if you need clarity of who he speaks of.

“Yes, you. It’s in my bag upstairs.”

And you begin your ascent to the staircase, motioning for Minho to follow you as you bring Joon with you.

“Close your eyes,” you tell Minho when you‘ve entered the library again.

“Should I be scared?” He asks, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

“Close them!” You exclaim, and he finally puts his hands out in front of him, shutting his eyes, a big grin plastered on his face. You place the book in Minho’s palms gently, making sure to position it so that the cover is facing him properly.

“Now open.”

When Minho opens his eyes again, he doesn’t even need to read the words before knowing what it is. He’s immediately familiar with the first edition of Dorothy Tennov’s Love and Limerence he holds in his hands, uniquely characterized by the contrasting art style to his, and the much older, yellowing pages.

“My book,” Minho says, biting his lip as he holds back a bigger smile, one that will most definitely point to the incriminating fact that he’s smitten.

“Your book,” you echo, leaning on the wall across from him. “It’s a first edition. The bookkeeper said they’re pretty rare to come by.”

“You didn’t have to-”

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply, fixing Joon’s hair and averting Minho’s gaze. You’re afraid if you make eye contact with him, this whole nonchalant front will crumble down in front of you, because you’re embarrassingly smitten with him, too.

“Thank you,” Minho says, thumbing the raised gold-foiled cover outline of Cupid. “I’ll go put it with the rest of them.”

And he disappears down the corridor, his book tucked in the endeared clutch of his hands.

While Minho adds his book to the rest of his collection, you put Joon down for his nap, gently placing him on the soft blanket in his crib and adjusting the baby monitor. He blinks up at you a few times, his lips pulling into a shaky smile as his lashes finally flutter shut and a wave of sleepiness washes over him. You exit the room quietly, closing the door just halfway like you always do, and then make your way down the corridor to Minho’s room. The door is left ajar, but you hear him shuffling about, and you enter after giving a gentle knock.

Minho seems startled at this, jumping up from where he’s standing, in front of his bookshelf with Love and Limerence held open in the palms of his hands. He shuts it quickly, shoving it on the top with another stack of books, and then almost shields his bookshelf as he turns to face you.

“I didn't hear you come in,” he says, nervously shifting his eyes to more stacks of books on his window sill and nightstand.

“I put Joon down for his nap,” you reply, cocking an eyebrow as he stands there awkwardly. “Is… everything okay?”

“Yes,” he says quickly, blinking nervously when he sees you peer over his torso at the bookshelf.

“Where’d you put it?”

“Can’t remember,” Minho says, a breathy chuckle emitting from his lips as he tries his best to avoid talking about it. But you catch on- and you’re certainly not going to let him evade the subject.

“What are you hiding?” You finally ask, eyeing him with a small smile. Minho’s face drops a little, sighing once as he steps aside and grants you full visibility of his bookshelf. There’s nothing out of the ordinary- books of all colors and sizes lined neatly on the shelves, some of them left open or bookmarked. A good amount of them appear to be philosophy books, which doesn’t come as a surprise to you.

“It’s just your books,” you say flatly, and Minho scratches the back of his head before he speaks again.

“Love and Limerence isn’t a required read for university.” He says in a low voice.

“Oh,” you reply, unsure of why it should really matter to you.

“None of them are,” he continues. “It’s just my personal… collection. Of romance novels.”

And then you finally understand.

Minho- the stoic, otherwise quiet being, in all his philosophical studiousness and awkwardness, is a sucker for romance. Once the cogs begin turning in your head, they don’t stop, everything about him now making a little more sense to you. Why he stays locked up in his little tower all day reading book after book, why he’s so hopeful when he speaks of the human condition and of love, why he loves taking care of people so much. He’s just a big softie underneath it all.

“There’s nothing weird about that,” you chime in. “In fact, it’s really cool.”

“Yeah right,” he retorts.

“I’m dead serious. I’ve never met someone with so many copies of Thorns and Roses before.”

Minho shakes his head, moving to sit on his bed with his palms tucked under his legs. His gaze remains locked on the floor, an expression of shame still visible on his face. And when you see him exhale deeply, like he’s been nervously holding his breath all this time, you feel bad for him. If there’s anything you’ve learned about him since meeting him, it’s that he’s really a bit of a dork. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him look so vulnerable before.

“Which one’s your favorite?” You ask, skimming your finger along the neat row of spines.

He shrugs. “Pride and Prejudice, maybe. But these days it’s Love and Limerence.”

Minho’s voice is trembling, just above a whisper as he reads off his list of favorite novels to you. And you chuckle softly in reply, pulling the little red book out of its respective home on the shelf and tossing it to him.

“Read me your favorite passage.”

He furrows his brows a little, like he thinks you might be making fun of him. But when you take a seat next to him on the bed, wide-eyed and gesturing to the book in his hands, he realizes you’re genuinely asking him to.

“Go on,” you say, gesturing to the book once more.

Minho opens the book to the middle, flipping through yellowing pages with small font. Most of the pages are littered generously with blue sticky notes, Minho’s messy handwriting annotating all his favorite passages. When he finds the page he’s searching for, he eyes you cautiously, as if waiting for permission to begin reading. And with a deep breath, he begins, his voice shaking a little as he finds his footing.

“Now by these presents let me assure you that you are not only in my heart, but my veins, this morning. I turn from you half abashed--yet you haunt me, and some look, word or touch thrills through my whole frame--yes, at the very moment when I am labouring to think of something, if not somebody else.”

At the last words, his gaze meets yours again, eyelashes trembling as he waits for your reaction. He waits for you to laugh, or to dismiss the words, or leave altogether. But you just stare back at him, your heart beating erratically at the poetry he utters, completely in awe with him.

He feels otherworldly at this distance, this intricate fascination with love and human connection. The way his brown tresses fall loosely in front of his big eyes as he speaks, his plump lips pulling into a nervous smile to reveal the row of skewed teeth you find a home in every time. He’s like the passage reads- thrilling your whole frame, consuming you whole and filling your mind with thoughts of him, and his poetry and his kind demeanor. You find yourself a little closer to him, your eyes darting to his lips and then back to his curious eyes, fantasies of him running rampant in your mind.

And Minho keeps his gaze locked on yours, too, leaning in a little closer to you, the book closing on its own as his hand slips away from holding it open and onto the bed beside you. The implications are there, the atmosphere around you heavy with desire and uncertainty, and just as you wield the courage to bring your lips a little closer to his, you’re promptly interrupted.

“Minho-ah!” A voice calls from downstairs. You quickly clock it as Mrs. Lee’s, who must be home early from work.

“I’m home early!” She calls again, confirming your theory, her footsteps getting louder as she makes her way up the stairs.

You sit up promptly, smoothing down your shirt and standing to bow when Mrs. Lee pokes her head in the doorway. Minho stands up too, making the whole situation look unbearably obvious, and you pray she can’t tell what’s going on between the two of you.

“Y/n,” she says with a warm smile. “I’m sorry I forgot to tell you I would be home a little earlier today. Joon has a doctor’s appointment.”

“No worries at all!” You voice back, bowing again as she smiles. “I was actually going to leave early today. I have a bit of a headache.”

“Oh, do you want a cup of tea?” She asks, heavy concern present in her voice.

“No thanks, I think I just need some sleep.”

You turn to Minho, who’s standing with his hands in his pockets, looking a little disappointed as you give him a small bow.

“Take care,” you say to him, pivoting to head back to the library and gather your things.

Minho hears his mom see you out of the front door, chatting briefly with you about your trip and sending you off with a little wave.

He shuts his bedroom door and locks it, sprawling out on the duvet of his bed and running his hands over the book still beside him.

He’s not sure what happened- whether you were about to kiss him, or whether it was just wishful thinking. But every way he interprets the encounter, Minho swears he can feel your yearning for him, too. Is he crazy to think you might feel the same? Maybe he, too, finds it laboring to think of something- if not, someone else, besides you.

Joon is a particularly picky eater in afternoons, making a big fuss of foods he usually devours in the mornings and evenings. He skillfully dodges every spoon, every bite and feigns his interest in even his favorite snacks and desserts. And while you’re usually patient with him, today you’re frustrated, having mentally scolded yourself several times since yesterday’s events.

A part of you wants to ditch all of this, reminding yourself that you’re here to work a job, not lust after the son of the person who hired you. But the other part of you can’t help but imagine how things would be different if you just let yourself fall gracefully into him- he’s so much more than a fleeting thought to you. You want to understand him, having challenged yourself to figuring him out from the moment you came across him. But maybe you want him to understand you, too. You want him to understand that you feel at home whenever he’s around, his philosophical discussions and this game of house you play making you feel like you belong here. You want him to understand that although you know he feels like an outcast, none of his odd quirks matter to you when he’s reading his favorite love stories across from you in the library, catching glimpses of you when he thinks you’re not looking. And that maybe this universe conditioned itself just right so that you took up this job and crossed paths- and that has to mean something bigger.

There’s nothing different about the afternoon following yesterday’s, except for you spending a considerable amount of time on your hair and makeup, the anticipation bubbling inside you at the idea of seeing Minho again. You have no definitive plan, no script of how it’s going to go when he arrives from school. But you also know there’s something in your throat that wants so desperately to get out, and you won’t let it. As Joon toys with the cereal in his bowl, he looks up at you with big, curious eyes, and you wonder what he’s thinking, if anything. He doesn't know anything beyond the simple tasks of eating and sleeping, living with the comfortable knowledge that he’s being cared for. And although it seems much easier, you can’t help but sympathize. What a gift it is to feel- what a gift it is to carry emotions so deeply they eat away at you like this.

You’re infatuated with Minho- that fact stands true. And whether or not it benefits you to do anything about it, you’re determined to do something with all of this feeling, lest it slips through your fingers like he almost did.

You don’t hear Minho come home when he does, busy in the garden tending to Mrs. Lee’s plants when the usual alert of his car pulling into the driveway passes you by. So when he wanders the corridors searching everywhere for you, you don’t take notice.

Minho’s desperate, hoping to ask you to stay just a little bit longer tonight, having also had the epiphany that he’s completely fallen for you, too. And what he hopes to do with it, he’s unsure- but he does know that every romance novel on his shelf would refute the idea of letting this feeling dissipate. Kiss her, tell her, do something. Anything.

He strides down the halls with purpose and vigor, a nervous smile pulling at his face at the thought of seeing you again. It’s all he’s thought about today, having had just two hours of sleep as he sorted out what to say to you. And while he’s not well-versed in the practice of confessing his love, he feels his whole life has been devoted to the very purpose of being here and finding you. The debates you share, midnight walks to the bus stop, the book- he’d be a fool not to reciprocate what you yearn for. And when he doesn’t find you, Minho feels the familiar pit of worry form in his stomach. He’s not accounted for a change of plans, or even what might happen if you reject his admission. He wants to believe so badly that the answer is yes, risking everything just to say something.

20 minutes after he’s been home, Minho receives a phone call, answering in a rush while he checks the upstairs rooms for you.

“Hello?”

“It’s Sujin from class,” the phone at the other end says plainly. “I’m here for our project.”

And Minho freezes, remembering very well that he has a project due very soon, and his partner is here tonight to work on it with him. He sighs heavily into the line at the change in plans, knowing he’ll have to bottle his emotions another day and act on them tomorrow when he can get you alone.

“Oh, right,” Minho responds, making his way to the stairs and jogging down them. “The door should be unlocked.”

He stuffs his phone in his back pocket, making his way to the door to meet Sujin, and as he passes the sliding door to the backyard, he finally sees you. Knelt on the ground in a white sundress, your hands tainted with soil as you tend to the tomato plants and hum to yourself. Minho smiles at the sight of you, the urge to tell you right now stronger than ever. But before he can call out to you, Sujin’s already made her way inside, peering curiously around the place and clutching her purse in hand.

“Wow,” she says, chuckling lightly. “You didn’t tell me you were rich.”

Minho scratches the back of his head awkwardly as she grazes a marble sculpture with her fingers. His eyes remain on you through the glass door, transfixed by the way you tuck your hair behind your ears and pat your dress as you stand up again. Sujin takes note of Minho’s evident distraction, briefly glancing out the window and back to him.

“Where are we working?” She asks, pursing her lips together.

“We can work upstairs,” Minho explains, as you finally make your way inside.

At first you’re confused at the sight, Minho looming over a girl much prettier than you, her long hair styled neatly over one shoulder and a matching formal two-piece hugging her curves beautifully. And then as you see her begin up the stairs in the direction of Minho’s room, you finally understand.

Of course there’s another woman.

Of course there was a catch to all of this, because why else would things condition themselves so perfectly that you’d win him over?

And suddenly everything feels pointless- confessing to him, feeling any ounce of emotion regarding all of this, even working this job. He has a girlfriend, and she’s much prettier than you are. And he's trailing behind her after giving you a shy nod, likely embarrassed at the fact that you’ll be here tending to his household while he fucks her in his upstairs bedroom.

You can’t help but think that perhaps something got lost in translation, because Minho evidently never liked you, and unless this version of the universe magically conditions to work in your favor just once, it’s going to remain that way.

When the tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes, they don’t stop. You can’t feed Joon without hiccuping through a hot rush of tears that fall from your cheeks onto his tray below him. Joon seems to sense something is wrong, pausing the task of dodging his food to observe the way your face contorts as you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. And when you do stop to look at him, all you can see is Minho, his eyes and lips resembling exactly that of his elder brother’s.

The chores feel like a futile task now, and you let them sit there for the remainder of the evening you’re working for. In fact, the only thing you do complete is the task of getting Joon to bed when the sun begins to set, marching carefully upstairs to not interrupt Minho’s time with his girlfriend. And the word makes you sick, to think that he’s been stringing you along all while having a girlfriend- a fact he so conveniently left out.

Joon goes down without a fuss, and when he’s finally asleep, you escape the confines of the second story to lock yourself in the downstairs living room and complete your school work. How much of that is spent crying instead, you can’t quite remember.

It’s just after 9 when Sujin leaves for the evening, but you’re not awake to take notice when she does. You wake to the familiar sound of infomercials playing quietly on the television in front of you, Minho sitting on the floor in front of the sofa you occupy. His head hangs as he holds a book in his lap, probably some cheesy romance he projects onto him and his girlfriend, and his thin wireframe glasses rest on the bridge of his nose.

The dull narration on the television advertises jewelry tonight, and you let out a sigh as you feel your swollen eyes adjust to the bright screen in front of you. At this, Minho turns around, giving you a sheepish smile as you try to shut your eyes again. But it’s too late- he’s already seen you awake for the evening.

“Hi,” Minho says for the first time today, bookmarking his page and lowering the volume on the television. “She’s late again today, but I saved you some takeout.”

“I’m not hungry,” you reply quickly, sitting up and reaching for your bag. “In fact, I need to go home.”

“Oh, sure,” Minho replies, a little hurt at your rushed tone. “I can walk you-”

“No need,” you say to him, pulling on your sneakers and doing everything in your power to avert his gaze. He furrows his brows a little, knowing you never reject his offers to walk you home.

“Is everything-”

“Fine. I just need to get home,” you reiterate, finally sitting down and smoothing down your wrinkled dress.

Every part of him is annoying you right now, your mind teeming with the reminder that you’ve been wasting your time trying to know him better while he’s been entertaining a whole girlfriend these past few months.

“Y/n, wait,” Minho calls, still intent on telling you tonight, while the feelings remain stronger than ever. But you’ve already crossed the room to the front door, where you avert his gaze so he won’t see you begin to cry again.

“Bye,” you call to him, not even looking back before you’re turning the knob and seeing yourself out. “Tell Mrs. Lee it was an emergency.”

And he wants to ask if it was, but he can’t, staring at your rushed figure jogging down the street as you distance yourself from him before he can string you along any further.

Thus begins the game of avoidance.

It starts through keeping your conversations with Minho as short as possible, not engaging him when he tells you about theories he’s studied this week or what his days on campus were like. When he asks about your day, you give him one-word responses, muttering a simple “fine” before turning your attention to Joon again.

When Minho asks to go to the grocery store, you pretend you have a headache- for three days straight. So he makes the trips solo, balancing bags on one arm and telling you about how the cashiers have begun to ask where his pretend wife’s been. You give him no reaction, nodding as you feed Joon his dinner and glance at the clock for the umpteeth time, desperate to get away from him.

And the mystery woman remains, marching into the Lee household in afternoons like she owns the place, already having memorized the path to Minho’s room as she makes her way up the stairs and doesn’t acknowledge you. She’s beautiful everyday that she’s here, short skirts and long ponytails you can’t seem to look away from. And she’s even more hypnotic when she’s in the presence of Minho, the two of them as a couple certainly a sight for sore eyes. If they were a married couple, you’d reckon they'd be much more distinguished than you and Minho would.

“Do you want a coffee?” Minho peers into the library one night to ask you. You keep your gaze locked on the computer in front of you, trying your best to keep your guard up as he waits for a response.

“No, thank you,” you say coldly, continuing to work on your essay.

When he realizes you’re not going to say anything else, Minho enters the room reluctantly, his hands shoved in his pockets as he leans against the doorframe and gives you a once-over. You say nothing, still, holding back your emotions so as not to cause a scene. And Minho can tell something’s wrong in the way that you shift your eyes to him briefly and shake your head as if scolding yourself for doing so.

“Did I do something?” Minho finally asks, his voice a little shaky.

“No,” you say quickly, skimming the same sentence on your laptop screen over and over again.

“Are you… sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

He fiddles with a loose thread in the pocket of his pants, keeping his gaze on the floor and thinking about your differing behavior toward him the past week.

“We just haven’t talked much. And you never really leave here anymore. I wanted to make sure I didn’t overstep any boundaries-”

“Overstep?” You interrupt, scanning your eyes over the screen of your computer. “There’s nothing to overstep. I get paid to watch your brother, not hang out with you.”

You feel guilty the minute the words leave your mouth, but you feel even worse knowing he’s just been stringing you along with a girlfriend this whole time. The atmosphere feels akin to when you first met him, awkward and cold, and with tensions high like this, you don’t feel at home in the Lee household anymore.

“Sorry,” Minho says, nodding. “You’re right. I guess I’m overstepping by asking.”

You only look up at him when he leaves, his shoulders sagging as he leaves you alone once again- only this time, you have a feeling he’s going to stop making an attempt to rekindle things anymore.

And you’re right- Minho stops trying entirely. There are no more offers to walk you home, no philosophical debates over coffee or grocery store trips where you act as a married couple. You’re still covered in knit blankets when you fall asleep accidentally on the couch, but Minho doesn’t stick around watching his infomercials to wait up for you anymore. And he still saves you his takeout when he orders, but he leaves it neatly packaged for you in the fridge instead of bringing it up to you like he used to.

You’ve gone from a mutual infatuation for each other to complete strangers once again. The house feels lonely and cold like it once did, your only real human interaction occurring in the few minutes you have with Mrs. Lee at the start and end of the day.

Minho doesn’t talk to you at all, locking himself away in his room like he did when you first started caring for Joon. And when you see him in passing at late hours of the night, he looks indifferent, sagging his shoulders as he averts your gaze with a book in hand and disappears down the corridors again. At some point, you begin to see his girlfriend less- in fact, his stoic composure makes you wonder if something’s happened between them. But as time goes on, you start to realize this is less about his girlfriend- and more about you.

What a gift it is to feel- but also what a curse. To let something consume you so entirely you can barely breathe without it. It’s laboring to think of anything else, of anyone else besides Minho and what he means to you. And as you replay your last interaction in your head for the nth time this evening, you think back to the day you started here. You knew the fundamentals of caring for a baby, having trained just enough to land a job doing it. All you wanted was to be liked by Mrs. Lee, and by baby Joon- and by extension, Minho. This household quickly became someplace you felt like you actually belonged in. But your purpose here has completely diverted from its original path, having prioritized Minho’s complexities and his feelings toward you above what you were hired here to do. You’ve experienced a roller coaster of emotions trying to understand him, and just when you thought you’d cracked him, you realized his heart belongs to someone else. So with the comfortable knowledge in mind that perhaps the universe isn’t, in fact, conditioned for you to mean anything more to him than just a babysitter, you understand it’s time to stop forcing any other version of it.

There’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary two weeks into your avoidance of Minho.

You still haven’t talked, he still keeps his distance and you get paid to perform the job you’re here to do. But one afternoon before Minho’s even home from school, Joon refuses to eat. It starts with a tantrum he throws at breakfast time, which you consider typical as he knocks his cereal onto the floor and waves his hands around restlessly. You can only spoon feed him a couple spoons of yogurt before he’s put down for his afternoon nap. And when you wake him for his post-nap meal, he’s just as fussy. He seems to be bothered by something, crying loudly as you offer him different snacks and try your best to calm him down. But nothing seems to work, and when he begins refusing his bottles late into the afternoon, you start to panic.

Mrs. Lee isn’t home for a few hours, you’re unsure of when Minho gets home and you don’t have any way of getting to a hospital right now. The guilt and the fear eat away at you as Joon cries loudly, his face turning a bright shade of red as snot dribbles from his nose onto his shirt. He must be hungry, and clearly uncomfortable by something, only you’re entirely unsure what. His pacifier doesn’t calm him, nor does his favorite stuffed animal or his favorite television program. When his crying reaches the 10-minute mark, you feel hopeless, well prepared to drag him onto the bus to the nearest hospital yourself, fully convinced you’re going to lose your job. And as you begin to cry, too, the front door opens, Minho walking in with his backpack clutched casually in one hand and his car keys in the other. His girlfriend is with him this time, her head hanging as she uses her phone, completely oblivious to the atmosphere around her.

“Minho,” you call helplessly from the kitchen, and his head snaps instantly to look at you. Your eyes are nearly bloodshot from crying, your sleeves drenched in tears from wiping your eyes and your voice shaky as you speak. It’s the first time you’ve said his name in weeks, you realize, feeling your heart race as you call for him.

“What happened?” Minho asks when he turns the corner, throwing off his backpack and approaching a very fussy Joon.

“He won’t eat,” you reply through hiccups, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your sweater again. “I’ve tried everything. He won’t stop crying.”

Minho takes Joon in his arms, rocking him gently back and forth, to no avail; Joon starts crying even harder now, dribbling snot onto Minho’s sweatshirt and hitting his chest repeatedly.

“I’ll have to take him to the clinic,” Minho says in a rushed tone, fishing his car keys out of his pocket and making his way toward the door.

His girlfriend finally turns the corner into the kitchen, putting down her cellphone and huffing frustratedly.

“What’s going on?”

“Sorry,” Minho replies, shoving past her with Joon in his arms. “I have to go. We can work on our project another time.”

Your heart drops at the words- project. Project, as in a project for his university. With a classmate.

You want to cry more now, for being so stupidly angry with him over nothing, but you still have to help Minho take Joon to the clinic. Sujin doesn’t protest, quick to exit without so much as a goodbye as Minho scrambles to fetch Joon’s car seat.

“I’ll get him in the car seat,” you say, pulling your sneakers on as he balances Joon in his arms.

“You’re coming?”

“Of course I’m coming,” you scoff, already taking Joon from his arms and ushering him outside. “Go start the car.”

“Lee?” A nurse calls, holding a clipboard close to her chest as she scans the waiting room.

You and Minho both stand up, Minho balancing Joon in his arms as the nurse gestures you to the door.

“Please, follow me.”

Both of you walk side-by-side down the corridor as she double-checks papers on her clipboard, making a sharp right and leading you into a private room.

Minho sets Joon down on the examination table, holding his arms to steady him, and you stand beside him as you wait for the doctor.

“She’s just reviewing the results,” the nurse says, referring to the x-rays Joon took earlier. “She’ll be in shortly to discuss them.”

Minho nods silently as the nurse leaves the room, leaving the two of you alone once again. You say nothing, unsure of how to break the awkward silence as Minho wipes a string of drool from Joon’s mouth and avoids eye contact with you.

You feel awkward, embarrassed and so, so stupid, for having treated Minho like absolute scum because you assumed the worst of him. It breaks you to see him avert your gaze like this, treating you the same way he did when you first crossed paths. He has his guard completely up again, and you’re not sure he’s ever going to let it down around you. As you lose yourself in doubtful thoughts, the door opens, Joon’s doctor sauntering inside and wiping her hands with the strong scent of hand sanitizer.

“Hi there,” she says cheerfully, giving you both a warm smile. “Are we here for baby Joon today?”

“Yes,” you both say in unison, and she laughs a little.

“You two are very synced. They say it happens in the first year of marriage.”

“We’re not married,” Minho chimes in quickly, and you turn to look at him, feeling a pit in your stomach all over again.

“No?” She questions. “My apologies. Is mom here today?”

“I’m just his babysitter,” you say quietly. “This is his brother.”

“I see,” the doctor says, eyeing you both. “Well you may notice I’m fairly calm, and that’s because there’s no terrible news I have to share. Baby Joon is just suffering from a little mucus buildup. He’s probably feeling the impaction, and the discomfort has caused a loss of appetite.”

You feel a weight off your shoulders instantly, relieved that this isn’t a more serious matter. He’s going to be fine, you think to yourself. He’s going to be his normal self as soon as this is over.

“… Just be sure to use a syringe to drain the mucus a couple times per day, and make sure he gets plenty of sleep.”

As the doctor writes Joon a prescription for his saline syringe, you catch Minho’s gaze briefly, shooting him a relieved look. He gives you a small nod in response, as if to say he’s glad you came along. And he is, he just can’t say it out loud.

“I think he’s finally sleeping,” Minho says, patting Joon’s back gently as he stands up from his chair. The two of you have been sat in the library for nearly two hours since getting back home, in complete silence as you read your books and wait for Joon to fall asleep. You take breaks every now and then to drain Joon’s mucus, alternating roles between holding his face still and using the syringe on him. And when he’s finally comfortable again, he dozes back off to sleep, little snores escaping his lips.

Minho leaves the room to put Joon to bed, and while he’s gone, you take the opportunity to pack your stuff and prepare to leave for the night. You feel guilty, not having said much to Minho this evening, especially with the newfound knowledge that this mystery woman was just a partner for his project. But you’re not sure what to say, well aware that he’s probably already decided you hate him, and there’s not much else you can do to fix things.

“He’s down,” Minho says as he re-enters the library.

“That’s good,” you reply with a solemn smile, packing your laptop in your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“I should get going.”

“Do you… need me to walk you?” Minho asks a little shyly, and although the offer is tempting, you shake your head no.

“I’ll be fine. It’s really not as unsafe as you’d think.”

Minho just nods, understanding that you still don’t want to be close to him. And he gives you a little bow, before he exits the room and makes his way up the stairs to his own.

As you begin to leave, an object left on the chair across from you catches your eye.

It’s Minho’s book- the first edition copy of Love and Limerence you gifted him. You take the small book in your hands, scanning its contents briefly and examining the pages. He’s already annotated several of them, despite having read the book numerous times now, and you can’t help but smile at his scribbled notes circling all his favorite quotes and underlining them twice. You know it’s valuable to him, despite coming from somebody he probably despises right now, but you decide to take it up to him anyway, not wanting him to lose it.

When you’re outside his door, you give a small knock as it’s left ajar, and Minho hums in response.

You enter quietly, holding the book out to him and shooting him a small smile.

“You left this downstairs,” you say, and Minho reaches for it quickly, embarrassed you might’ve seen some of his annotations.

“Thanks,” he replies, setting it back on his bookshelf of romance novels.

He takes a seat on the edge of his bed, patting the spot next to him, and you join him at a comfortable distance as he keeps his gaze on the hardwood floor.

For a moment, no one says anything. And then he sighs deeply, before finally speaking.

“I’m sorry. If I made you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” you’re quick to reply.

“I clearly did,” Minho retorts. “And I know I’m quiet, and I kind of shut myself off from the rest of the world. But I never meant for it to affect you.”

“It didn’t affect me,” you reiterate.

He scoffs lightly in response.

“Why won’t you just say it? You haven’t talked to me in weeks. You don’t even look at me. I clearly did something to push you away.”

You don’t reply immediately, pondering what to say. And ultimately, you let your emotions speak for themselves.

“I was jealous.”

“Of what?”

“Of the girl. The one who’s been here almost every night.”

“Sujin?”

“Look, I don’t know, okay? I don’t know who she is or what she is to you-”

“My project partner,” Minho interrupts. “One who hates my guts.”

“Project partner,” you continue. “It doesn’t matter who she is- I like you, Minho,” you finally emphasize, turning to meet his gaze. His lips are parted in shock, his eyebrows furrowed as he hears you speak.

“I’m fucking infatuated with you, and it drives me crazy. I can’t go on vacation without seeing you in the books at the stores, I can’t sleep at night without your stupid theories replaying in my head. And I jump to the worst possible conclusions when you’re even near another girl. I’m going crazy trying to be liked by you- trying to look at everything through the lens of your romance theories or your book quotes, or whatever. But it’s so scary to like someone this much.”

Minho says nothing for a minute, collecting his thoughts as you let go of the breath you’ve been holding. He’s not used to people liking him- let alone being this intrigued by him. And especially when it’s in the form of reciprocation, from the one person he’s infatuated with, too.

“Why is it scary?” Minho questions, facing you now, his eyes darting briefly over your lips and then back up to your worried gaze.

“Because I’m here for a job. I’m not supposed to be feeling all this. You’re not supposed to be part of this.”

“How do you know that?” Minho retorts, leaning in a little closer to you now.

“I just…”

“You’re allowed to feel, y/n. You’re allowed to want this.”

And before you can protest his words, his lips are on yours, kissing you passionately like he’s pacifying the arguments before they can come to fruition. Your heart beats erratically in your chest, your mind racing with a million thoughts about what you’re doing, and what this whole thing even implies, but you shut them out with the rest of your concerns, pressing your thighs together as he brings two hands to your face and cups your chin gently. His lips work against yours so beautifully, so effortlessly, like the two of you have done this several times before. And maybe you have, in all his alternate universe theories- on your honeymoon, on the run from the police- right here in the comfort of his grand bedroom, his hands snaking up to pull off your cardigan as you tug desperately at the fabric of his t-shirt. Minho says nothing between passionate kisses, afraid if he talks you might realize what’s happening and leave. But you won’t leave, especially not when you’ve been dreaming of this, too.

When your cardigan is off, Minho moves a little closer to you on the bed, letting one hand guide itself onto your waist and trace the gentle curve of your body there. He’s delicate with his movements, careful not to startle you with his touches, but he’s also admittedly thought about this for weeks. The thought of you confessing was never something that crossed his mind- he was so sure he’d driven you away after that night. Never in his wildest fantasies had Minho considered the possibility that you were this smitten with him, too. But he did have thoughts of your lips on his, thoughts of your hands intertwined with his and ungodly visions of you under him, right here in his bed. Visions of his mouth on your breasts after you’d accidentally exposed yourself to him in the kitchen and he was forced to give attention to the massive erection that grew in his pants. And after you’d gifted him his favorite book, attentive to the details he’d indulged you in which he never otherwise shared with people, visions of making love to you ran rampant in his mind, filling you up over and over again with remnants of him as a form of saying I’m infatuated with you, too.

Minho’s kisses become needier as your words replay in his head, darting his tongue out to dance against yours with the sounds of exchanging saliva present between your plump, eager lips. He pushes you back gently so that you’re now lying on his pillow, the angle so intimate, the view of his room from here like something you’re not supposed to see. The ceilings appear even larger when you’re flat against his bed, the curtains that drape over his bedpost seemingly miles high.

Minho’s kisses trail down to your neck now, eagerly peppering your flesh in wet kisses as your hands reach up to tangle in his hair, holding him closer to you and letting him graze his lips wherever he desires. You can’t help but feel guilty having him all over you like this when you remember how you’ve treated him these past couple months- criticizing his tendencies to be quiet, intruding on his space and pushing him away because of a girl you’d assumed to be his girlfriend. But you also know most of it has been because you want him to mean more to you- perhaps you’ve just been trying to change things so that in this version of the universe, he’s not just an enigma to you. You want all of this- his lips on yours, his body pressed into you and to give yourself completely to him.

“Just so we’re clear,” Minho says suddenly, pulling away from you to hold eye contact with you. “I’m crazy about you, too. I really like you.”

And you can’t help but smile back in response, pulling him in again to press his lips on yours. He smiles into the kiss, too, satisfied you’re both on the same page. And although your now eager movements imply something more is about to happen, you don’t have to verbalize anything, his fingers snaking up your shirt serving as answer enough.

“Is this okay?” Minho asks, grazing your flesh with his big hands as he toys with the hem of your shirt.

You nod in response, sitting up a little and completing the task of pulling it off over your head and discarding it beside you. You waste no time on your bra, either, reaching around to unclasp it and rid yourself of the fabric without him having to ask. His eyes widen again at the sight, having remembered every curve of your body since that incident in the kitchen. But now in front of him again, he feels his cock swell in his pants, desperate to act on the urge. In nimble movements, his hand cups the mound of your breast, kneading it gently and sighing at the sensation of your soft skin against his. His mouth finds yours again, indulging you in a slow, passionate kiss, and then he trails down until he meets his hand at the mound of your breast, pressing a chaste kiss to your flesh before finally latching his lips around your nipple.

He starts with gentle kisses while your nipple rests between his lips, a string of saliva dribbling down to coat your hardened bud. And then he takes it between his lips with more force, beginning a gentle sucking motion as he gives your other nipple attention with his free hand, circling the tip with his thumb in tender movements.

You sigh beneath him, the sensation sending a shiver up your core, your nipples hardening even more in his touch, now eager for him to give your soaking core some attention. But he takes his time stimulating you, moving to your other breast to take your nipple in his mouth and leave a trail of saliva. Your body shivers when the cool air grazes your wet nipples as he pulls away, and he meets your lips again to kiss you passionately.

While he kisses you, your hands now toy with the hem of his shirt too, signifying for him to take it off. And Minho reciprocates with a little nod, finally pulling his shirt over his head and revealing his bare chest to you. It’s a marvelous sight to see more of his honey-tanned skin, his toned muscles and his broad pectorals practically begging for you to touch them. And just above his stomach, a horizontal pale pink scar, one that he eyes momentarily and then gives you a shy shrug.

You run your fingers along the scar briefly, tracing it in its entirety and bringing your hand up to caress his face.

“I didn’t think I could be any more attracted to you,” you say to him sheepishly, tracing the scar again. “You look like the poetry you’re so obsessed with.”

Minho feels an involuntary smile pulling at his face as he leans in to kiss you again, this time intent on giving himself fully to you the way you deserve.

Your kisses both grow hungrier, needier, as your bodies tangle into each other, and Minho loops a finger into the hem of your panties, tugging them down so that he has access to your sopping cunt. As your hands tangle further into his soft brown hair, his finger traces down the length of your stomach, dipping into every curve and over every inch of flesh he only got a brief sight of. And when he finds your mound, you arch up into him, parting your legs slightly to give him access. Minho doesn’t waste another second, attaching the pads of his fingers to your clit and working you in circular motions as he kisses you. Little gasps escape your mouth as he does, breathing heavily into his kisses and grinding your core closer to him as he quickens his pace, smearing your arousal around your aching clit and circling two fingers around to massage you gently. His cock is now fully erect against his abdomen, prodding into your upper thigh as he trails his kisses down your neck again, but he’s patient, forgiving with his movements, eager to pleasure you first.

As his kisses graze your neck, you tug his boxers over his cock, pulling them down so you’re equal parts undressed. Minho winces a little at the sensation, a bead of precum already dripping down the head of his cock, and you feel yourself clench around nothing at just the sight of him hard for you.

When he takes note of your anticipation, he glances down at his own erection, locking his gaze with yours again as if to confirm again that this is okay. You nod in response, reaching your hands around to loop them behind his neck and pull him a little closer. And then your gaze falls to his cock again, waiting for him to make the next move.

The two of you say nothing as Minho’s hand finds the base of his cock, pumping himself gently before leaning in to kiss you. He lets himself hover closer over you, until his cock is kissing your entrance in the same gentle, wet movements as your lips. You lift your leg up slightly to grant him access, and then in gentle movements as your eyes remain shut, you feel him push his tip inside of you, stretching you out around his girth and causing you to gasp. He’s bigger than you anticipated, even the dripping arousal of your cunt having trouble taking him wholly. But he brings his fingers down to your clit again, massaging you slowly to ease the pain. And it works, your body relaxing around him as he pulls back a little and thrusts in again, this time pushing further until he’s completely bottomed out inside of you. You let out a fervent moan at the sensation, his cock pulsating inside of you as he holds it there, feeling every inch of you clench around him and take him so well now. And then with a gentle kiss to your lips, he begins to move, his hips pulling back slowly to thrust back inside of you.

You feel so full of him, having him exactly as you’d always imagined him- circling your thoughts, hovering over you and finally inside of you, his cock brushing against your cervix so delicately with every thrust. Your labored breaths become one as you pant into each other’s mouths with overwhelming pleasure. Minho steadies himself with one hand on the mattress beside you, quickening his pace a little as he feels his cock twitch inside of you in response to a particularly pornographic moan of yours.

“Fuck,” he breathes, shutting his eyes as he continues to slip in and out of your soaking cunt. “You’re so full of me, aren’t you?”

He brings his lips to your neck again, nibbling the flesh between his teeth and letting it bruise as you moan beneath him.

“I’ve thought about you everyday,” you respond, angling his lips to yours again as he fucks you. “I’ve thought about this so many times.”

“Yeah?” Minho says with a satisfied smile, working circles back onto your clit.

“Yes,” you breathe back, toying with his hair as your arms wrap around his neck. “I wanted you to fuck me like the characters in your romance novels.”

Minho feels his cock twitch again, wincing and slowing his pace so as not to finish just yet.

“I can’t help it,” you whimper underneath him. “I think about you all the time. I think about you fucking me all the time.”

Minho intertwines his hand with yours, pressing it down on your abdomen and letting yourself feel when his bulge fills you up at every thrust, the motion visible beneath your palms.

“Feel that, baby?” He asks between kisses to your drooly lips. “Feel how good I fuck you? Is this what you imagined?”

You gasp at the sensation once you feel it, the bulge of his cock protruding against your palm with every pump inside of you. You nod breathlessly, almost unable to reply to his words now.

“I imagined it, too,” he says, picking up his pace now. “You don’t know how badly I wanted to bend you over the couch and fuck you right there the moment I met you.”

He groans a little as you clench around him and moan in response.

“Minho,” you say breathlessly, not missing the way his cock twitches inside of you once again. “Will you finish inside of me?”

He pauses for a moment, scanning your expression for a sign of whether or not you’re being serious.

“Please,” you beg, as if reading his thoughts. “I’m on birth control. Just want to feel your seed inside of me.”

He shuts his eyes briefly as you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in a little closer.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Minho asks, locking his gaze on yours again. “I want to, but I want you to be sure about it.”

“I’m sure,” you say quickly, the last syllable hitching in the back of your throat as he hits a particularly sensitive spot. “Please, just wanna feel you fill me up.”

He thrusts harder into you now, the room teeming with the squelching noises of your pussy taking him so effortlessly.

“You like it when we play house like this, huh?” He says, wrapping a hand gently around your throat. “You like imagining me as your husband, don’t you? Fucking you like we’re married?”

And it doesn’t take you more than a second to think before you’re nodding desperately at his words. You do love it, this sense of belonging when you’re in the Lee household. But you also get aroused at this second life you lead alongside him, caring for the baby like it’s one of yours and being fucked by Minho when no one else is around to hear your lewd moans.

“Yes,” you reply, your response muffled by his grasp on your throat. “You make such a good dad.”

“We’d make such good parents,” he emphasizes, kissing you breathlessly. “What do you say I fuck a baby into you and we find out for real?”

You feel yourself contract around his girth at the words, not having considered it seriously, but turned on at the idea of carrying a child just for him.

“Is that what you want?” Minho asks, nearing his orgasm as he thrusts even faster into you now, panting into your mouth above you.

“Yes,” you reply with a whimper. “Want you to fill me up so bad.”

“Yeah?” He cuts you off, pressing your abdomen harder with his hand. “I’m gonna cum, baby. Want you to feel it.”

Your senses hone in on the feeling of your palm over his bulge, pulsating rhythmically as he nears his orgasm.

“I’m cumming, fuck, I’m gonna finish,” Minho says, shutting his eyes in pleasure as he moves at his fastest pace now, his grip around your throat holding you steady as you lose yourself underneath him. He’s never finished inside someone before, but he has no intention of pulling out now, the conversation of impregnating you sending him over the edge as he reaches the cusp of his release.

You contract around his breathlessly now, eager to take his load, never having taken someone’s either, but desperate for Minho to be your first.

And with a few more harsh thrusts, Minho’s cock twitches once inside of you, finally letting out a generous load of his cum inside of you, the gush of his release filling you up so fully, the warm sensation of his milky white release thrusting deep inside of your pussy as he fucks the rest into you.

He feels his head spin, his eyes shutting instinctively at the sensation as he lets go fully inside of you, no urgency to pull out or stave off his release like he usually has to. And it takes a while before he’s begun to soften again, the knowledge of giving you his cum almost rousing him again and lengthening the period of his release inside of you. Minho already knows he’s going to be addicted to finishing inside of you from here on out- and he doesn’t want it any other way.

The warm feeling is all it takes for you to finish in mere seconds, contracting around him as he fucks you through his orgasm, your release mixing with his and dribbling down the side of your thighs as he begins to slow down. Minho doesn’t pull out immediately, instead caressing your face to gauge your reaction as he softens inside of you.

“Was it okay?” Minho queries, tucking sweaty strands of hair behind your ears and loosening his grasp on your throat.

“It was more than okay,” you say breathlessly, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as he smiles down at you. “I feel so full of you.”

Minho kisses you sweetly, rubbing his thumb along your hand soothingly as he pulls out of you, a string of his cum connecting to you still and dribbling onto the sheets as he rolls over to lay on his side.

For a moment, the two of you say nothing, your chests rising and falling as you catch your breath and ponder the day’s events. It’s not what you expected was going to happen when you saw yourself up to his room again, but it is what you’d hoped would happen eventually. And the atmosphere feels much lighter around you now, completely void of the lingering sexual and emotional tension that’s plagued you for so long.

“Minho?” you say quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Philosophically speaking, how many versions of us do you think are lying next to each other like this, right now?”

Minho thinks over your words for a moment, and then he chuckles lightly.

“Well if the universe was conditioned right, I’d hope for an infinite amount. But considering how long it took us to get here in this version, I’d say just one.”

And he sits up, leaning in for another kiss as two fingers tuck his arousal further into you, holding his release inside of your still-sensitive body.

“Have some bacon, honey,” Mrs. Lee says to you as she scrambles to get her things together for the day. “I made a lot, so help yourself.”

“Thanks,” you reply, strapping Joon into his high chair and smoothing down your skirt.

Ever since that evening, you and Minho have been inseparable. The two of you wait until Mrs. Lee is gone for the morning, desperately grabbing at each other and giggling between kisses until Minho has to leave for his classes. And when he returns, it’s much of the same, the two of you helping put Joon down for his afternoon nap before escaping up to his bedroom and making love until Joon wakes again.

Minho is completely and utterly obsessed with you, the same way you are with him, but you both know this game of house you play can’t go on forever. Mostly because you feel the guilt eating away at you day by day, every waking minute you’re tending to your duties as a babysitter or conversing with Mrs. Lee. It’s hard to be in the same room as Minho when she’s around, the urge to just confess even more present when she attempts to facilitate conversation between the two of you and you’re forced to act like he’s still a mystery.

But you have him more figured out than you ever have before, memorizing the freckles on his body like the back of your hand, reciting his favorite quotes like prayers and replaying the melodic giggles that escape his lips. You don’t want to be apart from him, but the point still stands- it’s scary to like someone this much. He consumes you more than he ever has before, filling every waking second of your life with remnants of him. You love when he reads romantic philosophical theories to you, or when he cooks you and Joon dinner after a long day. But you feel guilty when you’re alone with Joon again, hoping he can’t somehow tell that you’re only thinking of his brother when you’re preparing his bottles or feeding him. You hope Mrs. Lee doesn’t notice when your hair is a little too tousled to have just been from a nap, or the time you had to cross your legs to keep Minho’s release inside of you when the two of you had finished just in time for her to make it home. It’s selfish, and it’s unfair. And with no sign of this fling stopping anytime soon, you don’t see any other option to be fit.

“I’m leaving,” Mrs. Lee finally says, grabbing her car keys off the kitchen table and pulling her heels on. “Make sure to get Joon his medicine!”

The two of you watch as she shuts the front door behind her, and then you wait until her car starts, holding your breath as she pulls out of the driveway and begins down the street in what feels like an agonizing amount of time.

The minute she’s gone, Minho turns to you again, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you lean back against the counter.

“Morning,” he says with a shy smile. He wastes no time leaning in for a romantic kiss, which you reciprocate, wrapping your arms around his neck and smiling into him.

When he pulls away, the two of you say nothing, holding each other in a comfortable embrace as he rubs little circles into the small of your back.

“I guess it’s just mom and dad home right now,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss to your neck. “I’ll ditch class right now if you want me to fill you up again.”

And his offer is tempting as he presses his erection into you, working more kisses down the nape of your neck and trailing his hands up your skirt.

“No,” you finally say, pushing him away and collecting your thoughts. “You need to get to class. I have a lot of stuff to do. I’m working, in case you forgot.”

“Okay, okay,” Minho says, holding his hands up in surrender. “I digress.”

He pulls back to caress your face with a visible smirk as your eyes graze his thighs, so beautifully sculpted under the fabric of his jeans. You’re not sure you’ve ever been so sinfully tempted by somebody before, like Eve to the apple, like a moth to a flame- he’s intoxicating, but you know you shouldn’t be indulging this while you’re here to fulfill your role as a babysitter.

“You should go,” you say to him, swallowing nervously as his hands trace the outline of your lips.

“Yeah,” Minho replies, a hint of disappointment present in his voice.

And without another word, he gathers his car keys off the table, sending you off with a little wave as he disappears for the day.

You may have Minho mostly figured out now- his fascination with romance and philosophy, his soft interior under the stoic exterior he presents everyone else with, his astounding levels of emotional intelligence and unwavering kindness for the people he loves. But now that things have become a little more complicated between the two of you, you fear all of this will come to an end as fortuitously as it all began.

The reality is, this isn’t one of Minho’s romance novels- you’re both real people, with emotions and convictions and reservations. And though you want this fleeting thing to last forever, you’re well aware that things don’t work that way, especially when you’re just a babysitter at the end of it all. Sure, Minho sees you as much more than that- but you were hired to be here in the Lee household, paid to fulfill your role here, and once this comes to an end, your relationship with Minho likely will, too.

… and thus, the decision to quit your job isn’t one you take lightly. It succeeds hours of thinking, weighing your options and planning out exactly what you’re going to tell Mrs. Lee when she asks why you’re leaving so suddenly. You want to do another internship, you decide on telling her, hoping she doesn’t poke enough holes to get the truth out of you- “I think far too much about your eldest son and it’s eating me alive.”

All day long, you try your best to shut Minho out of your thoughts, focusing on your online courses and caring for Joon like you used to. But it feels futile, this task of pretending things are the way they used to be. They’re not- you’re sneaking behind Mrs. Lee’s back and hooking up with her eldest son. When all’s said and done, you’ll be right back in your own home, with your parents desperate to send you elsewhere once again, and your own life to tend to. This double life you romanticize isn’t real, nor is it attainable anymore.

Your phone call with Mrs. Lee to announce your decision doesn’t set anything in stone yet, her words urging you to speak with her later this week when she has some free time. But you know once you do speak with her, you’ll only have a few evenings left with Minho until this is all over. And you don’t have the heart to tell him just yet, but if things go anything the way they did when you first brought it up to him, you know he’s going to be heartbroken.

When Minho arrives home that evening, he can already sense something is wrong. You’re sat in the garden, where you typically don’t go, your legs crossed neatly over one of the sunlounger chairs as you let your thoughts consume you. Mrs. Lee’s koi fish fountain stands nobly in front of you, a robust stream of water trickling from its lips and into the concrete bowl below. You’re mesmerized by it as you always are, the steady sound of water coupled with the birds chirping in the sunny greenery around you as peaceful as ever.

“Hey,” Minho says, sliding open the screen door and stepping outside to meet you.

“Hi,” you reply, holding a hand up over you to shield your eyes from the sun. You’d forgotten how divine he looked today, his white button up now folded up at the sleeves and exposing his veiny forearms to you.

“How was your day?” Minho asks, pressing a small kiss to your temple as he occupies the spot beside you and stares at the fountain.

“Okay,” you respond, though you’re lying through your teeth. “Joon went down about an hour ago.”

Minho nods, and then he furrows his brows together as he speaks again.

“Why are you out here?”

You shrug in response, keeping short with your words as he pushes you for answers. And you want to tell him it’s because you made the most painful decision to call Mrs. Lee and forfeit all of this, but you know it’ll only hurt more, so you divert from the truth.

“It was stuffy inside,” you voice back, shooting him a small smile.

Minho seems to relax beside you, his shoulders sagging a little as he takes notice of your calm demeanor. He doesn’t have reason to believe anything’s wrong, judging by the way you converse so casually.

“You want me to cook you something?” Minho asks, placing his palm up next to you, and you let your hand intertwine with his.

“Will you read to me?” You ask, eager to indulge in your favorite activity alongside him.

“I can read to you,” Minho echoes back, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of your hand. “Which book?”

You’re both in the cozy atmosphere of the library later that evening, Minho sat on his favorite velvet armchair as you occupy a spot in his lap with his arms wrapped around you. The book is positioned in front of him so you can both see, his fingers holding open the thin pages as the poetry leaves his lips, pausing in between lines to press kisses to the crook of your neck when he’s reminded of you in his favorite characters.

And you hold back tears in the moment, wanting so badly to tell Minho that you’ll be letting go of all of this, running back to the monotony of your old life, one where Minho doesn’t exist and you don’t have to balance the complicated feelings of liking someone to this degree. But you bite back your words, careful not to ruin the intimate moment you share while he loves you in an ignorant state of bliss.

“The pleasures of love are always in proportion to the fear,” Minho begins a new chapter, grazing your neck with his lips.

He trails a bit lower to graze your shoulder now, pressing a small trail of kisses as he pauses his reading. You giggle softly in response, feeling his fingers find the strap of your tank top to pull it down your shoulder so he can pepper kisses there, too.

“Minho,” you say softly, writhing in his embrace as he tickles every inch of your skin with his kisses, now shutting the book and setting it on the arm of the chair.

“Can’t help it,” Minho responds, shutting his eyes as he snakes his hands up the back of your tank top. “You look so beautiful right now.”

As you adjust in his lap, you can feel he’s now rock-hard in his jeans below you, his thighs flexing underneath you as he wraps two hands around your waist and runs them up and down your sides. You take the hint, turning around in his lap to face him, and let your arms wrap around his neck to steady yourself.

“What are you thinking about?” Minho asks, bringing his lips to yours as he feels his hardened cock graze against the fabric of his jeans, eager to pleasure you.

You want to express your fears, your doubts, to tell him the truth about what you spoke about on the phone with Mrs. Lee earlier today. But you can’t, not when he looks so tantalizing in front of you like this, his bulge perfectly outlined in his tight jeans and his veiny arms flexing below the fabric of his collared button-up. You’ve been roused for him since he left in the morning, his offer swirling your mind coupled with his appearance, like something out of a wet dream.

“You,” you voice back, whimpering pathetically into another kiss and rocking your hips gently over him so that he’s practically whimpering for you, too.

Neither of you have to say much, knowing already where the evening is headed, as you unzip his pants and palm his erection through the fabric of his boxers. Minho watches as you slide off his lap, dropping to your knees in front of him and tugging the fabric of his jeans. He complies with your urges, pulling them down to his knees and freeing his erection from his boxers, exhaling deeply as the cool breeze of the room grazes his leaking tip.

Without a second to waste, you take him in your mouth, letting your saliva coat his shaft as you kiss his tip tenderly and then guide him down your throat, the base of his cock just barely meeting your lips as you struggle to take him fully. Minho groans at the contact, bucking his hips off the chair to guide himself further into you, feeling his cock twitch when you gag a little at the contact. You stay like that for a good while, bobbing your head in rhythmic motions up and down his hardened length, your saliva allowing you to graze his shaft with ease.

Minho’s thighs contract desperately below him, trying his best to stave off the orgasm he’s been longing for since the moment he saw you this morning. His hands find your hair, pulling your locks into a makeshift ponytail and gasping as you take him a bit deeper now, pulling back again to pepper the tip of his wettened cock in drooly kisses.

“Fuck,” Minho breathes out, clutching the arm of the chair so desperately. “Baby, stop, I don’t want to finish yet,”

And you release him with a gentle pop, knowing exactly what it is he wants so badly. You never deny it, sitting back up again to position yourself over his cock you intertwine his hands with yours. He uses one hand to tug your panties to the side, and then in one swift motion, you guide his cock inside of you, sliding down the slick of his length and bottoming out with ease. You take him so well now, always able to adjust to his girth instantly as your cunt is always dripping in anticipation when he’s near.

Minho’s hand moves to push your tank top up, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking harshly as you begin to bounce on him with gentle movements. The room fills with sounds of panting, sucking and desperate moans as his cock fills you fully with every thrust, brushing against your cervix as he moves to your other nipple and kneads your breast desperately.

“What was that quote again?” You ask in labored breaths as he comes back up to kiss your lips.

“The pleasures of love,” he begins, breathlessly working his lips against yours as you clench around his length. “Are always in proportion to the fear.”

Minho feels his cock twitch inside of you, always nearing his finish much faster when you make him recite all his favorite quotes and book excerpts to you.

Except this one speaks much louder to you, directly aligning with your present-day emotions, circling your mind relentlessly as he fills you. Maybe this is what his book speaks of- the pleasures of love, being filled so fully and lovingly by Minho, two pieces of one whole like you’re both made for this, to make love into the late hours of the night while he recites poetry to you.

And all of this in proportion to the fear- this constant fear that he’s just a fleeting entity, that you’re both naive to play house like this and pretend it’s anything more. The fear present while you’re sneaking behind Mrs. Lee’s back, letting him fuck you like he’s married to you and indulge you in all of his deepest secrets, as though you’re the only one allowed to know him this intimately.

The love and fear and indeed in proportion to one another- you love him as much as you’re afraid of loving him.

“I love you,” you say suddenly, bringing him in for another kiss before he can respond. But the way his kisses work against yours, hungry and passionate, there’s not a hint of reluctance in his response when he pulls away to speak again.

“I love you,” Minho breathes back, working his kisses against yours as his cock pulsates inside of you, desperate for release. “And I hope every version of the universe is conditioned for us to be right here.”

You smile into him, slowing your movements as you feel him contract inside of you, and then his thighs flex as he finally finishes inside of you, shooting hot white ropes of his cum into your still-clenching cunt, his release already beginning to dribble back down his length as he feels you slow down over him.

You bring a hand between the two of you, gathering his cum on the pads of your fingers to circle your clit in gentle movements, stimulating yourself to your release, too, as you contract desperately around him and breathe labored kisses back into his mouth. Your juices mix with his as you catch your breath, keeping him inside of you as your chest rises and falls with gentle movements. But the two of you say nothing, pressing your lips together to indulge in more passionate kisses for the few minutes you have left before Mrs. Lee makes it home for the evening.

The garden is particularly beautiful the next afternoon, teeming with the sounds of birds chirping and trees swaying in the gentle autumn breeze. Mrs. Lee let you know she’d be home a little earlier to have a chat about your decision to leave, and when Joon is put down for his afternoon nap, you receive the call that she’s in the garden waiting for you. You enter hesitantly, worried Minho might catch you and question what you’re doing out here. But he’s not home from school yet, you remind yourself, glancing around the tall grass and neat rows of potted plants for Mrs. Lee.

“Y/n!” A voice calls from one of the patio chairs. “Come, sit!”

Mrs. Lee sits with her back facing you, a large white sun hat atop her neatly styled hair and complementing her matching white jumpsuit. Her gaze remains locked on the koi fountain you’re always transfixed by, too.

“Hi Mrs. Lee,” you say, giving her a small bow as you take the seat next to her. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

She nods with a smile. “So good to see you when we have a little more time. I’m sorry I’m always such a mess in the mornings.”

You shake your head quickly, brushing off her words. “Not at all! It’s always nice to greet the family before I start my day.”

She just smiles in response, turning to nod at you, and then she turns back to the fountain.

“I was a little surprised when you called the other day. I hope things are going okay.”

“They are,” you interrupt quickly. “They absolutely are. Joon is so pleasant, and the job is great. I really love it here.”

“I hope everything at home is okay,” she moves on to say, and you quickly reassure her.

“Yes, everything is fine! Everyone is doing great.”

“I understand,” Mrs. Lee says, eyeing the ground before turning to face you now. “You’ve done so much for us, I’d be lying if I said I’m not going to miss having you around here in the mornings.”

You shoot her a sympathetic look, feeling a pit form in your stomach, too. You feel the same, probably tenfold, at the idea of leaving behind the household you’ve called home for so many days.

“I’m going to miss it here, too.”

“And I know Joon is going to be heartbroken,” Mrs. Lee says with a chuckle.

You chuckle too, giving her an understanding nod.

She pauses briefly, furrowing her brows together, before continuing her speech.

“You’re such a bright young woman, and I know you’re destined to do amazing things. If there’s a way I can help in this transition, please don’t hesitate to let me know, okay?”

You nod at her words, and watch as she smooths down her top before standing up. She seems to wait for a moment, as if hoping for you to say something, and when you don’t, she begins to make her way back inside.

“Well, I’ll let you go for the evening. Thank you again, for everything. And you have my phone number if-”

“Mrs. Lee?” You call out suddenly, catching her before she can get much further. She turns around at the worry present in your voice, her face shifting into that of concern.

Without having to voice anything else, Mrs. Lee sits down again, waiting for you to continue. But you can’t, your heart beating wildly in your chest at the thought of even bringing up the topic of Minho. I’m in love with your son, you want to say to her. I’m so in love with Minho and I hope you understand I don’t have a choice but to leave this all behind me.

“You know,” Mrs. Lee interrupts your thoughts, breaking the silence that fills the air. “This koi fountain was my first gift from Mr. Lee.”

You nod at her, remembering when she introduced it to you on your first day here.

“We weren’t married yet. It was his first restoration project, and my dad hated him. So he had a lot of trouble getting it over to me.”

You chuckle lightly, amused at her story which seems to calm you down a little.

“Luckily his parents adored me,” she continues. “And they offered to house it in their backyard until we married. For the 15 years we dated, my koi fish lived in their garden. And when we did marry, they rented a big truck to help haul it over. It was such a project! But it’s my favorite part of the garden.”

You shoot her a saccharine smile, well endeared at the way she speaks of Mr. Lee. You can tell she’s in love with him, even this many years later.

“Sometimes I wondered why they would do something so nice for me. But as I grew closer to them, I learned not to question what was meant for me. They loved me, as did Mr. Lee. And I wasn’t going to run from any of that, no matter what I felt I deserved.”

Your head snaps in her direction at her last words, realizing how they apply to you. But she doesn’t know about Minho- at least not to your knowledge, or Minho’s. She gives you a sheepish smile as you furrow your brows, and then she takes your hand in hers, giving it a little squeeze.

“I hope you won't run from what you deserve, either.”

You nod a little bit at her words, finally understanding the weight of them, and then you look back at her with a confused expression.

“Mrs. Lee, are you talking about…”

“Minho?” She finally says, with a warm smile. She takes your other hand in hers, too, tilting her face to yours so that she’s making proper eye contact as she speaks.

“I had wondered why he was so happy these days. Minho’s always been a bit of an outcast. But I haven’t seen this spark in him since he started his obsession with all those romance novels and philosophy studies of his.”

You chuckle lightly, a weight off your shoulders as she finally speaks of what circles your mind so heavily.

“But how did you…”

“I knew it when I saw it,” she says. “I knew it, because he had the same look in his eyes as when I met his father.”

You feel your heart swell in your chest, your shoulders relaxing as she continues to speak.

“He speaks of you like poetry,” she tells you. “And for that alone, I’m thankful for you. Now what you choose to do is your decision- but I hope you know you will always have a home here with us. Not just as a babysitter, but as family.”

When Mrs. Lee finishes her speech, she gives your hands a little squeeze, smiling at you and back at the koi fish fountain. It feels much more sentimental to you even now, the beautiful waterfall that cascades serving as a reminder of its permanent restoration rooted in the infatuation Mr. Lee had for Mrs. Lee. And watching it stand so beautifully like it did all those years ago, you’re reminded that love can be a lasting thing, no matter the circumstances. The universe can condition itself to make things last, affirming the philosophical notions Minho’s always told you. And that perhaps you do deserve this, a sense of belonging here in the Lee household, right here alongside Mrs. Lee and Minho, and even baby Joon.

As you watch the fountain together, the sound of the sliding door makes itself known behind you, and you turn around to find Minho entering the garden, baby Joon sitting comfortably in his arms as he makes his way over.

“Hi,” Minho says, coming around to give Mrs. Lee a kiss on her cheek. “What’s going on here?”

He looks visibly worried, his eyes darting back and forth between you and Mrs. Lee, as if to silently ask you what she’s told you.

But Mrs. Lee just smiles at him, as she gets up from where she’s sitting and smooths down her jumpsuit.

“We were just having a girl chat. I’ll leave you two alone.”

And she disappears behind the screen door again, shooting you a little wink as she does, her anecdote circling your mind, still.

“What happened?” Minho asks, settling down next to you and balancing baby Joon on his knee. Joon fists at the fabric of his shirt, babbling incoherently as you smile down at him.

“Nothing,” you say, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips. You refrain from saying anything about leaving, not wanting to interrupt the tender moment you share with Minho and Joon in the sunlight of the garden.

“You have a really cool mom,” you settle on saying, smiling at Minho as he chuckles softly in response.

The afternoon sun beams through the glass windows of the library as you lie comfortably in Minho’s lap, his book positioned in front of you as he presses a small kiss to the back of your hand before turning the page.

Outside, the birds chirp songs of early spring, the steady stream of Mrs. Lee’s koi fountain audible as you peer down at the garden.

Mr. and Mrs. Lee sit in the tall grass, fiddling with a box of tools as Mr. Lee repairs a new project for Mrs. Lee. This one’s a much larger fountain, one he’d told you would take several months, perhaps even years. But Mrs. Lee sits beside him, relishing in stories of his restoration process and laughing with him as he works. You can’t help but smile at the sight, her stories about him playing in your mind whenever you catch a glimpse of them together.

“Do you think they could be us in another universe?” You ask Minho, turning to face him as he peers out the window, too.

“I hope so,” he says with a smile.

You settle closer to him in his lap, pressing a small kiss to his hand as he continues reading.

“And think not that you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.”

At his words, you hear baby Joon cry out, having woken from his afternoon nap.

“I’ll get him,” Minho says, shutting the book and setting it aside to go tend to the baby.

And as you peer back out the window, the sound of Mr. and Mrs. Lee’s laughter filling your ears, baby Joon’s voice calling to you, Minho’s philosophy book perched on the chair beside you and the sun beams shining their light through the windows, you know that this is belonging, this is love.

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hyunnipie · 1 year ago

Text

I FREAKING LOVE UR WRITING WAAAAAHH

tooth and claw drabbles presenting — foolish

taking place between chapter 10 [treat] and chapter 11 [haunted]

His Red. That’s what you were.

Minho considered himself to be quite the neutral person. He could detach himself so easily. Not with you though. Even when he had tried to remain calm around you, there was something in the floral smoke air you weaved that drew him in.

That’s why you were his. It was an addiction he couldn’t stop. Not that he would even try. Once was enough, Minho was not foolish after all.

But, he never thought he could consider you his physically. Everyone knew that you and he were similar, connected, but that didn't mean it would become more. He would never hold you and be able to state how you and he were united in more than a simple business deal.

And yet, you were kneeling in front of him. Your hand so sweetly around his cock, those stained lips pursed and so close to his tip. Minho had his hands caught in your hair, weaved between the fingers and so easy to pull at.

“You look lovely like this, Minho,” your sultry voice danced in his ears. His head fell back against the leather office chair he sat in, hips thrusting right to you. Those lips of yours left a blood-red mark on the throbbing tip of his cock, mixing with the leaking precum. “We waited far too long.”

The betting rooms outside were all empty, not even Felix was hanging around to organise things. It was just you and Minho. All alone. With his cock in your hand. As it should be.

Slowly you moved your hand, up and down on his shaft. Your lips a mere breath from him, teasing him far too much for him to handle. A pearl of precum caught on your thumb, and you dragged it down his length as your hand moved. “I completely agree,” Minho’s breathing was shallow and he pulled gently on your hair. “You would not believe how often I dreamt of this.”

“As did I,” a sweet kiss to the tip. Minho shivered and his hips thrust slightly forward, he could feel your smile against his skin. “Most nights I would dream of how we would touch one another.” Your tongue ran along the vein of his dick, each moment left his spine tingling and his fingers itching to pull you closer.

You wore a blouse, the buttons undone and your breasts exposed for him. The skirt you had been wearing was gone, kicked under his desk, and your underwear had gone with it. He could just glimpse the beauty between your legs, hidden between your thighs.

So long. He had been waiting so long for his Red. He would wait years if that was what you desired, but he was only a man. You were his weakness.

Your tongue ran back up his cock and Minho moved one hand to your chin. He lifted your head to look up at him, your eyes were wide and as cold as always. Minho came to life under that gaze. “Please, my love,” his hand moved to your cheek, and you succumbed to the touch. The way you leaned into it, the trust a simple action could hold, made Minho’s heart clench, “let me touch you as well.”

A nod. It was enough confirmation to make his cock twitch in eagerness. Minho’s eyes followed you as you stood, wandering down your body with his sharp eyes. He stopped at your cunt, the wetness that had slipped from between the lips and to your thighs.

Minho opened his arms, putting his hands on your bare waist. The tail of your blouse did nothing to hide your body from him, not that you attempted to hide. You stood so tall in front of him, your fingers working to get the blouse off entirely. He leaned in and kissed your stomach as you did so, squeezing your waist gently.

You were so beautiful. You were finally his. Minho ravished in glee at the hesitant moan you let out. It was quiet, almost a whimper, but it left him burning inside. The noise was pure, right from the soul, and only for him to hear.

With your blouse off, you took a step back and sat on the desk, thighs spread apart slightly. Minho took a second to admire you, the wicked smirk on your lips and how your hands rested on your thighs to hold them. The look in your eyes was delectable, you were eating him alive just as he was you.

He stood from the chair and let it roll backward to the office wall. Minho was almost as nude as you were, the only thing he did wear was his suit shirt unbuttoned and flying in the wind. Like a jacket almost. If left his tattoo and scars for you to see, and he could feel the ice in your eyes roll down his skin.

Minho went between your thighs, his cock pressed to your cunt. The sensation was unlike anything before. It was you. So perfect, and you were all his. He was all yours. Your hands went around his neck and your thighs around his hips, getting his cock closer without him even inside you.

“We have both waited long enough, Minho,” your nails pressed into his neck and twirled with his hair. The look in your eyes, the raw lust, had Minho’s mind reeling. There was so much he wanted to do with you. So much he wanted to say, act on, complete.

But the first thing he had to do was finally touch you as he had been dreaming of. Feel you clench around his cock. Let him fuck you and fill you with cum. Have you whimper and ask for more.

Another load.

Another session.

More of him.

More of you both united as one.

“I need you,” your fingers gently pushed his hair from his forehead, dancing along the beads of sweat stuck to his forehead. Minho felt his heart thump heavy in his chest, his cock pulsed against you.

Minho rolled over in his bed, the sheets, stinking of sweat and cum, clung to his skin. His chest was racing along with his breath. The hair on his head stuck against his skin from sweat.

A dream. Another dream with you as the star. Each one felt as real as the next, and they always left Minho with soiled sheets and a cock desperate to release inside you. His Red.

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hyunnipie · 1 year ago

Text

𝐠𝐨 𝐚𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐲 - kim seungmin x gn!afab reader (side lee minho x gn!afab reader)

wc: 6.6k

cw: very mean dom seungmin, like seriously very mean, mc being a whore, sex with no strings (again), SMUT MDNI.

synopsis: following the events of your almost-orgy, you can’t stop thinking about a certain someone and the way he behaved in bed.

a/n: y’all asked and i delivered! jk this was happening regardless. I HOPE YOU LOVE IT! here is part six of hot bitch summer, our frat skz au. smut warnings under the cut!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: creampie, dom seungmin, sub reader, a LOT OF DIRTY TALK, one (1) face slap, spanking (mc rec), fingering, grinding, multiple orgasms!, seungmin cums in mc’s mouth, seungmin is VERY MEAN, safeword negotiations (it’s never used), lovely soft aftercare and a friendship blooming tho <3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Minho’s hips smacked against your ass as he fucked into you, that large vein on his thick length doing wonders against your fluttering walls. You’d lost count of how many times you’d already cum around him, something he’d probably tease you about later - but you could care less when he had you in this position, tummy pressed flat against his mattress and his cock bullying into your hole with zero restraint.

You wanted more, though. You wanted it rougher, harder, deeper.

“Min, please, harder! Be rough with me, please, I can take it-”

You were cut off when an arm wrapped around your neck, yanking you back so your chest pressed flush against his toned stomach. You could feel his milky skin against yours, soft but dewy with sweat from the exertion of fucking you deep like this. Your own back wasn’t faring too well, the dew on your skin making you slide around against him.

“Be rough with you? This isn’t rough enough, slut?” Minho murmured into your ear, his teeth nipping your earlobe. You shook your head rapidly, hands going to grip around Minho’s forearm while he fucked into you without abandon. You were gonna cum like this, you realised - for the umpteenth time around him.

“No, ‘s good, just- I’m gonna cum, I need rough, please?” You managed to stammer out, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of his heavy balls slapping against you. Minho let out a small, mirthless chuckle, as if he was going to shake his head in disbelief.

“You want it so bad, why don’t you go to Seungmin and be his little painslut?” Oh. My. God. With those words and an expertly positioned thrust to your g-spot, you fell apart around Minho, whining and babbling incoherently. You could feel your wetness flood his cock once again, and Minho groaned. His hands moved to your hips to hold you tightly against him, shooting ropes of hot cum into your core.

Later on, when you were cleaned up and thoroughly fucked, you laid on Minho’s chest with him scrolling through social media on his phone. You watched him like Felix’s newest post before commenting something about how he looked like a baby chick, before he continued scrolling absentmindedly. His thumb paused on the screen when he came to Seungmin’s post.

You blinked hazily at the screen. Okay, it had been on your mind, admittedly - the way Seungmin had behaved during the time you all had fun. It was a week ago at that point. Maybe it had been invading your dreams at night. It had clearly been invading your sex with Minho. He also looked really, really good in the picture, which just didn’t help at all. It looked like he was at an event of some sort - perhaps one of Hyunjin’s art exhibits - and he was in a plain black blazer, shirtless underneath, with a chain around his neck. He just looked expensive. It had you thinking of all the ways he could ruin you. Would he deny you in bed, or would he make you cum over and over-

Minho’s head had turned to look directly at you, and he was laughing. Unashamed, loud, full body laughs that really gave away just how humiliating you looked in that second. “You know, if you just promised him you’d be good, he’d fuck you.”

“Shut up!” You huffed, burying your face in the fabric of Minho’s tee. Then, you thought about it. That’s all you had to do? Be good? Not be a brat? Yeah, you could do that. You looked up at him, one eye exposed. “For real? He would?”

Your voice was slightly muffled in his clothing, but Minho nodded anyway, still with a stupid smile on his face.

You took that advice to heart. The next day, after yet another sleepover with Minho that ended up in you getting fucked into the mattress, you walked down the hallway to Seungmin’s room and knocked on the door rapidly. Just ask. Just say you’ll be good for him, and-

He swung open the door quickly, glasses perched on his nose. He was shirtless, in just plaid pyjama bottoms. Planes of lightly tanned skin clung to just a slight ghost of abdominal muscles beneath, taking over your entire vision. Oh God. He wanted you to die. He actually wanted you to die.

“Um, so,” You began. You chuckled nervously, ringing your fingers together. Staring at your feet, you blushed crimson. You could do this. Just say it. “So. After last time, y’know, I’ve kind of been thinking. Maybe… would you wanna? Y’know. Fuck. I’ll be good for you, I won’t be a brat. Haha, Minho told me to say that bit, so-”

“Nope.” The door slammed in your face, and you were left blinking at the wood in front of you. Oh. Right. Okay. You had been well and truly humiliated - you were cursing Minho internally for giving you this dumb idea - but you decided not to let it take over your senses.

It was alright - you could get away with only fucking seven of them. Life goes on.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Except, life didn’t fucking go on. Less than a week after you’d been rejected by Seungmin, the air conditioning in your dorm house was well and truly shot. You were pacing around the kitchen for five minutes dumbly in just a sports bra and shorts before you realised you could actually call someone about it. You could get someone out to fix it - I mean, surely they still had people working over the summer on campus to fix these kinds of things, right?

A quick phone call informed you that no, they don’t. It would take a week minimum for someone to come out and fix your air conditioning, and even with every single window open, your body was still covered in a thin sheen of sweat that made your hair way more greasy than normal. You’d tried cold showers. They just made you heat up way quicker when you got out. You’d even tried buying one of those expensive fans, but it just blew hot air around the place and made you want to jump off of a cliff. Why exactly had you decided to stay on campus over the summer again?

The boys were going home for a week tomorrow, too, which not only put a stop to your hot bitch summer plans temporarily but also left you without friends. Why is life so hard?

You sighed, throwing yourself down to lounge on your sofa. The leather stuck to your skin uncomfortably. You wanted death. Craved it, even. You picked up your phone with a lot of hesitation before clicking on your texts.

[9:31am] You: min. i need a favour

Definitely sounded more suggestive than you’d intended, but that’s okay. Before you could ponder on what he was going to reply, his contact image flashed on your phone notifying you that he was calling you. You swiped to accept, putting him on speaker. Your body would simply go into oversensitivity if you put the phone to your ear.

“Hey, Y/N. What’s up?” Minho sounded concerned. You sighed deeply.

“My air conditioning is broken. Like, dead. I was going to ask if any of you knew how to fix it?”

Minho groaned on the other end. “Sorry, baby, no. Felix’s knowledge stops at computers, unfortunately. Can no one come to fix it?”

You wanted to die. It was so fucking hot. Minho’s voice wasn’t exactly making it better, to be honest. “Nope. It’d take a whole week apparently, because of it being the summer and the air conditioning systems being like, I don’t know. I stopped listening.”

“Of course you did,” Minho hummed. There was a beat of silence before you heard a little ‘aha’ come from his mouth. “Stay here for the week. No one will be here, so you’d have the house to yourself.”

A whole frat house to yourself? Damn. It would definitely be a lot less claustrophobic than the house you were currently in. Their house was huge, after all. You could get a lot done. Not that you had a lot to do, but… it would be nice. Their air conditioning also actually worked, so that’s a bonus. “Oh. Sure. Okay. Shall I pack my stuff and come now, or…?”

“Mm, maybe not, baby. We’ve all got to get up early tomorrow to leave, and I’ll just end up fucking you into the mattress if you come now,” Minho mused. You could hear the slight amusement in his voice, knowing the effect the words would have on you. You groaned despairingly, kicking your feet around on the couch. “I’ll leave the key in the dead plant outside. Come tomorrow morning.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The key was in the dead plant outside of the house. You wondered briefly why they even had a potted plant, a house full of eight men who could barely take care of themselves, let alone a plant. You remembered the time Jeongin briefly had a goldfish in the first year of university. It hadn’t gone well, and you’d all had to hold a very dramatic funeral three weeks later. Jeongin sang in the funeral through his tears.

Stuffing the key in the lock, you swung open the front door and slammed it shut behind you. Silence. Honestly, the frat house had never been so silent before. Jisung was always screaming. Changbin was also always screaming. Chan had headaches all the time. It was never silent.

Still, you moved upstairs with your duffle bag and just dumped it on Minho’s bed. The air conditioning was sweet, a harsh breeze against your skin. You already felt cool, relaxed. The house was really so big too, you could have so many pets living here.

When you made your way back downstairs, you were in search of a nice, cold lemonade. You knew there was some in the fridge since you’d put it in there yourself, and you were hellbent on getting it. As you passed the living room, you stopped dead in your tracks.

There was someone sitting on the sofa. Your heart picked up speed, eyes widening. No one was meant to be here. Everyone was away. Which meant… oh my God, someone had broken in. You were alone. It was like that horror movie you’d watched with Jisung where you’d both ended up crying.

You blinked, squinting to look further into the room. The figure’s back was facing you, dark hair clipped back on his head and his fingers clicking away at a laptop. Okay, if he was going to kill you, he wouldn’t have a laptop. You leaned in subconsciously, barely making out the clips in his hair, until Pochacco was staring you dead in the face. His stupid cute face was printed onto the clips.

Seungmin.

You’re safe. Wait, no, you’re totally not. Why is he here? You walked into the room, pointing at him straight in his face. Seungmin looked up at you, eyes wide and owlish. His hands had paused on the keyboard of his laptop. He literally had a sheet mask on his face.

“What are you doing here?” You hissed. “You literally gave me a heart attack, Seungmin. I almost died.”

Seungmin scoffed, eyebrows furrowing. “I… live here, Y/N. I thought you knew that.”

You rolled your eyes, hands now on your hips. “Well yeah. I knew that. That’s the exact sofa where we-“ you blanched. The exact sofa where you got fucked senseless by Felix while Seungmin commanded you around. “Nevermind.”

A smile played on Seungmin’s full lips, and he shook his head, turning his attention back to his laptop. “I’m guessing Minho didn’t tell you I’d be here.”

No. No, he fucking didn’t. “Is it obvious?”

“You literally just said you almost had a heart attack seeing me,” He was still typing furiously, before he nodded towards the space next to him. “Come and sit. I don’t bite.”

Wish you would. You moved towards the sofa, hesitating before just deciding to sit on it with enough distance between you two. “So, uh… whatcha doing?”

Seungmin raised an eyebrow beneath the thin sheet mask. He didn’t respond, only turning the laptop to face you on his lap. There, in black and white, was the Hall of Fame blog except… there was a new post being written. About who, you had no clue. Some random. More importantly, Seungmin was making a new post there, which meant it was him. All of your suspicions had been confirmed.

“I… I fucking knew it, Kim Seungmin,” You whispered. Seungmin smiled, turning the laptop back to him. “Is that- is that why you’ve stayed here?! To work on… this?! Seungmin, it’s really bad, y’know. You write about people’s lives on that page.”

“Hey,” Seungmin admonished. “I do not. Well, okay, I do. I always use initials, though. No one knows it’s for sure about anyone.”

That was fair, you supposed. You shrugged. Seungmin started to slowly peel the face mask away from his skin, revealing his facial features to you. It dropped to the wooden floor messily before you spoke again, with a question this time. “Can I help?”

Seungmin shrugged. “I’m currently writing a piece about how this girl has no girl code and kissed her friend’s boyfriend at a frat party the other night. Got sent in anonymously - I presume it was sent by the friend. You know anything about that?”

You thought hard. If it was what you thought it was, then yeah, you did. Jisung had mentioned something about it when you saw him last. “I think it was that girl… Teri, is it? She did kiss her friend’s boyfriend.”

Seungmin nodded, amused. You’d gotten into his good books at least. He started to tap away on his laptop, and you sidled up closer to watch him. He didn’t seem to mind, turning the laptop back slightly towards you so you could see.

He did have a way with words, and never gave away too much, but it made you think.

“Hey, Seungmin?” Seungmin perked up, making a little hum as acknowledgement. “Why have you never written anything about me? I mean, this hot bitch summer thing has surely got to be something you’d write about.”

Seungmin’s fingers paused again. He turned to you with an almost horrified expression on his face. “It’s a gossip column. I only write about stuff that’s wrong. Morally wrong things that people have done, and even then I give them dignity by keeping it relatively anonymous. How is what you’re doing wrong?”

You stayed quiet, staring at him blankly.

“Listen, Y/N,” He sighed, shutting his laptop. “I think what you’re doing is fucking awesome. Power to the pussy. You wanna know why I won’t fuck you?”

You nodded, arms wrapped around your legs where you sat. “I thought it was because you didn’t want to.”

Seungmin let out a small laugh, fingers moving to brush your hair behind your ear. The air conditioning’s high setting was blowing your hair everywhere, and he took a second to smooth the locks down. “Believe me, I want to. I just don’t think you could handle it.”

“I definitely could,” you blurted. Then, you didn’t stop blurting. “Handle it, I mean. I could. Totally. I got a taste for it the other week and honestly? It’s kind of been plaguing my mind. Like, I kind of need it, Seungmin. I need to know. I’m so fucking curious, and-“

“This is the first problem,” Seungmin’s hand fell. He slipped the clips out of his hair, throwing him onto the floor where he’d dropped the face mask. “You don’t stop fucking talking. Have you ever thought of being quiet for more than five seconds?”

You shook your head, smiling teasingly. “I can’t say I have, no.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes. He placed his laptop on the floor alongside his discarded items, off to the side of the sofa. “Are you really that curious?”

“So curious.”

“Get on the floor in front of me. On your knees,” Seungmin spoke, his voice suddenly monotone and strict. You were quick to follow his demands. Minho had told you to be good for him, after all. You sunk onto the floor on your knees, feeling the wood biting into your kneecaps. Looking up at Seungmin expectantly, he scoffed. “Don’t fucking look at me.”

Oh. Your eyes immediately dropped to the floor, feeling a telltale wetness pool in your core.

“Listen. Don’t talk,” Seungmin began. His hands were placed calmly on his legs, over another pair of those fucking plaid pyjama bottoms. At least he was wearing a shirt this time. Not for long, hopefully. “I’m going to give you a taster. I’m not going to take it easy on you. If you don’t like it, we walk away, move on and never comment on it again. If you like it, we will continue. How does that sound?”

You nodded.

“So dumb. You can talk now, obviously. I asked you a question.”

“Yeah, Seungmin. It sounds good,” You mumbled, still staring at the floor. Seungmin leaned forward, pulling your head back sharply by your hair. You fluttered your eyes shut, unwilling to look at him until he’d given you permission. You would be good. Minho had told you to be.

“Ready?” Seungmin asked. You hummed, and that seemed to be enough for him, because in one flurry of movement he’d raised one large hand and it was colliding against your cheek sharply. You could feel the skin already smarting, and you’d let out a loud, obnoxious moan at the pain. You wanted more - no, you needed more.

“Oh. My God,” you huffed out, chest heaving. You heard Seungmin chuckle condescendingly above you.

“You fucking liked that, didn’t you?”

He dropped your hair, leaning back. You nodded again at his words, rather eagerly, biting your lip. “Seungmin, oh my God. Please fuck me. Please?”

“Hmm. Sure, why not? I’ll play with you for a bit,” He mused. You could hear movement again, your eyes still shut. “Open your eyes. You can come to my bedroom with me.”

Immediately, your eyes opened, and you were scrambling to your feet. Seungmin had already started to walk out of the room and towards the large staircase leading to the bedrooms, and you had to pick up your pace to follow him. You knew where his room was. It was the same door you’d been rejected at - but now, you knew the reason for your rejection, and he knew you could handle it. You couldn’t fucking wait, almost vibrating with excitement.

Seungmin sat at the edge of his bed, legs spread. To avert your eyes from trying to stare at his dick, your eyes flitted around the room. It was neat. Pristine. Not one thing was out of place, including the white sheets. Even the blankets were tucked in the corner like a bed in a hotel. It made sense - you could remember Jisung and Seungmin being roommates before they joined the frat, and Seungmin always had something to say to Jisung regarding the state of the room.

Seungmin was a man who liked control. You could see that, most definitely, and it showed outside of sex too. It made you excited.

“I’m going to ask you again. Are you sure?” Seungmin spoke up. You finally looked at him, taking in his appearance. His face was still slightly dewy from the face mask and his plump lips were parted as he looked at you, eyes soft. The plaid pyjama bottoms encased his long legs, making him look way taller than he actually was, but the oversized t-shirt made him look like the soft boy you actually knew. Well, the soft boy you were getting to know. What better way to get to know him than to fall into bed with him?

“I’m sure, Seungmin,” You breathed out. You felt like you were getting a bit too excited, maybe. “I’ll… I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

“I’m afraid that’s not what I’m looking for, Y/N. I want it to be too much. Come and sit on my lap,” You obeyed, scurrying over to straddle those long legs. His hands immediately went to your hips, drawing soothing circles over your hip bones. “If it’s too much, I want you to say ‘red’. Can you do that for me?”

“I can do that,” You were speaking in a whisper again. Seungmin nodded, seemingly pleased.

Then, he was lurching forward, hand on the back of your head and bringing you in for a searing kiss. Those plump lips felt as good as they looked, slamming against you in a haze of vanilla chapstick and dominance. You immediately keened into the kiss, hands going up into his hair to try and get more of his lips against yours. Seungmin grabbed your hands instinctively, returning them to your lap.

“I’m not going to spank you for that, but one more disobedience, and I will,” He mumbled against your lips. You nodded, waiting patiently for him to kiss you again. He delivered - tongue immediately pressing into your mouth in a heated kiss instead. You let your lips work in harmony with his, a simple kiss turning into a heavy makeout session. It didn��t last long enough, though - he was quickly pulling away with a few more pecks to your lips. “Bend over my lap.”

Huh? “But- you said you weren’t going to-?”

“I’m not going to spank that pretty ass. Dumb sluts don’t ask questions,” Seungmin scoffed. “Be a good little bitch and bend over my lap. I’m not asking again.”

Oh God. You immediately scrambled to lay your tummy over his legs, and he was quick to yank your joggers down. You’d realised it had been getting close to laundry day, and so all you had left really were your skimpy thongs that were to be hand washed delicately.

“So you can follow orders, huh? Shocking,” Seungmin spat, one hand rubbing over your asscheek. With a quick move, he was pulling your ass apart. His other hand pressed your head down into the bed firmly. “Tell me again. How long have you wanted this? How long have you wanted to be treated like a fucktoy by me?”

You squirmed, sighing. “Since- since that night. With the others. Haven’t stopped thinking about it, Seungmin.”

Seungmin hummed, slender fingers pulling your thong down and revealing your pussy to him. You knew your folds were wet, slick and ready for him to fill you with something - his tongue, his fingers, his dick. You didn’t care at that point.

“Makes sense. This pussy’s fucking wet, didn’t need any convincing,” His lithe digits slid through your folds, teasing your hole over and over but not quite pushing in. You just had to keep repeating the same thing in your head - be good, be good, be fucking good.

You couldn’t hold back the shifting of your hips, however, trying to push back to gain more friction.

“Stop squirming,” Seungmin sighed. You nodded into the sheets, willing your hips to stop moving. On a particularly well timed brush against your hole though, your hips shifted again, a sigh falling from your own lips. Seungmin’s hand raised and came down against the flesh of your ass with a harsh smack, the skin rippling with the force. You gasped, head raising from the sheets. “I said to stop fucking squirming. Are you stupid or did you just choose not to listen?”

You blinked, willing the haze to leave your eyes as you tried to focus on the scene. “I’m s-sorry. Sorry Seungmin.”

With another quick move, Seungmin was flinging the fabric wrapped around your ankles off the rest of your legs and pulling you back upright into his lap. You were confused, wondering why he hadn’t fingered you, before he was looking into your eyes with a firm grip on your chin. It was a soft look on his face, a wordless question - are you doing okay? You smiled softly in response, and he looked to be holding back his own smile.

Dropping his grip on you, he leaned back, leisurely resting on his hands. “You want to get off? Go on. You can grind on my lap. You lost the pleasure of having my fingers in you when you disobeyed me.”

“On- on your lap?” You asked, eyes looking down at the bulge encased in plaid fabric. He wasn’t quite hard, maybe half hard at a push. Seungmin didn’t answer your question, simply raising an eyebrow.

You hesitantly ground your clit down against Seungmin’s bulge. It was surprisingly pleasurable, perhaps too pleasurable - you were already holding back noises at the feeling of it against your swollen bud. You could feel the wetness starting to accumulate on Seungmin’s trousers, and you whined, leaning back with your hands splayed on his knees to get a better angle.

“Feeling good?” Seungmin asked. The t-shirt you were wearing was almost covering you completely, but Seungmin was quick to yank that off, too, giving him a better look. “Shit, look at that pussy. I’m going to toy with you until you fucking break.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You blurted, hips quickening on his lap. “Yeah, break me- make me, make me good, yeah?”

“Make you a good little bitch, huh?” Seungmin replied. He raised an eyebrow, looking down at the wet patch forming on top of him. “You are a filthy little thing, aren’t you? Look at you getting off on being treated like this.”

Your eyes went down to his lap, widening at the way the fabric was wet with your juices. It only made you grind harder, hands moving up to grip his shoulders tightly. He allowed this, clearly, his own body moving upright for his hands to grab your hips.

“Oh, that look in your eyes. So out of it, fucked dumb and you haven’t even gotten my cock inside you,” Seungmin was laughing. He was laughing at you, degrading you, humiliating you - and it only made your pussy flush wetter. One hand came up to stroke hair out of your face, and it landed on your cheek, cupping it almost softly compared to the way he was speaking. “Are you gonna cum?”

You moaned loudly. You were going to cum, the feeling of impending bliss crawling up your spine and pushing you closer to the edge. “Yeah, yeah, I-“

“Aw, you’re gonna cum?” He cooed, a false sound of sympathy. His hand immediately went to your hair, yanking your head back once again and making you squeal. “Too bad. I decide when you cum and how you cum. You’re not cumming yet. Okay?”

It was a rhetorical question. It had to be, because you couldn’t form words at this point. Instead, your hips slowed down, staring into Seungmin’s round eyes. He screwed up his face in disappointment, using his free hand to move your hips again.

“Don’t you fucking slow down. You keep going.”

Oh God, you were going to die. You whined obediently anyway, picking up your pace again. The feeling of being close returned almost immediately, accelerated by his hand in your hair and his filthy words.

“Beg. Beg for me to allow you to fucking cum.”

“Please, please Seungmin- I can’t hold it, I can’t-“

“You can, and you fucking will,” Seungmin retorted instantly. That cocky smirk was on his lips again. “Not good enough. Beg.”

“Please! Please, please, I’ll be so good for you, I promise. I’ll be- I’ll be your good little slut, yeah? Yeah? Can I cum? Please?” You were babbling again, eyes fluttering shut and your thighs clenching around his hips. It was taking every nerve in your body to try not to cum before he told you that you were allowed. You had to be good.

“Mm. Okay. Cum for me, c’mon,” You instantly arched your back, fingers digging in even tighter on those nice, broad shoulders. You moaned loudly as you came, eyes watering with tears at the intensity of it. He’d be lucky if he didn’t have to throw those pyjama trousers out, to be honest. You could feel your pussy flooding the cotton.

Once you came down from your high, Seungmin’s hand relaxed in your hair. You were sufficiently sated, but you had to see it through. Shifting around on his lap, you noticed something out of the ordinary.

You just had one of the strongest orgasms of your life and he wasn’t even hard.

“Um, Seungmin. You’re… not hard?”

Seungmin laughed again, a condescending chime to your ears. “Why the fuck would I get hard over a slut like you in my lap?”

Oh. It was very hard to ignore the incessant throbbing in your pussy returning from that one comment. Your eyes widened, giving you away, and Seungmin licked his lips.

Not hard, though? Maybe you had to be a little bratty to get your way. “What if I showed you my pussy, Seungmin? You wanna see? ‘S wet for you.”

“For me?” Seungmin raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure just being present in this house gets that slutty cunt wet. Lay on your back.”

Damn. He always had to one up you, always putting you in your place. You loved every second of it. You moved off of his lap, laying on your back and staring at him expectantly. He stood up, shucking his t-shirt off and folding it up as if he had all the time in the world - because of course he did. His body was exposed to you again, and you took your time ogling him. Slender figure, but lightly toned. Very nice. He pulled off his pyjama trousers, again folding those too, and when he turned to face the bed, you saw it.

Big. Long. It was similar to Hyunjin’s. Nice and long, but not an abundance of girth, not like Changbin’s. It wasn’t fully hard yet, but what it was looking like was very promising.

“Stop eyeing up my cock,” Your eyes immediately darted up, finding a teasing, amused expression on Seungmin’s face. He was quick to make his way onto the bed, and you gazed up at him needily. Before you could even speak, his hands had flipped you over so you were on your stomach. “All fours.”

Obediently, you shifted to rest on your hands and knees. It was hard, arching like that and feeling your wet pussy leak down your thigh in need.

“Beg for it. Beg for me to fuck you,” Seungmin’s fingers swiped through your folds again, and a wet noise filling the room displayed that he was jerking his cock to full mast using your pussy as lubrication. You moaned, turning your head to watch. His hand quickly shoved your head back in the pillows. “I said fucking beg.”

“Oh God, please, Seungmin,” You whined, muffled by the pillows. “Please. I need it, I need to fuck you. I’ve been good, haven’t I?”

“Hmm, you have been good. But have you earned it? Do you think you’ve earned it?” More rustling of fabric was heard and then Seungmin’s cockhead was pressing at your core. You gasped, trying to push your hips back onto him. His hand came down on your ass in a loud smacking noise. You could feel the skin turning red with the pressure.

You almost fell over with the impact, clutching onto the sheets desperately. “Please! Please. I promise I’ll be good, I promise-“

“Listen to you, begging like the pathetic little bitch you are. That pussy’s so wet for me,” Seungmin swiped the tip of his length through your folds. The sensation made you whine, but you fought to not push back. With a small hum of approval, he was pushing in all at once - bottoming out instantly. He gave you no time to adjust, thrusting into you at a fast, precise pace. Of course he’d know how to fuck. It just made perfect sense.

“Oh-! Oh, ‘s deep,” You writhed, feeling his cock hit your g-spot. More. More. Fucking more. “It’s so deep, Seungmin, I-“

“God, shut the fuck up. Listen to your pussy, the sounds it’s making for me. Listen to how much your pussy wants my cock,” Seungmin yanked your head up again, a large hand covering your mouth. His other hand rested on your ass, pulling you back onto his cock with every thrust. True to his word, when he covered your mouth, you could hear the wet slapping sounds of your tight hole hitting his balls. “Minho was right. That pussy does feel nice and tight on my cock.”

You squealed at the mention of your lover, toes curling into the sheets. It was muffled by Seungmin’s hand, and he shoved two fingers into your mouth upon hearing the noise. Sucking on them dutifully, you let out another quieted noise when his other hand smacked onto your ass roughly. His thrusts didn’t slow down, cock bullying into your hole and pushing you steadily into your climax.

“Should I send a video to Minho? Should I show him how much of a good slut you can be when you’ve been broken in?” He halted his pace, grinding softly against you. You could feel the brush of hair against your asscheeks and you whined, pushing your hips back.

You shook your head rapidly, garbled words coming out. “N-No! No, Seungmin, just- harder, please, hnngg, need it harder-“

“Harder? You’re not in the position to make commands. So fucking dumb,” Seungmin yanked his fingers out of your mouth and pushed down on your back roughly. When you flailed, trying to catch yourself, he grabbed both of your wrists and pinned them behind your back. The slow pace continued, just grinding against you rather than fucking you senseless like you wanted. “Maybe I still have to break you in. Do you need to be shown how to fucking behave?”

“I’m good, ‘m good, promise- I promise, Seungie, ‘m good,” You mumbled out, eyes hazy from where they’d been pressed against the pillow. Seungmin laughed at your use of his nickname before he completely pulled his cock out of your pussy. You whined, hating the loss of fullness, but then his hand was dropping from your ass and filling you up with two long digits.

“I’m going to make you cum like this,” He murmured, eyes focused on where your hole was leaking out around his fingers. His fingertips expertly crooked down to meet your g-spot, frantic rubbing bringing your high right to the precipice, as if he’d never stopped fucking you. Your legs were shaking, trying so hard not to squirm. Seungmin dropped your wrists, smiling when he saw you kept them where he’d put them. His hand smacked another large handprint into the flesh of your ass. “Feeling good, slut?”

“Aah… ‘s good..”

“Fucking hell, maybe I have broken you,” A scoff was heard ringing around the room, making you feel so used, humiliated and plain fucking horny. Seungmin used two fingers on his free hand to rub precise circles around your clit, using the wetness of your pussy to make the slide slick on your swollen bud. You were done for. Your pussy clenched tightly around his fingers when you came, whines and broken noises flooding out of your mouth.

With a swift move, Seungmin was shoving long slick covered fingers around your throat and his cock back into your pussy. It made you gasp, eyes fluttering shut and your hips softly rocking as he picked up his fast pace again.

“‘S too much, Seungie,” you whined, shaking your head. Seungmin yanked your head back to face him where his chest was pressed against your back, raising an eyebrow at your expression. “I can’t-“

“You can’t? You know your safeword. If it’s too much, you say it,” Seungmin reminded you. Of course you knew your safeword. Red. You hadn’t forgotten it. You just would probably die if he stopped. When you didn’t reply, simply letting out another audible moan, Seungmin smirked and let your head drop again. “Fucking bitch. You want it to be too much, don’t you?”

You squealed when he grabbed your hips with both hands, pulling you back against every thrust. Your hands stayed obediently behind your back, gasps and loud moans flooding past your open mouth. Your jaw was perpetually dropped as he fucked your slick back into you, your toes curling in ecstasy.

All too quick, Seungmin’s pace faltered, and his head dropped to in between your shoulders. His hair tickled your skin as he sighed deeply, uneven thrusts continuing inside of you. “I’m gonna cum. Pussy’s too fucking wet. Fuck, you’re such a good little slut for me, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah! Good- ah- slut for you, Seungmin. Cum inside me, please? N-Need it!”

“Need it inside you? Or do you want to taste it, whore? Wanna taste my cum?”

“Fuck, yeah, taste-“

Seungmin was pulling out with a swift movement, yanking your hair so you were sitting upright facing him. You stuck your tongue out obediently before you allowed your eyes to open, gazing up at him.

God, he was a pretty fucking picture. Lightly tanned skin covered in a dew of sweat just like your own, large hand pumping a just as large cock right in front of your face. As soon as you locked eyes with him, Seungmin groaned, his head falling back as cum started to paint your tongue white. You moaned, curling your tongue around the cockhead to catch all of the substance.

“You are fucking gorgeous,” Seungmin huffed, deep groans still racking his chest as he came all over your tongue. You wanted to smile, but you suckled on his cockhead approvingly instead.

Immediately, once Seungmin had finished painting your tongue with his cum, he was pulling out of your mouth and pushing you softly to lay down. You let out a confused noise, but he was already up and grabbing some baby wipes and a bottle of water from his drawer. You laid there, mind still hazy while Seungmin wiped you down with baby wipes.

“Does anything hurt?” He questioned, rubbing soft fingertips over your thighs. It should’ve felt awkward, just lying there naked, but your mind was too fuzzy to care.

“No, ‘m okay, just a little sensitive,” You mumbled, enjoying the feeling of soft sheets against your burning skin. Seungmin nodded, tossing the baby wipes on the floor carelessly before sidling up next to you. He slung one arm around your tummy, pulling you over so that you were laying on his chest.

“Are you okay?” You nodded. Seungmin hummed, running his fingers through your hair. “You did really good for me, y’know that? Took it so well.”

You made a small noise of affirmation before Seungmin was grabbing the forgotten bottle of water, pressing the rim to your lips. Obediently, you glugged back half of the bottle in one go before falling back onto his chest.

After blinking the haze out of your eyes a few times, you finally felt human again. “Seungmin, you fuck like an animal.”

Seungmin burst out laughing, drinking some of the water himself between giggles. “I did warn you!”

You laughed yourself, slapping his arm softly. Seungmin was still giggling, soft vibrations of his chest making your head shake on top of him.

“Was it worth it?”

You blinked. “Stupid question. So fucking worth it. 10/10, would do it again.”

“You still have one to go, y’know. You can’t be coming back to me for more, Chan will get jealous and wonder when it’s his turn.”

One? You perked up your head, looking into Seungmin’s puppy eyes. “I’ve got two to go, not one. Chan and Jeongin.”

Seungmin raised an eyebrow. “You can’t fuck Jeongin.”

You scoffed. “Why not?”

“He’s a virgin, Y/N.”

Oh, now that was interesting.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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hyunnipie · 1 year ago

Text

FIND ME (INSIDE EVERY HEARTBEAT)

LEGEND 🖤Pairing · 📜Word Count · 🪐AU/Genre/Trope · 🚨 Warnings

🖤DILF!Lee Know x (afab) Reader 📜9.8k | Approx. 41-min read 🪐Exes to lovers, Angst with fluff frosting, Mutual Pining, Smut with a disgusting amount of feelings 🚨Reader discretion advised: A painful breakup, mentions of previous toxic behavior, body worshipping, breeding kink (Minho legitimately wishes to knock mc up and the feeling's mutual), praise kink (m), vaginal fingering, oral sex (m, f), unprotected sex, creampie. 💌Shoutout to @straywrds for throwing this idea at me and running away like everything's fine. 💭Reblogs & comments are always appreciated and please keep in mind they are the ultimate motivation fuel. 🍮Like my content? Consider supporting my work with a pudding!

SYNOPSIS He loved you deliriously, but it wasn't enough to keep him from letting you go. Years later, you run into each other again.

He's a dad now.

This one-shot is a spinoff from the universe of 「THE ZONE」 — Events take place much later than Minho's arc (unreleased as of July '23).

“I’m fucking poisoning you, aren’t I?”

Cavalier. Presumptuous. High-and-mighty. Show-off. A trainwreck. A goddamn fucking know-it-all.

Lee Minho.

You had found him at his worst all those years ago like a little stray cat drenched in rain, hissing at everybody who dares to come close just to make itself look intimidating. He had lost a friend and he was hurting a lot, making his defenses taller than The Great Wall. Made of iron, impenetrable almost.

You had fallen in love with his full moon smile hidden under layers of midnight brokenness.

“Do not say such things!”

“You and I both know who you really should be with,” he spat, jaw and fists clenched in unison, “We should… we should just break up.”

Another outburst again. Minho was a man comprised of intense emotions. Pleasant delight to manic euphoria, tinge of arousal to fatal lust, mild irritation to unhinged fury at record speed. You loved how passionate he was, but it was indeed true that it was hurting you every once in a while.

But calling that poison?

“Please,” you begged him in tears, “Please don’t do this.”

He loved you deliriously, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from letting you go because he thought you belonged with someone else. Someone who had a decent command over his own emotions, someone who would make you mostly happy rather than half the time. They would at least be able to stay in your good graces when their pros trumped their cons.

Whereas Minho was in a vicious cycle of erasing all the rights he accumulated with a single colossal wrong.

“I know how much I’m hurting you. It’s who I am at this point. I can’t help it,” he averted his eyes from you, squeezing his eyes to push his tears back, “Just… Don’t make this any harder.”

“Minho, please… We can get through this together. We can—”

“It’s not your job to fix me!”

And just like that, he walked away. As if all those years you had spent together were just a dream. As if all the dreams you had did not exist. As if he had never called you his sun. It had caught on so much that you wouldn’t even call each other by your names; he would call you Sunny instead, and you would call him Moony.

Sun? What sun?

Light was a social construct, and it could go to fucking hell. Ever since Minho left, it was always new moon for you, and darkness was all you knew. Everything lost its color and turned into bleak monochrome shades.

And it was getting dimmer with each passing day.

You were going crazy. You talked to your friends about the same things over and over again. Nothing was consoling you. Nothing was able to splash a bit of cold water on the hellfire that broke out in your heart. The lilies you loved so much had died. It kept raining torrents. You cried and cried and cried over him until you ran out of tears to cry. You had never felt this helpless in your life.

Minho used to sing quiet lullabies for you in his arms.

You lost sleep.

Minho used to make grilled cheese sandwiches for you on Saturday mornings.

You lost your appetite.

Minho used to draw silly doodles on post-its and stick them all over the house so that you would laugh when you saw them.

You lost joy.

You bundled yourself in your cocoon of blankets for days on end, hoping it would pass. Sooner than later. Sooner than later. Sooner. Sooner. Please, I’m dying over here.

“It’s time, sweetheart. Come on, get up.”

You were so consumed in grief that you had lost all sense of reality. To this day, you were thankful to Hyejin for dragging you to a therapy appointment that day.

It still took a long-ass time, but you at least managed to reach a state of neutrality instead of violently breaking down when you heard the name Minho. The hellfire was put out, but the gentle sizzle of the everburning amber was still there. You had no choice but to come to terms with carrying that around for the rest of your life.

When it was time to reintegrate with the rest of the world again, you even entertained the thought of having someone in your life. You went on several dates. There were people you genuinely liked among them, too, but it always ended up the same.

“You’re still in love with your ex, aren’t you?”

Maybe. You were deluding yourself into thinking otherwise, but maybe… Even after all this time…

You couldn’t help it. Minho was your first true love, so naturally, the cut he left behind was the deepest of them all. He still popped into your mind every now and then, making you wonder how he was doing. Whether he was happy or not. Whether he was thinking about you.

Whether he was regretting his decision at all.

When you woke up that Saturday, you had a really bad craving for grilled cheese, but you realized were out of ingredients. If you left right away, maybe everything would be different, but you decided to leave after taking a shower that lasted twenty three minutes. When you left your apartment, you briefly returned because you forgot to take out the trash. The cab you took ran one red light on the way, and you debated whether you should go to the bookstore now or after you finished your shopping, eventually opting for later.

…all of which cumulatively contributed to the exact moment you thought you finally went insane in front of the dairy aisle.

“Sunny?”

A bolt of lightning struck in the exact spot you were standing when you heard that name rendered in that voice. You heard something erupt in the distance, and the tremors of a violent mushroom cloud destroyed everything into a pile of goddamn debris.

When you slowly turned your head to your right, you indeed saw the one thing you were dreading to see for so long holding bread slices and a block of cheddar in his hands.

“Minho.”

His equally shocked expression was slowly replaced by a smile, and once you saw those cheekbones raised again, you felt your heart thumping in your ears.

“I can’t believe it’s actually you. You look fantastic!” he threw the groceries into his shopping cart and approached you, “How have you been?”

Your heart ached. He looked as good as you remembered him. Even better actually with those waves in his hair. The dark circles under his eyes were long gone, and while happy was up for debate, he at least looked healthy.

“I’m doing better,” a vague smile appeared on your lips, “How have you been?”

“More or less the same neighborhood.”

Both of you were looking at each other, and there was something akin to an awe-filled silence between you. It wasn’t tense, but it was extremely intense. You were replaying every single memory of Minho in your head at x100 speed and wondering if he was doing the same. One wrong word could pop the oddly cozy bubble that immediately enveloped this moment, and you weren’t ready for it to end yet. You wanted to beg him like he used to when you tried to drag him out of bed.

Please, Sunny, just five more minutes!

“Are you in a hurry? Can we grab a cup of coffee right outside?”

You had managed to take one step forward after fighting all those demons. What if this was ten steps back? What if this small encounter was going to leave another unfillable void in your soul, and what if—?

“Of course,” you heard yourself say despite everything that was yelling at you inside your head. He smiled at you again.

It made you wanna throw yourself into the freezing cold ocean every time he smiled.

After completing your purchases, you made your way to the coffee shop in front of the bookstore, and Minho headed to the counter without even asking you what you would like. He returned with two large cups of dark roast americano, and you could smell the drop of caramel syrup in it. He still remembered how you took your coffee.

Your heart sizzled.

“Thank you,” you dragged the coffee towards yourself on the table for two, “You grew out your hair. It really suits you.”

“And you dyed yours. I really like the color.”

There were so many things you wanted to say, so many questions you wanted to ask, but you didn’t even know where to start. Then something caught your attention as you kept playing with the lid of your cup.

“You got a tattoo, huh?”

“It’s Polaris,” Minho touched his left wrist, “It’s for my daughter. She’s my little star guiding me.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach so fast that you felt queasy. Did you… hear that correctly just now?

“You… you have a daughter,” you flashed him a terrorized smile.

It wasn’t a question, but it was. It wasn’t an interrogation, but it was. So he did find someone after you. Not only did he find them, but also… Also…

Did you do to her the same things you used to do to me? Did you also tell her you loved her endlessly? Was she able to touch you like I would? Did you miss me when you realized I beat her at that one good?

“Yeah!” he brought out his wallet and showed you a picture in it with a smile, “Her name is Nari.”

“N-Nari?”

It would have hurt less if he started torturing you right then and there. Lilies… He named his daughter after goddamn lilies. Mr. I’m-Poisoning-You had indeed gone ahead and found a toxin-immune terrain to breed.

Was this a fucking joke?!

“Oh wow, she’s the spitting image of you!”

“She’s great,” Minho looked at the picture fondly, “Being a father really changes you, you know. It puts things into perspective.”

Of course you knew. You had always known he would be a terrific father. A quirky one, for sure, but filled to the brim with love for his children.

“How about you? You got any kids?”

You couldn’t believe you were asked this question by Minho as if you didn’t plan to have two kids once upon a time. One boy and one girl, the best of both worlds. Preferably twins. He was going to annoy the shit out of you with your son, and you were going to retaliate with your daughter because that was, quote, ‘How she will learn to be a boss lady later in life’.

“No,” you flashed a broken smile at him.

The mood was getting considerably solemn. What were you expecting anyway? For him to not be over you? He was the one who wanted to walk away, so why the surprise? What kind of hope were you holding onto all this time?

Were you unknowingly holding onto some hope all this time?

“Uh… So what do you do?” you attempted to change the topic, “Did you make it as a dancer like you wanted?”

“I’m actually a chef now,” Minho leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms on his now broader chest, “If you’ve ever been to Four Seasons downtown, I’ve probably served you.”

“Whoa, isn’t that a Michelin restaurant?”

“Which I’m responsible for obtaining.”

“That’s fucking impressive!”

Neither of you touched that radioactive waste zone again until you reached the bottom of your coffees. Instead, you talked about stuff you would do at a college reunion. What happened after you graduated? Were you able to land a good job? Of course you were; your professors never shut up about how promising you were. Your boss, though? He could go fuck himself. The chef thing? While he was wondering Minho found himself in the cookbook aisle at this very bookstore one day, and it was all downhill from there. He had never thought about turning his hobbies into a career before and he should have done that sooner.

Both of you spent an entire hour like this. Pretending. Acting like you weren’t extremely shaken by the other’s presence, and in complete disbelief that this was the reality you were leading now.

“It was great to see you,” Minho spoke as you were leaving the place.

It was a disaster to see you, you wanted to yell at his face. I’ve been doing so fucking well up till now, and now I’m back to goddamn square one. Why did you have to fucking show up again?

“You too,” you smiled at him instead.

When you least expected it, he reached for a hug and all of a sudden…

That familiar scent.

Sandalwood. Ocean. Salt. Sunscreen. Forest breeze. Pine trees. Passion. Love. Lust. All in the same whiff.

Minho.

The one that got away. Willingly.

Even after all this time, I still love you.

“I really hope this won’t be our only encounter,” he sheepishly smiled and took his phone out, “Do you mind if we—?”

“I don’t think so, Minho.”

His expression immediately fell. He was sulking. You hated it when he pouted. You just wanted to give him the entire universe so that he would smile again.

But this past hour had taken the life out of you.

“I’m sorry, I– I didn’t mean to assume,” he put his phone back and turned his eyes to the ground, “Of course. When you agreed to have coffee with me, I just thought…”

“It’s not that.”

You creased your brows trying to pick your words carefully. A part of you was still mad at him for what he put you through, but it wasn’t like you wanted to get back at him for it. You were trying to move on, and exchanging numbers and having him around was certainly not the way to do that.

You could never be friends with him again. Not when you knew what he tasted like because you knew for a fact that he tasted like your soulmate.

And you were forever doomed to be the fully functional half of a perfect whole without Minho.

“I almost died trying to get over you,” you finally met his gaze, “It was nice to catch up, yes, but you seem to have much more important priorities now.”

You reached out for his hand, and he watched you stroke his tattoo with your thumb.

“My daughter.”

“I’m very proud of you, you know,” you smiled genuinely for the first time, “I know it’s not unheard of for people to change, but I’m very glad to see you changed for the better.”

Minho opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he smiled at you again, albeit in a thousand pieces.

It made you wanna burn yourself alive every time he smiled like that. You instinctively pecked his cheek and hailed an approaching cab.

“Say hi to the missus for me,” you smiled at him as you got in and took out your earphones from your pockets, “Houston Drive, please.”

Only after the cab took off was Minho able to register what you just said.

“Wait!” he dropped his bags, “Sunny, please wait!!!”

Minho started running after the yellow vehicle gliding down the road like a yellow serpent but to no avail. He eventually slowed down to a halt, panting hard as he held his knees in complete fatigue. With his last remaining strength, he yelled after you as if you would be able to magically hear him.

“THERE IS NO MISSUS, SUNNY, PLEASE!”

“You’re fucking kidding me!”

“Nope. I’d rather gargle cyanide than bring him up in a conversation,” you talked into the speakerphone as you were tearing the lettuce in the kitchen, “Minho is a daddy now.”

“And who’s the bitch?”

“Jin…”

“I SAID WHO’S THE BITCH I JUST WANNA ACCIDENTALLY RUN INTO HIS WIFE SOMEWHERE WITH MY CAR!”

While Hyejin’s murderous intentions to avenge you were appreciated, you didn’t possess the knowledge that would satisfy her.

“I didn’t ask.”

“What do you mean you didn’t ask? Aren’t you at least a little bit curious?”

“I’m not about to spiral myself into a comparison olympics, sweetie.”

“Urgh, fucking Lee. Pops out of nowhere like a goddamn jack in a box after all this time,” Hyejin scoffed into her receiver, “If I ever see him, I will crack his ring finger!”

You initially laughed at her violent comments, but then… something hit you.

“Actually, he wasn’t wearing one.”

“A married man and is not wearing his wedding ring?”

“I mean… I assumed he was married.”

“Let me ask you something, Sunny,” she sarcastically emphasized, “Did you or did you not hear it from his mouth that he was married?”

You drew a total blank at her words. No, you hadn’t asked him that because why the fuck would you? Who would have wanted to know what would be their untimely demise?

“But he has a daughter.”

“That literally doesn’t answer my question,” Hyejin insisted, “Did he tell you he was married?”

“He– he didn’t.”

“WOMAN!!!”

You didn’t know what to make of her reaction. When you were still together with Minho, Hyejin was the number one fan of your relationship, but obviously, people had to choose sides after a breakup. She was always there for you through your darkest times, but now…

Was she insinuating what you thought she was insinuating?

“Here’s what we’re doing,” she continued, unbothered, “Next week, you’re getting into your classiest slut attire and we’re having dinner at Four Seasons for operation ‘This is what you missed out on motherfucker’. I’m making a reservation right now.”

“Hyejin, please!”

“I SAID WHAT I SAID. DON’T MAKE ME RUN YOU OVER, TOO!”

Then she hung up on your face.

Minho didn’t say it, yeah, but it didn’t necessarily mean that he was single, either.

But what if he was?

What if he was?

What if…?

“So what if he is?!” you threw your phone on the couch in exasperation.

On the D-Day, you took the longest shower of your life drowned in your thoughts, and started to get ready for your dinner plans as if you were going on a fucking date.

The possibility of seeing Minho again stirred something in you, no matter how much it was in a work context. If anything, you were nervous to be in his fascinating Michelin chef presence, quite possibly fucking shit up in the hottest way possible. Because that was what he was. Intense. No matter what he did. You didn’t even know how you would be able to see him considering… He had to be in the kitchen, no? It wasn’t like the man was serving people himself. Would you make up an excuse? Would you try to sneak into the back? Would you purposefully send your food back, or ask for the chef to come over so that you could pay him compliments in person?

Why did you agree to Hyejin’s plans again?

“Good evening. Did you have a reservation?”

You were there to have dinner, no? Basic human needs and whatnot. Then why did it feel like this man was questioning your entire life trying to decide whether you were worth being there or not?

“Yes. I believe it’s under Ahn Hyejin?”

He went through the gargantuan notebook he had in front of him, and once he confirmed the name, he made his way inside.

“This way, please.”

You thought he was going to lead you to a table in the middle of the people crowding that large hall, so naturally, you were befuddled as hell when he passed the restaurant area and guided you towards a more secluded place.

“I’m sorry, I think there’s a mistake. I’m supposed to be having dinner with my friend?”

“Yes, ma’am. Ms. Ahn has booked this VIP room for you.”

“For me?” you creased your brows in confusion, “As in she’s not coming?”

He finally slid a door open and gestured you to go in. There was a table for two inside in front of a window looking over a fantastic city view along with a lot of kitchen utensils. You walked towards one of the chairs and sat down.

“Enjoy your experience,” the maître d’ left you by yourself in that extravagantly luxurious room.

Confused out of your mind, you attacked your phone to call Hyejin to ask where the hell she was, but she wasn’t picking up. The one time you needed her the most…

“Dammit, Jin!”

She was the one who came up with this plan without telling you what the plan fucking entailed, so what in the fresh fuck was up with that indeed?

“Good evening.”

You heard the door slide open again. A person clad in jet black kitchen attire let themselves in and greeted you without looking at you. You could literally hear the fireworks or a nuclear bomb go off in the distance when you turned towards the source of that honey voice. The person’s expression, on the other hand, was in between being on the brink of crying and flashing the most genuine smile of their life.

Your heart melted into a puddle when you saw him.

“My name is Lee Minho. I’ll be your personal chef tonight.”

“You’ll— my— personal what?”

He had a very entertained smile on his face seeing how flustered you were.

“Well, isn’t that why you came here tonight? To dine?”

Was it??? The last time you checked, you were under the impression that you were going to have dinner with your best friend to throw shade at your ex. Not be in such an unnecessarily close proximity to him that you would question all your life choices that led to that moment.

“I– I don’t… Hyejin booked…”

“Ah, of course. The boss lady herself,” Minho slightly bowed at the name as a sign of respect and then licked his lips with absolute mischief shooting from his eyes, “So you did tell her about me, huh?”

“Why– why– why would I do that?”

“I find it a little hard to believe that she of all people would coincidentally request me. I know she put a bounty on my head back in the day,” he casually handed you a menu, “Would you like my recommendations or would you like to create your own menu for tonight?”

He was standing tall with an upright posture right next to you with his arms clasped behind his back, waiting on you like your personal bodyguard. You had noticed how he must been working out a couple of days back, but those bulging veins that traveled from his elbow down to his hands confirmed it for you.

Minho used to despise moving.

“I’d like to have so very much wine, please,” you handed the menu back to him while gulping. He chuckled in delight.

“As for the food?”

“Surprise me.”

His chuckle turned into gentle laughter for some reason.

“With pleasure,” he took the thick cardboard away from you.

Minho opened a very decent bottle of cabernet sauvignon first to accompany your appetizers, and then promptly got to work. You watched him create magic right before your eyes. The way he was executing his craft with such passion and enthusiasm felt like you were supposed to be paying to watch him cook. It was that satisfying, and he made it look so easy. Smooth wrist movements, a tight grip and flawless command over his knives, brows furrowed and lips slightly pouting due to concentration. You didn’t even realize how much time had passed when he finished your first course.

“Please enjoy,” he placed an incredibly fancy-looking black porcelain plate in front of you.

And when you took your first bite of the food…

“God—DAMN, Min, you used to struggle even with pasta. How the heck did this happen?!”

You knew you fucked it up royally when you met Minho’s gaze. As nervous as you were, the familiarity of having him around had tricked you, and the word just slipped from your lips. Min. The way he looked at you so longingly when he heard that name from you again… After all those years…

You wished the ground would swallow you whole.

“Thank you. I appreciate it very much,” Minho broke into a very comforting and content smile sensing your internal struggle, “I’ll get started with your entrée.”

He proceeded to prepare your main course, and as he was busying himself with it, you suddenly blurted out with the courage you got from your wine.

“Why don’t you make it for two?”

“Are you expecting company?” he asked not looking away from his cutting board.

“I’d like you to join me.”

He finally met your gaze, and you saw the whirlwind of emotions stirring in them. Surprised, definitely. Undertones of happy. A tinge of excitement maybe. And then he smiled.

It made you wanna lock him in the tightest embrace every time he smiled.

“I can’t do that while I’m working,” he returned to his cooking, somewhat bashful.

“You can if a paying customer is asking you to,” you insisted, “Please.”

Please? Did you just say please?

Did you know how many years did he wait for you to say that in any context? Did you know how unequipped he was to say no to that request?

Without saying anything, he threw another marinated steak on the grill in front of him and added another portion of baby potatoes right next to it. Shortly after, he pulled two plates from the cabinet below him and decorated them exactly the same.

Minus the little demiglace sun he drew on your plate and a crescent moon on his.

After he placed the plates on the table, he grabbed a fishbowl wine glass for himself and poured a generous amount of burgundy courage into it as if he wanted to drown himself.

“To you,” he raised his glass.

You reciprocated. Your glasses kissed each other way more fearlessly than you two could coexist in the same room. If Minho cooked dinner for you in the privacy of his own kitchen, it would only be slightly more intimate than this.

You both ate in silence for some time. You savored every bite, every flavor he managed to squeeze into that plate. It might have been completely delusional of you to think this way, but for some reason, everything everything in front of you tasted so sweet just because Minho made it for you. Nothing in this world could be this concerningly delicious to make you think whether you were having your last meal or not.

“Minho, I’m going to ask you a question.”

To hell with it. The itch at the back of your brain was about to drive you crazy, so you just had to scratch it before you snapped and went on a fucking rampage.

“Yes?” he asked you with his brows raised.

“To be brutally honest, I’m kind of scared to hear the answer,” you put your fork down and stared at it, “Are you…?”

How to ask this? How to not pry but pry at the same time? How to make him think you didn’t have the ulterior motives that you absolutely had? What if he gave the wrong answer? Because there was a wrong answer here.

“You’re– you’re married, right? To Nari’s mother, I mean.”

“No.”

A total lack of pause. He answered your question so nonchalantly as if to say What the hell is wrong with you?

“Really?! I mean…” you immediately cleared your throat, “I mean, are you– are you divorced, or…?”

“We never got married.”

What the hell was that feeling of relief spreading throughout your chest at a concerning speed?

“Why not?”

“Because we were never together to begin with,” Minho took a sip from his wine, “Nari wasn’t exactly born out of love.”

The clouds passing by his beautiful face… They were a distinct type of nimbus. Quite dark. Charged with lethal bolts of lightning. If they rained, they would sure as fuck create disastrous floods after them.

“Her mother and I… Let’s just say our relationship lasted for less than an hour under a lot of haze,” he started drawing circles on the rim of his glass, “There was a time in my life when I turned to less-than-ideal means to…”

Then he pierced a hole in your soul with his eyes.

“To try and forget you.”

Once upon a time, you knew a man. He wasn’t aware he had pirated his entire personality from someone else, and he would do anything to get his way. Anything. Even say things that would mean so much to an average person with zero restlessness on his conscience because he didn’t have one. He just didn’t give a fuck who he was hurting as long as he got what he wanted.

Years later, that very same man was sitting right in front of you, holding his heart between his hands openly and giving you a free pass to crush it into mere dust if you wished. The amount of vulnerability in his voice… He knew he deserved it. He knew he deserved the worst of it.

“I’m not proud of it, but I’m taking responsibility. She was the one who wanted to keep the baby, but she is nowhere to be found most of the time. So I filed for full custody.”

“You’re– you’re raising her on your own?”

“Yes,” he smiled and then switched to his playfully cocky mode you were a bit too familiar with, “I mean Rose helps us a lot of course, but I’m not about the give her all the credit. I’m indeed a superdad to my baby.”

You involuntarily chuckled. Why of course, even in the form of a joke he just had to compliment himself because that was Lee Minho for you.

“How old is she now?”

“She’s four.”

If someone had told you that years later you would be listening to this beautiful disaster with Everest-level cockiness talk about his baby girl fondly, you would die laughing.

Minho wriggled in his seat and cleared his throat, then spoke without looking at you.

“Well… Are– are you…?”

“Am I what?” you reached for your glass.

“You know,” he dragged his finger down the stem of his glass as if that was the most important task at hand, “Have someone. In your life.”

He seemed almost scared to look at you, but eventually mustered his strength to face his fate. You dragged on the silence for as long as you could handle and shook your head no. Not only was there massive relief on his face, but Minho also let out a very deep breath that accompanied his blooming smile.

“Sunny.”

The tone of his voice changed all of a sudden. Serious. Determined. He reached for your hand over the table and fearlessly looked deep into your eyes as he talked this time.

“I’ve never stopped having feelings for you. Never.”

His skin on yours once again. Hesitant but oh so soothing. Asking to come home.

All your senses were extremely heightened somehow.

“I thought I was doing what I believed was the best for you, but I hit rock bottom. I lived my life as a walking corpse after I let you go, but you know why I’m glad Nari exists?”

Every time he talked about his baby girl, all his razor-sharp features softened, and the amount of compassion he had for her was simply bursting out of him.

“She turned me into a man that I always wanted to become for you. She is teaching me about patience. She is teaching me about unconditional love,” Minho swallowed a sob to push it way down, “And she reminds me so much of you.”

This right there was how cruel life was. You both had to be dragged through hell and back in your own ways to become the people you were at that very moment. Nothing had gone according to the plan, but then it made you think.

So what if it hadn’t?

Would that necessarily be the better option? What if you and Minho stayed together to the point of resenting each other so badly that you couldn’t stand the idea of sharing a life anymore? So what if it wasn’t you two that were supposed to change each other for the better? At the end of the day, Minho was a household chef and a devoted father who seemed much more level-headed, and you were a successful editor-slash-writer who refused to put anyone else right at the center of your life anymore.

All things considered, did that really turn out so bad?

All things considered, could you give him another chance?

All things considered, would you be able to find it in your heart to forgive him?

“You’ve always been my Moony, Min,” you smiled at him through the tears threatening to fall, “And always will be.”

His smile, on the other hand, grew so devastatingly big that you were almost blinded.

“I was thinking, after I’m done here would you like to—?”

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

“DO YOU MIND, GENE?”

The poor maître d’ was just doing his job, but Minho got so annoyed to be interrupted at the best part that he couldn’t help the volume of his voice and startled both of you.

“I sincerely apologize,” he judged the crap out of Minho solely with his eyes and put a little envelope in front of you, “Ms. Ahn extends her regards.”

When you opened it, you saw that it contained two keycards in it for room 1116.

“Well, Gene, Ms. Ahn is indeed here, isn’t she?” you closed the envelope and shot him a knowing look, “I promise I’m not going to do anything. I just want to know.”

The tall man in his crisp brand-name suit got flustered out of his mind but felt obliged to provide you with an answer anyway.

“We’ve been strictly instructed to monitor your mood and let her know if you were in distress, ma’am.”

“Thank you very much. While I don’t appreciate the CCTV treatment, please tell her I’m really enjoying myself.”

As the man apologetically bowed and made himself scarce, you removed one of the keycards from the envelope and slid it towards Minho.

“Here’s your tip, Chef Lee,” you spoke with the softest but infinitely seductive tone, “Why don’t you pick up a bottle of your most expensive champagne and meet me upstairs?”

Without giving him a chance to speak, you got up to your feet. Minho’s eyes followed your every move and his jaw dropped when you came that close to him and leaned in.

“You remember how we used to not let each other sleep, right Min?” you placed a little kiss on the mole on his nose and left him there to marinate in his feelings for a while.

You thought he would take a while to arrive, but shortly after you entered the room, you heard a knock on your door.

“Can I come in?”

“Why didn’t you just let yourself in?” you looked at him in surprise.

“I uh– I wanted to make sure you actually want this,” he scratched his neck, “Maybe you’re having second thoughts, or maybe y—”

You shut him up by kissing him, and his eyes immediately closed. His lips in yours again… So soft. Occupied the space in your mouth just right. Burned you with the amount of desire they were coated in.

Some things had changed, yes, but some things were never going to change.

He still tasted the same.

“Does that answer your question?”

When you looked at him like that and dragged your fingers down his cheek, Minho lost his remaining sanity and devoured your lips. You pulled him in from the collar of his uniform as he shut the door behind him with his foot. Your hands were all over each other wanting to touch everything at the same time. You guided his hand between your legs to show him how wet you were already, eliciting a deliciously loud groan from him.

“You fucking know how weak I am for you, so you’re doing it on purpose, aren’t you?” he spoke into your mouth, “Keep this up and someone’s getting knocked up tonight.”

“Then fucking put your money where your mouth is. I dare you to breed me.”

“I hope your birth control fails.”

“I hope your condom breaks.”

“Joke’s on you. I don’t have one on me.”

You pulled him in for another fiery kiss, but when you attempted to take off his top, he stopped you.

“No, no, no, baby, I need to shower first.”

You shuddered when you suddenly heard the address he used to have for you. Minho also realized what he just called you and examined your face intently to determine the level of his fuck up.

“I’m– I’m so sorry. Force of habit.”

“It’s fine,” you smiled at him contrary to his expectations, “More than fine actually.”

“I promise I’ll be back in five minutes. Time me.”

You giggled as he grabbed a towel and bolted to the shower. When he reemerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and his wet locks sticking to his face, he still had forty-three seconds to spare, and you almost lost your whole entire shit when you saw him half-naked after all this time.

Minho had always been gorgeous, but now in addition to that, the man had become totally ripped.

“Now where were we?” he sat right next to you and attempted to kiss you again.

“Nuh-uh,” you stopped him in panic as if you weren’t on the brink of jumping him yourself, “You did kill the mood. You gotta work me up again.”

“Again,” he echoed you, “So I did work you up before.”

Even when he knew what he was doing to you, Minho would always try to coax you into saying it out loud. Give him attention, tell him how pretty he was, praise his oral skills, moan his name when you were cumming… He lived for that shit.

But once his lips touched your skin again, there were no remains of the playfully brazen guy anymore. It was like he was trying to tell you something without actually saying it.

“Did you miss me, too, Sunny?” he kissed the corner of your lips and started moving downwards, “Did you miss me as much as I missed you?”

His hands were all over you, albeit moving very unhurriedly. He was inhaling you a lot as if he had been to war and was down bad with homesickness.

“Say yes,” he spoke into your neck while pulling the straps of your dress down, “Even if you didn’t, please say yes.”

“But yes,” you affirmed and kept repeating it like a mantra to him, “Yes, I missed you to death. Yes. Yes.”

No amount of shampoo or shower gel could hide his sandalwood scent from you. You were getting lost in him just like you always did as if you didn’t spend any time apart. Minho stopped for a moment and looked at your face while stroking your cheeks, eyes beaming with adoration.

“You have another tattoo?” you touched his right shoulder, “Don’t tell me that’s for your daughter, too, because this looks depressing.”

It was a completely blackened sun as if it was in an eclipse. His expression turned serious all of a sudden.

“It’s for you actually.”

Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach.

“You were my sun. You still are. I already felt like I had completely eclipsed you, but when we broke up, my entire world darkened,” he caressed your hair, “It’s a little brighter now thanks to my little girl, but it’s… It’s not the same.”

You were suddenly overcome with so many emotions that you found yourself on the brink of crying. Minho’s eyes. Minho’s lips. Minho’s love. Minho. Minho. Minho.

“Love me,” your voice quivered, “You owe me years’ worth of touches. Just love me.”

“Shh, it’s okay now,” he kissed your hands and laid you down, “I’m right here.”

You let him pacify you with his touches as he stripped you fully. He caressed every inch of your body softly and marked every piece of skin he uncharted with a little kiss. As if he was discovering you afresh.

“Hate me all you want. I deserve it,” he pulled himself up to your eye level again, “Just let me kiss it all better. However long it takes.”

Then he proceeded to place his wet ‘days of the week’ kisses that you had missed so so so much.

“Monday.”

Your lips.

“Tuesday.”

Your neck.

“Wednesday and Thursday.”

Your breasts.

“Friday.”

Your tummy.

“Saturday.”

Your thighs.

“And Sunday.”

Your clit.

“You remember how we used to party on the weekends, right Sunny?”

You inadvertently let out a giggle seeing him smirk at you that mischievously.

“Let’s see if I remember it correctly,” Minho got comfortable between your legs, “This spot is for sucking.”

He wrapped his plush lips around your clit and sucked on it with a barely there pressure just to tease you. He knew it would never be enough even if he kept this up for hours.

“This spot is for kissing.”

He moved right under your clit and kept placing feathery kisses on the area. He was slowly pushing you towards the very edge of impatience and he loved the way you kept flinching under him.

“And this spot is for licking.”

Then he slithered down to your oozing entrance and started to lick into you with intermittent kisses. Just like on the nights you made up after a huge fight.

“Ah, Min…”

“Call me your baby again,” he spoke quietly into your pussy but you could feel his words inside you, “Call me baby like you used to.”

His way of passionately apologizing to you over and over again. He was drawing little suns and crescent moons on your pussy with his tongue, hoping you would recognize them. Hoping you would accept them as tokens of how sorry he was.

“Fucking god, your taste,” he contorted his face in absolute delight, “You taste better than the rarest delicacies, Sunny.”

He put your hands on his head for you to guide him, wrapped his hands around your thighs, and started a heavy makeout session with your cunt. The feeling was so intense that your eyes rolled back.

“I’ve kicked several addictions so far, but this? I’m never getting sober,” he wiped his chin smeared with your arousal and sucked on his finger, “I’m addicted to you. Down bad. Always have been.”

He gently slipped two fingers inside and started massaging that spot right behind your clit. Your moans were slowly transforming from quiet little staccatos to dragged-out sounds of pleasure as if you were belting a note.

“Better, right?”

“Much better,” you tugged on his moist locks, “God, you’re fucking amazing with those fingers, baby. You’re… You’re so… Oh, fuck!”

Minho was never able to control how he reacted to you whenever you praised him in bed for any reason. He was in dire withdrawal as it was as it had been such a long time since you showered him with compliments. You might have said one word, but it still automatically awakened Minho’s beast mode because if there was one thing he loved more than anything, it was competing with himself. In any capacity. His fingering got a little faster, and he alternated between sucking and licking long drags on your pussy until you came all over his fingers. He licked them clean and crawled on top of you to kiss you with his cum-stained lips.

Once you gathered your wits again, you laid Minho down and hovered over him. You kissed him with the very same days of the week. His scars. His tattoos. Like you were accepting his apologies. Like you were accepting him for who he was. He kept wincing under you in pleasure and tried to catch a glimpse of your face as you made your way down.

“You remember how we used to fuck for hours on Sunday mornings, right Min?”

You worshipped his abdomen just the way he liked it, touching and placing wet kisses all over. His large hands were caressing your hair as he watched you with his head tilted, dying of anticipation of the moment your lips would finally meet where he needed you the most. Minho loved the prelude, always had, and his breathing was much faster already.

“Should I go further down?” you teased him by kissing his crotch, “Should I?”

“Don’t make me beg!”

You would, but maybe some other time. You took his flushed cock in your mouth and started blowing him as slowly as possible. Deep. To taste his essence rather than pleasure him. All of a sudden, it felt like he was never gone, and this was just another night in your bed you were spending together until the faint blue lights of daybreak told you to stop fucking and go to sleep.

Even after all this time, I still love you.

Minho didn’t rush you. He was so scared you would come to your senses and leave him all alone for good that he couldn’t even move.

He wasn’t about to mess it all up again.

“I’m right here”, you held his hands to reassure him, “I’m right here, Min. I’m not going anywhere.”

Once you said that, all the muscles he was unknowingly clenching loosened and he relaxed into the pillow, completely letting go and just relishing the feeling of you around him. He was getting dangerously close to his release, but that wasn’t a part of his plan.

“Don’t!” he stopped you when you started choking on him, “Don’t make me cum. Not yet.”

When you let go of his cock with a loud pop, Minho immediately sat up and pulled you in for a deep kiss. His tongue still tasted like you in your mouth.

“Beg, baby,” you scratched right under his chin, “Beg to fuck me. Beg for me.”

“Let me make it up to you,” he brushed your hair away from your face, “Let me show you why I’m your other half. Why we belong together. Please.”

“What if I say no?”

“Please, baby,” Minho pleaded with his lips on your neck again, “Let me fuck you. Let me fuck you deep. Let me fly us both. Let me drive both of us crazy right here right now. You know I can.”

If Minho’s weakness were your praises, then yours was his relentless begging. You were ready to spread your legs for him four sentences ago, but what fun would it be if he didn’t turn into an utterly desperate lover so eager to please? You placed your hands around his neck and harshly pulled him down with you, signaling him you were ready.

“Oh fuck, you still feel like heaven inside,” Minho took deep breaths as he carefully settled inside you, “You still fit around me so snugly.”

How full he made you feel inside every single time was insane. No matter how much he stretched you, no matter how wet you were for him, it didn’t matter. The second he started moving inside you, that feeling was so intense that your eyes rolled back with a loud moan.

“You still react the same to me, Sunny,” he chewed on his lips and picked up his pace just a measure, “Does it still feel as good, baby? Do you like the pressure?”

You slammed your hands on his hips and groped him for how overwhelmed you were with pleasure.

“God, it feels much better than I remember!”

“Wrap your legs around me. Let me go deeper.”

When you did as he said, Minho was able to angle himself properly to reach a critical spot inside you.

“Fuck, that’s deep!”

“I know how my girl likes it. I know all your hotspots,” he maniacally smiled, “I know how exactly you like to cum like the back of my hand.”

��Getting cocky there a bit?”

“Tell me if this rings a bell,” he continued to fuck you deep but now with slower thrusts, “Folds teased until you’re rabid. Pussy fingered and clit sucked until it’s numb in my mouth. Breasts fondled. Thighs kissed. Legs massaged with my cum as your aromatherapy oils.”

You involuntarily groaned at how fucking brazen he was being with you. Minho grabbed both of your hands and pinned them right above your head.

“Then it’s my turn, and I fucking drill you into this mattress like my personal pornstar, and you take it like the good girl you are. Sound familiar?” he started moving with sharper, more precise thrusts, “Do you deny any of this? Do you deny that I know how to fuck you just right?”

“Min, please!”

“I’m made for you, baby. Don’t you ever forget it,” he unleashed himself on your lips like a starving predator.

All that filled that dark room for a while was both your muffled moans melting into each other as well as the obscene sounds of skin against skin and lewd squelches coming from sopping wet cunt.

“Listen to you. Fucking dripping,” Minho sharply hissed, “Go ahead baby, you can soak me more. Don’t be shy.”

“Fucking– Just– Fuck, you’re– How d– oh my GOD!”

“Aww, I know baby, I know,” he placed an unnecessarily chaste kiss on your forehead, “Getting fucked by your man so good you can’t even talk properly. Am I doing that good of a job pleasuring you?”

“You’re doing perfect, baby.”

“Am I still your good boy, Sunny?”

“Keep talking like that and I’m gonna fucking sink my teeth into you!”

“I dare you to bite me.”

You could try to wriggle away all you wanted but Minho’s grip on you was like a deadbolt. You weren’t able to move an inch. He slowed way down and watched the way he disappeared into you while biting his lips so hard they were about to bleed.

“See? See how it slides right in? I turn you on so bad you can’t help getting wetter,” he shoved a couple of fingers inside your mouth to suck on, “Night after night, I dreamed of this. You. Getting so fucking wet around me that I have no choice but to cum.”

You weren’t able to talk anymore, but what you really wanted to do didn’t require any words anyway. You swirled your tongue around his fingers and looked at him so desperately that there was no way he wasn’t going to react to this.

“Don’t look at me like that with those begging eyes, or I swear to god I’ll breed the shit out of you,” he landed a light smack on your thigh and took his fingers out, “And you best believe it’s going to hold. Your walls are so swollen already.”

“All talk no play. You��d fucking better finish inside,” you rattled him, “My pussy’s too pretty not to be eaten or creampied, and that’s a fact.”

“Yes, it is. It fucking is. It deserves to be creampied first and then eaten,” he threw his head back in absolute ecstasy, “And you already know I swallow.”

Minho channeled all his focus on that particular spot inside you that you liked so much. The curvature of his cock was aligned just right to end you.

“Now let me hit that exactly the way you like it.”

He buried himself into you to the hilt. Once he bottomed out, he pushed a little more forward and started hitting that spot hard in a staccato rhythm like a pulse, never once pulling back.

“Oh, FUCK YOU!”

“Right there, isn’t it? You love getting this spot fucked,” he was more than satisfied watching what he was able to do to you, “God, you’re literally ascending.”

It was only at that moment did Minho realize one of the closet doors to the left side of him was plated with a mirror. Once he caught a glimpse of the two of you in the frame, he throbbed hard inside you.

“Oh, jesus fucking christ!” he turned your attention to the same destination, “Nobody can ever do it like us, baby. Look how fucking hot we are.”

Minho being his otherworldly sexy self, fucking the life out of you like there was no tomorrow was already enough to blow your mind, but when you actually saw yourself getting fucked…

You could literally feel yourself excessively oozing.

“Soaking the sheets, huh?” he contently chuckled at the trail you were leaving under you, “Time for my girl to give it to me good, then.”

He swiped his thumb on his tongue and started going to work on your clit. While you thought the level of eroticism was going to end you, it suddenly became…

Something else.

“I belong right here, Sunny. Don’t ever leave me without you,” he started going harder, “I’m begging you. Please.”

You held him by his waist and pulled him for a kiss with your arms around his neck. You were both clearly so overwhelmed by your emotions. It was never just lust with Minho. Every time you fucked, it felt like a reaffirmation, a renewal of promises between you. You had badly broken and bruised each other once upon a time but at the end of the day…

“It’s you,” he spoke into his mouth breathlessly, “It’s always been you. You own my heart, Min.”

If you kept talking, he was for sure going to be moved to tears. Minho suddenly stopped and rested his back against the headboard, promptly making you straddle him to pick up where he left off.

“I’ve always loved you, Sunny. I always will,” he rolled his hips into you, “Tell me you love me, baby.”

“Even after all this time,” you moved away the locks of his hair covering his eyes, “I still love you, Min. I love you to the moon and back.”

To the moon and back.

To the moon.

Your Moony.

Minho finally lost all control and started fucking into you so fervently that it was impossible for you to endure that pressure.

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“Again, baby.”

“I love you, Min.”

“Oh, fuck, I’m about to cum!”

He gently pushed your chest back to make room for his thumb and started rubbing you frantically. The second you contracted hard around him with that high-pitched moan, Minho let go and came really fucking hard as if he was having a spasm. He came so much and it was so wet between your legs that you didn’t know which of those drops belonged to you and which ones belonged to him.

“Don’t pull out,” you grabbed him by his nape and pulled him closer, “Deeper. Fuck your cum deeper into me.”

“You’re driving me clinically insane,” Minho bit into your lips, and then promptly kissed them along with your cheeks and your forehead, “Just like we always wanted, huh? The best of both worlds.”

You rode out your high in that utter state of bliss and collapsed on top of him, but even in his fucked out state, Minho clung to you like a koala bear. He kissed your shoulders and your neck, wrapped his arms around your waist, and pulled you into his embrace.

“I did miss you so much,” you started playing with his hair once you both calmed down, “But there are some realities we need to talk about.”

“You mean Nari.”

“Yes,” you averted your eyes avert from him, “I can’t just appear in her life just to disappear again, Min.”

“But who says you need to—?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” you interrupted him, “I don’t even know if she would like me.”

“Well, considering she’s growing up with the fairytales I tell her about Sunny the Princess, I think she wouldn’t mind seeing her in the flesh, but I digress.”

“You what?!”

He let out a loud cackle at your reaction and kissed your lips.

“I know the situation is not what we thought it would be, but Nari could be our child, baby. We can give her a baby brother, too,” he pressed your hands on his chest, “I’m ready for this. If you’re also willing, just say the word, and we can have our happily ever after.”

A happily ever after. With Minho. Maybe the means of getting there didn’t really matter after all as long as you got to have it. Nevertheless, it wasn’t a decision about two people’s lives anymore.

“This seems too big of a decision to make overnight.”

“Then tell you what, how about we ease into it?” Minho propped up on his left elbow, “I take you out on a few dates, we fuck on the third date, and if you see a promise by then, you meet her by the tenth date. How does that sound?”

“Damn, tenth?!” you widened your eyes in shock as if Minho just insulted your entire ancestry, “I have to wait that long?”

“She’s hard to get. You can’t just appear in her life just to disappear again.”

You landed a light smack on his arm for mimicking you, but the picture he painted for you was more than fair.

“That sounds lovely.”

You kissed him to your heart’s content to avenge all that time you spent apart. With his eyes closed, Minho’s hands never left your skin as if to make sure that you were indeed real and right next to him, and this wasn’t one of those dreams again.

“I love you, Sunny,” he glided his fingers down your cheek, “You complete me.”

“Even after all this time?”

He flashed a smile so endearing you almost melted into a puddle right then and there.

“Always.”

He wanted to punctuate that moment with a kiss at the expense of getting your lips painfully swollen, but the deeper he kissed you, the more something was awakening in him again. Before you knew it, his hands were slithering down your back and groping your hips.

“Already?” you looked at him all surprised.

“You have no idea about the drought I was in for years, so yes, already,” Minho pulled you under him and trapped you under his frame, “If you fall asleep, I’m fucking you awake tonight.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE

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hyunnipie · 1 year ago

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lord save me

when i tell you i cannot get over this picture.

uh 18+ under the cut ig

mentions punishment but like barely anything else. literally only 4 sentences under the cut lmao

gives such “you don’t want to mess with me vibes”

but in a “i’ll punish you” type of way

like you keep teasing him and he gives you this look as a warning

oh you bet your sweet ass i’m going full brat mode with no regrets

#stray kids #hyunjin #smut?#hard thoughts #but not really #idk i just love this photo #yeah i’m a brat what about it #tell me i’m wrong cause i’m not #straykids smut #hyunjin smut #hyunjin hard thoughts

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hyunnipie · 1 year ago

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living with the fact i will never find that one lee know figure skating au is killing me

0 notes

hyunnipie · 1 year ago

Text

you are literally one of my favorite writers <3 i always look forward to your new content.

CHARCOAL BLUES IN C MINOR

LEGEND 🖤Pairing · 📜Word Count · 🪐AU/Genre/Trope · 🚨 Warnings

🖤Hyunjin x (afab) Reader 📜23k | Approx. 1h 37-min read 🪐Jazz Age AU: Old-timey Romance, Angst, Mutual Pining, Slowburn, Smut 🚨Reader discretion advised: Adult themes, strong language, impending forced arranged marriage, judgemental & suffocating societal/familial environment—premarital sex and loss of virginity is a no-no, depictions of class differences and old-school gender norms, physical altercation between fellas, depictions of a meltdown, demisexualism, (mutual) masturbation, (mutual) first times (kiss, sex), cum eating, oral sex, unprotected sex, creampie. 💭Reblogs & comments are always appreciated and please keep in mind they are the ultimate motivation fuel. 🍮Like my content? Consider supporting my work with a pudding!

SYNOPSIS Charcoal and straw papers. Piano keys and sheet music. A lighthouse and a speakeasy. Prestige and the lack thereof. A story of two souls falling deliriously in love despite everything that stood between them.

NOTES - This story has alternating POVs, and Hyunjin's POV is written in first person. - Written for @skzwritingcafe May/June event: Blossoming love🌸

Love doesn’t feed you. It never will.

A true lady was judged based on the elegance emitting from her wardrobe, her eloquence, her manners, and the lack of creases on her skin. That was phase one. Then she needed to learn how to play freaking chess with her femininity, and mind games training started as early as the age of sixteen.

Be subtle, never direct. Only insinuate. Be classy, never trashy. Learn the skills that will contribute to your added value.

The assigned roles had always been there. Esteemed women weren’t supposed to taint their perfectly manicured hands with manual labor like some commoner, but there was still a way for them to get a taste of prosperity. They weren’t much different than an overpriced gold watch if you thought about it, solely existing to adorn a big spender’s arm.

‘Rich’ is doomed to run out, but ‘wealthy’ is forever.

Therefore, starting from the second you turned legal, it was of utmost importance to be desirable by many, preferably by people of affluent descent, so that you could have your pick. There was nothing wrong with giving them the illusion that they could be the one to have you. Men lived to be a source of envy, after all.

Tease but never give in. Gently caress their egos until they’re about to burst. Make them dependent on you. Addicted even.

But you had to do it before you reached a certain age, of course. A double-edged sword, indeed.

Dignified women were never invited to be an active part of the cognac-induced laughter fits of men, but they were supposed to politely applaud their business triumphs while serving the cognac. If you had enough money to burn, you could afford to tell other women to serve the bitter drink to a room full of gentlemen in a lavishly-decorated guest room.

Otherwise, this gathering would take place at some club established solely for their pleasure. They were called Gentlemen’s Clubs, yet it was such a poor choice of a name since there was absolutely nothing gentlemanly going on inside.

But somebody had to do it. Somebody had to take on the monumental responsibility that was entertaining the married men of this town. Their wives took care of them, but they didn’t entertain them. That was why courtesanship was among the most well-paying jobs of this era despite all the trash talk revolving around it. You know, not much different than the beginning of time.

Of course it wasn’t considered cheating. Why would it? Burlesque entertainment was one of the finer pleasures in life only a select few got to enjoy. It wasn’t the patrons’ fault if the services included exchanging physical affection for money. Of course it wasn’t their fault.

Because this was a man’s world you were living in and courtesans were never going to be considered worthy of respect.

Much like everybody of your age, you were taught to be a suitor magnet, as well. Manners fully intact, knows how to gracefully regale, makes herself scarce when the brandy bottle is out, knows how to light up a cigar, also smoke one if need be. If you were paid money on top of all that, you would make one fine courtesan.

Minus the sex. That corset your mother made you wear to protect your virginity was complicating things a little.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust you; she didn’t trust anyone else. At least that was what she claimed. God forbid if you gave into the cravings of the flesh before marriage, what a tragedy it would be. Who would want a plum no matter how juicy and sweet when someone already took a bite from it? How would your mother be able to walk with her head held high ever again? How could you ever hope to attract well-off heirs, which seemed like the only way for you to close the monetary abyss you had recently learned that you inherited from your late father?

People would leave jewelry, antiques, or at the very least something of sentimental value to their children, and your share of family heirlooms was pain. A burden that wasn’t necessarily yours, but was passed on to you to take care of nevertheless.

Love doesn’t feed you. It never will.

Your mother would know. She just didn’t think it would change anything if you knew the reason why. She was resenting your father enough for the both of you anyway.

All the more reason why it frustrated the heck out of you that you were met with a firm ‘No’ every time you expressed your interest in working.

“And do what? Stick out among men and become a target? I’m not going to have you called a courtesan.”

“Mother, please listen…”

“My word is final. Do not bring this to me again.”

How was she this blind to her own contradictions? You weren’t allowed to make an honest living, but technically you were still expected to sell something.

You weren’t clueless. The day you had your first period, the loyal family aide Shima, who was more like a much older sister to you, told you all about a man’s serpent visiting a woman’s den and how much men liked it when the den was untouched.

“Are there untouched serpents too?”

“Serpents move by crawling on the floor, young lady. They touch by design.”

“But wouldn’t women like untouched serpents more? There would be less dirt.”

“They would maybe, but they can’t.”

“But why?”

“Because it’s not possible.”

“But why?”

“Because it’s just the way it is.”

“But why?”

“Okay, young lady, no more questions.”

Your ‘problem child’ tendencies also included hoarding knowledge like a dragon hoarding gold, but nobody needed to know about that. Intelligent women were nothing but anomalies that needed to be quarantined to prevent further spread, and amputated if need be. You needed to be dumb, dull, and live to please your husband. That was your job. Look pretty, act pretty, talk pretty, and charm people so that your husband could make money because this was a man’s world you were living in.

Then again, wouldn’t that make you the original business negotiator here? Wouldn’t that make you the breadwinner?

Goddamn men and their gatekeeping.

Among everything you were expected to master, you accidentally developed a severe passion for one of them. So much so that you fell head over heels in love with it.

Music.

You studied Chopin and Beethoven and Liszt and Mozart, and their pieces felt like fine china that needed to be treated delicately not to break. No mistakes allowed. Precise keystrokes. Gentlest bootcamp. Of course there were no ranks to be obtained at graduation because in what universe did women get to be sergeants? Nevertheless, you got this inexplicable kick out of being able to juggle those china cups with effortless finesse.

Other than playing your sorrows away, all you could do with your prowess was to entertain fancy crowds that may or may not have had your future husband among them. That was it. It was a skill to be traded in exchange for staying afloat.

Society might have branded this as manners training all it wanted, but for you, this was nothing short of being whored around.

And if your mother dared to ask for dowry, it would officially make her your pimp.

I’ve always had a problem staying still. I won’t bore you with the details of every single incident, but I never shied away from breaking a few rules here and there for the sake of being on the move. No, I’m not sorry, and I would do it all over again.

People use many different words when they talk about me. “Free spirit” is one of them. “Rascal” is another. Changbin says I’m also “easily moved” and teases me a lot for it, but that’s not true. I’ve never been easily moved; I’m just moved a lot when something manages to squeeze my soul, which doesn’t happen that often. There is a difference.

Changbin is my chosen brother, by the way, but I’ll get to it.

Our neighborhood was what the bourgeois called “the ghetto”, harboring people from many ethnicities. The living conditions might have been less-than-ideal, but we weren’t necessarily unhappy. I spent my entire childhood thinking we were living inside an everlasting carnival with all those different languages loudly spoken from door to door. Everybody laughed the same, though.

I left home with dad every morning. On his way to work, he would drop me off at our nextdoor neighbor Mr. De Luca’s barbershop. He had agreed to take me in as an apprentice after I begged him many many times. He was a magician with his scissors, and I really wanted to learn the tricks of the trade. He always said my hands were “way too dexterous” and I would have no problem earning a living with them. I didn’t understand what that meant at the time.

When my friends were back from school in the afternoon, we played football with soda caps in front of our building until dinnertime, and then everyone would go back home for their share of home-cooked meals. For us, it was just my old man and me, but the De Lucas frequently called us over for dinner.

I didn’t go to school. We weren’t able to afford it with the minimum wage my father was making, but I’m not illiterate. Mrs. De Luca taught me how to read and do math. Mr. De Luca taught me what it was to be a craftsman. My dad taught me to live passionately and I’m sure my mom would teach me a few things, too, if she were alive. We were missing a piece in our hearts, but I’ve never felt the absence of love in my life.

One day, Mr. De Luca’s nephew came to the shop to visit him. A young man by the name of Tiziano who looked about twenty years of age. He called me fratello. I loved how the word rang in my ear. He was such a handsome guy with a tall posture and tanned skin, and when he smiled at the ladies in our neighborhood, they would nudge each other and giggle a lot. I remember wanting to be like him when I became a man.

Tiziano was carrying a leather-bound folder with him. There were a lot of papers and a black stick inside. I still clearly remember the tingling sensation that started from my nape and traveled down my spine when he showed me what was on the papers. I felt like some invisible witch was casting a spell on me.

That was the moment I saw a charcoal drawing for the first time.

I begged my father for charcoal sticks and paper so that I could learn how to draw like Tiziano. Not to brag or anything, but my progress was quite fast. I’m not a genius by any means; I just don’t know how to like things. When something piques my interest, I obsess over it day and night. I lost sleep many nights trying to perfect the shading of an apple even though no one was putting a gun to my head. Mr. De Luca would scold me a lot on the mornings I was late to the barbershop because I overslept, but it wasn’t that big a deal. He would tell me not to do it again, knowing full well I would do it again. He hated the fact that he couldn’t stay mad at me for too long, calling me a ’fucking charming spawn of the devil’. I learned a lot of the curse words in my vocabulary from him.

When I saw Tiziano again in a few years, the ladies I smiled at were nudging each other and giggling at me, too. I showed him how much I improved with my very own leather-bound folder over dinner at Mr. De Luca’s, and he invited me to come back with him to Italy so that we could draw together. So that I could experience life. So that I could have a “broader horizon”, whatever the fuck that means. I agreed in a heartbeat.

The first time I saw a naked woman was at Tiziano’s studio in Rome. He was friends with a lot of streetwalkers, which gave me a chance to study the human body so that I could draw nudes. I remember the exchange I had with a very beautiful lady called Giulia when I was alone in the studio with her.

“Do I turn you on, Hyunjin?” she walked up to me while putting on her robe.

“You do.”

“If you want to fuck me, you can. I’m not gonna ask for any money.”

I shared my honest thoughts with her wrapped in a smile.

“But I’m not in love with you, Giulia.”

She laughed at my words for quite a while and pinched my cheek when her laughter died down. She said I was cute but an absolute fool. I couldn’t blame her. I knew people who would commit murders to be with a goddess like Giulia. Nevertheless, if not wanting to touch someone I don’t feel anything for other than lust makes me a fool, so be it. You can’t insult me with that. When I returned home, my virginity was still fully intact.

I always thought I would go on to become a barber myself, but my little European adventure left me aching for something more. I knew I wasn’t going to make it as an artist, and I still didn’t know what I wanted to dedicate myself to other than charcoal, so I opted for taking odd jobs here and there to maintain a living until I did. Whenever I have the time, I hang out at the pier, the square, the parks, and street corners because I enjoy peoplewatching a lot. I enjoy depicting raw as fuck shit through charcoal shadows. People kissing. A woman breastfeeding. The longing gaze of a young lad watching a girl knitting in the distance. It makes me happy.

But what made me happier was seeing you for the first time on a bench by the pier one afternoon as I was looking for something to draw.

You were just sitting there, gazing into the distance. You were so perfectly still besides the occasional sighs you heaved that it felt like you were sitting for a private sketch. I pretended that you were indeed modeling for me and tried my best to capture you in grayscale as fast as I could. Your drooped shoulders. Your resigned eyes. The intricately ornate jade comb in your hair.

I looked at that sketch a lot in the subsequent days.

I was so drawn to you for some reason. I wanted to sit next to you and ask why you were so sad. I wanted to ask if you liked candy apples. It would cheer anyone up, right?

But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to intrude on your alone time with yourself despite the raging urge inside me to do so.

Then I noticed you were there again. And again. And again.

You’re at the pier every day.

You come at 12 PM sharp. You just sit there on your bench, having a silent conversation with the sea. An hour later or so, a woman that looks like your aide comes to pick you up and you leave with her. Every day you look a bit sadder. It wrenches my heart to see the gloom in your beautiful eyes.

Every day, I impatiently check my watch, and when the time nears the noon, I just bolt to the pier wherever the fuck I am to see you again.

I only draw with my charcoal, but you make me hear fucking colors. I don’t even know your name, but you’ve already become my muse. I go to bed every night praying for your happiness because I have never seen you smile. And I’m dying to witness it in its full glory.

If only I could steal one glimpse of your eyes looking at me. I know I’m probably going to lose it when and if that happens, but I’d love to hold some of your apparent heartache for you if it means you can rest a little easy.

One day… One of these days I’ll muster up enough courage to come sit next to you.

Please fix your posture, young lady.

Please eat slower, young lady.

Please do not laugh loudly and cover your mouth, young lady.

“To hell with being a lady!” you threw your pencil towards the corner of Practice Room VIII where you were all alone.

Yes, you were supposed to be ladylike, and by god, you could pretend to be one on cue, but you were on the brink of violently snapping and going on a rampage. You had less than zero interest in tea ceremonies or in how many different styles you could braid your hair. You wanted to learn marksmanship instead. You wanted to learn how to play pool. You wanted to do other things. As unladylike as they could be.

Like hell your mother would let you.

When you earned a full scholarship from The Institute of Fine Arts, obviously shots were fired in your household. It took a relentless battle of wits, but you refused to back down at any cost. Not when it came to music, not a chance. You eventually emerged victorious.

Because you happened to know about your mother’s biggest blind spot that was only supposed to be taken advantage of as a last resort.

Prestige.

Not only The Institute was notoriously selective, but only the ultra-elite were able to afford that monstrosity of tuition anyway. And you already making a name for yourself as the piano genius? Potentially befriending the crème de la crème of the high society in the meantime?

That had got to extinguish the protest fire.

And it indeed did. For quite a long while. Things were going a bit too well that you started getting suspicious, living in dread while anticipating the moment when it would all come crashing down.

The doomsday finally manifested itself in the form of your mother waltzing her way into the living room, interrupting your reading time with an unnecessarily high-pitched voice.

“Fan–tas–tic news!” she walked towards you on the couch with long and quick steps, “Look what just came in the mail.”

“My very own pumpkin carriage,” you quipped, expecting the joke to be stillborn, but your mother actually responded to you.

“Actually, yes!”

It was a burgundy velvet box she was ceremoniously holding in her hands as if it was a tray. When she opened it, you saw a fancy-looking envelope as well as a 24K golden shamrock pendant with drops of emeralds inside the leaves.

“A… necklace,” you observed, unimpressed.

“Guess who it is from. Guess!”

“I don’t know, mother. Just tell me.”

You had obviously lied. The O’Connor family was in the newspapers almost every day, and everybody in this town knew that shamrocks were basically their coat of arms. They were one of the highest-regarded people in the country, and it was mindblowing to you how they obtained that status while clearly being involved in some shady business.

No one ever got that rich that fast by doing something honest, and it didn’t take a genius to conclude that. The things people got away with if…

“Bridget O’Connor!” your mother squealed in utter excitement, “In her letter, she says she’s seen you perform at your year-end concert, and she’s officially asking your hand in marriage for her youngest son Ryan!!!”

Your heart didn’t only drop to your stomach; it hit every possible sharp edge along the way and almost bled to death. It was tragically ironic that such a beautiful and delicate piece of jewelry meant a life sentence for you.

“Don’t– Don’t I have any say in this?”

“This is no time to be joking, dear. It’s the O’Connors we’re talking about! Wear this. Wear it!”

“Mother…”

As she hurriedly put the shamrock on you, Shima watched you getting cuffed with big, concerned eyes. Being put on a leash. Being forced to wear a straitjacket. Whatever the hell you wanted to call it.

“Out of all the people you could impress… I’m so proud of you, dear!” your mother left a big kiss on the crown of your head. She had never once said she was proud of you for any of your achievements so far. Not even when you earned the top rank of your entire class year. She had never kissed you with that much affection before. You locked yourself in your room that night and cried yourself to sleep.

You were already living on a schedule. The time you got up, to have breakfast, for school, to come back home, for dinner, to go to bed… Everything was decided for you as if you were still a kid. You went to school at 9 AM. You had your lunch break at noon. Shima and your chauffeur picked you up to drive you back to school at 1 PM and you had your afternoon classes until 4 PM. Then you went back home.

You were enduring it, but you were just a ticking time bomb in the making.

The truth was when it was supposed to be your lunch break, you went to the pier instead. You never had lunch during that time. The knot in your throat that was the size of a fist wouldn't let you swallow anyway. You kept thinking about your impending doom.

What was it all for anyway? Once you got married, you were probably only going to be playing the piano for Ryan and whatever company he was going to have. Even the mere thought of it made you sick to your stomach. You wished there was a way for you to make good money with music so that you could tell people to leave you the fuck alone.

You only… wished.

But one of those days, you noticed something during a visit to the pier.

A young man sitting three benches away from you, seemingly drawing something. He was wearing a silver necklace with a cross pendant that gleamed under the sunlight. That was what attracted your attention in the first place anyway. Then you made the mistake of actually looking at his face.

It could not be possible for a human being to be this beautiful. It was criminal, to say the least. Perfect features on a perfect face that belonged to a perfect body. He put every living to shame. Did he know how blinding he was? Was he aware of his own beauty, or completely oblivious to it?

Judging by how nonchalantly he was crossing his legs on that bench, drawing away whatever was in front of him and not paying attention to anything else, it had to be the latter. But just… How?

You kept going back to the pier during your lunch hours, just hoping against hope that you would see him again. You never initiated a conversation with him; just knowing that he was there, keeping you silent company in the distance was enough for you. A part of you felt a little jolt every time you caught a glimpse of him, but even then it was short-lived. The second something warm started spreading in your chest, the screams of your ugly reality began to echo in your head again, and that unknown warmth dissipated as quickly as it appeared.

Yet, every time you walked away from the pier, you thought about the man with the silver chain. He was your only distraction from the reality. From having to get married. From the leash decorating your neck. From your mother’s incessant requests.

Eventually, the day you got vehemently sick of the military precision of your timetable arrived. One day, you decided to lie without even batting an eye at the dinner table, and if anybody asked, you could confidently say you had enough of having every single aspect of your life heavily scrutinized. You were your own person, too. You were entitled to your own life and decisions, too.

You were simply done playing this role you didn’t even audition for.

“I’ve been selected to perform at the Spring concert. It’s quite important as the Mayor’s family attends every year, so I have to practice.”

Technically it wasn’t a lie. There was a Spring concert, but the auditions weren’t even until the end of the month. Then again, nobody in your household needed to know about that.

“The Mayor?” your mother put down her fork loudly, “Does he attend with his wife only, or—?”

“They attend as a family, mother. To answer your actual question, yes, his sons are going to be there, too,” then you turned to Shima calmly, “Starting Monday, please come pick me up at 10 PM instead. That’s when my practice sessions will end.”

“Isn’t that quite late, young lady?”

“Our building is very well secured, and I won’t be alone. The entire concert ensemble will be there, as well,” you wiped your mouth with a linen napkin and got up to your feet, “As Mother will also agree, this is The Mayor’s family I need to impress, so I believe me staying late is not as scandalous as it sounds. Thank you for the meal.”

By some miracle, nobody actually questioned it. What you actually did during your freedom hours, on the other hand, was just walking. On the main boulevard. On the streets that you didn’t know. Sometimes on the walking path by the sea. You just walked and walked and walked. Sometimes you even openly wept, not caring about how people stared at you. Not giving a single damn about how ugly you looked. How unladylike your behavior was.

Then one evening…

You heard something for the first time accompanying the gentle melodies of a piano coming from a place with no sign outside. When you approached the door, you were met with a question that you most certainly did not expect.

“C Minor?”

Was this person asking for the notes comprising the chord? Or was it some completely irrelevant password he was seeking for? Having no other alternative, you gave him the only answer you had in store.

“C, E-flat major, G.”

The door opened. You were met with a large neon sign inside that spelled Poseidon. You had heard about this club, but never in a nice context. Your mother and her friends called that place and the women entertaining crowds in it deplorable. Casting those rumors aside, you followed the notes that were like a hand made of cartoonish smoke luring you in, only to find yourself in a large music hall.

The mysterious sound you heard was coming from a gold-colored saxophone. You couldn’t really see who was playing it since the orchestra was hidden in the shadows, but it didn’t stop you from instantly falling in love. You would petition for it to be called a sexophone for it was the most sensuous of instruments, but even that much would probably get caught by the censor radar anyway.

“And now, please welcome the first lady of song, Ella Simone.”

Then the richest voice you had ever heard filled the entire hall. You could literally smell it. It smelled like a burning cinnamon stick and caramel. This was the first time you heard someone singing from their soul instead of their diaphragm. People were losing their minds, calling out to the ‘First Lady’ men and women alike. It was nothing short of mass hysteria. You had never witnessed something like this before in your entire life.

Music did that. Nothing else.

After a couple of hours in that place, you resolved to sneak out to Poseidon to take in the talent of the greats. Cassidy, Simone, Parker, Cole… The names they never taught you at the great great Institute. During your free practice hours at school, you started learning jazz pieces, that ‘depravity music’ which was frowned upon by the pretentious high society. By ear. You didn’t need any sheet music to decipher those emotions.

You didn’t want to fathom what would happen if your mother heard you were indulging in this instead of practicing soulless piano concertos.

But a part of you just did not care anymore.

The reasons for me to take a job at Poseidon were threefold.

First off, Poseidon is a speakeasy. It’s not someplace whoever the fuck wants to get in can get in. You need to know a password for fuck’s sake, and if you’re not a music aficionado, then buh-bye.

Secondly, it didn’t feel like work. My shifts were at night, and it was just me and my boys playing pool most of the time instead of at the neighborhood pub. Mr. De Luca hated the fact that I was wasting away my youth, but I was having a great time being a backstage support staff.

And finally, the saxophone.

Good god, the fucking saxophone.

The first time I heard it was when Mr. Coltrane Parker played it on stage. People were losing their minds over it, as they should have, I mean. I clearly remember how I was nailed to my place because of how mesmerized I was by him. This could be it. This could be what I could dedicate myself to because I could swear I was seeing notes float in the air. They felt like colored charcoal lines to me.

Since I was supposed to be backstage, I could get my hands on that blonde beauty anytime I wanted. I came to work several hours early in the afternoon just so I could practice it.

“You know you’re not supposed to touch those, right?”

I almost had a heart attack that day.

Ms. Pearson, former courtesan turned manager, had busted me practicing without permission. Even though I kept telling myself I was going to get fired, she didn’t say anything to anyone and basically adopted me instead. I think she developed a soft spot for me after I told her my father had passed and I had no family.

She’s the one who bought me my very own saxophone. A King Super 20. Just like the legend himself uses. The fucking Cadillac of saxes. I almost came in my pants when she showed that to me.

Poseidon is a jazz speakeasy, but most men come here because of the courtesans accompanying them. They are very hardworking ladies, by the way, so I wish they earned more. All the staff working in this club are very friendly with each other as they should be. We see each other every damn day, more than our families. Well, the last part doesn’t really pertain to me, but you get what I mean.

There’s one particular person who seems particularly interested in me. Raquelle. Changbin keeps telling me to hit that, but with all due respect, that’s just outrageous. Just because she’s a courtesan doesn’t mean I have to make advances on her.

That being said, I’m not dumb. I notice how she flirts with me all the time, slipping in innuendos in her sentences even when we talk about the most mundane things. All my boys have already turned into a Giulia, telling me what a massive fool I am for not bedding her. I’ve told you this before; I can’t just casually touch people. Not just romantically, I’m not a touchy-feely person in general, but Raquelle seems to ignore that. Eventually, I had to just give it to her straight when she attempted to throw her arm around my shoulder backstage.

“Could you… not do that?”

“Why?” she shot me a sultry look, “Do I get you excited?”

“I don’t like it when people touch me.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Not only did she misread the situation, but she also completely misunderstood me.

“It’s because I’m a courtesan, isn’t it?” she spoke to me with her broken smile that did not suit her at all, “Because I’m tainted.”

No, it was because she wasn’t you, but I couldn’t tell her that. It would hurt her feelings. You, on the other hand, could be the most sought-after courtesan here, and I would dedicate an entire shrine after you.

“You’re not tainted, Raquelle.”

“Then one kiss,” she insisted when no one was looking, “That’s all I’m asking.”

“You’re the prettiest woman in this room. In most rooms for that matter. You know that,” I brushed her silky hair behind her ear as kindly as I could, “But don’t ask me to do impossible things.”

I could tell she was upset from the way her face drastically changed. Her eyes were looking at me with utter disdain.

“People actually pay me to kiss them, you know?”

“I know,” I confirmed, “And I’d say you should charge more.”

Even Ms. Pearson took notice of the negative tension between us one day. She cornered me by the bar to get the tea from me directly, as she would call it.

“She’s very pretty and clearly wants you. Why the cold shoulder?”

How do I explain this? I’m just not attracted to a woman just because she’s a woman. Or because she’s pretty. Or because she has nice tits, like why is this so hard to understand? Why the fuck does this keep coming up as a point of conversation, painting me as the oddest one out in the room?

“It doesn’t have anything to do with her personally, Ms. Pearson,” I opted for a shortcut, “I’m just not interested.”

I will never forget what happened just that very next night.

It was a Thursday and Ms. Ella Simone was the headliner that day. The boys and I were done with the backstage prep, so we were just shooting the shit and playing pool at the very back of the audience area. Every once in a while, I was checking in with the stage to confirm everything was going smoothly. But then…

I thought my eyes were deceiving me for a second, but I saw you. I swear I saw you. You were there, a little behind the group of people crowding the edge of the stage. By yourself. Standing.

This was the first time I saw you somewhere other than the pier. The first time I saw you wrapped in darkness rather than the sunlight.

But more importantly, this was the first time I saw you smiling.

You were completely entranced while watching the greats create magic and entrance the masses. I, on the other hand, was hypnotized by the way the corners of your lips curled.

God, you’re beautiful when you smile, and I don’t use that word liberally. One glance at you, and I was riddled with this intense urge to kiss you in the most innocent sense of the word possible.

“YES!” I was pulled back to earth when Changbin yelled right next to me, “You’re buying the next round.”

He had obviously obliterated me because of how distracted I was. I didn’t pay any mind; he could ask for a hundred rounds for all I cared.

“Yeah, sure, whatever man,” I answered him with my eyes still on you.

I really wanted to know if this was just a coincidence or if you were coming here regularly. I wanted to know what days you would be here so that I could put on my fanciest shirt for you. I will learn how to tie a tie for you. I’ve never used one before.

Maybe you would like me then.

The very next morning, when I said I was heading to the pier to draw, Changbin, Minho, and Christopher all decided to accompany me, saying they were bored at the house. The whole way there I didn’t talk. I was thinking about you. I was thinking about whether you were going to show up with your floral-pattern dress that day. I’m very fond of it because it makes you look like a cherry blossom garden.

“Hey, ain’t that your girl over there?” Changbin nudged me on the shoulder.

When I looked up, I indeed saw you sitting down on your bench. You were way too early. It wasn’t even noon. I didn’t know what to do with my hands, or myself in general.

“Shit, it’s her.”

“The fuck are you waiting for, man? She’s alone.”

What was I waiting for? I was waiting to be worthy of you maybe. We were clearly universes apart; I knew that from the second I noticed your jade comb. I know how expensive those are, and I can’t even buy you something half as valuable even if I worked my ass off.

“I don’t– I don’t wanna disturb her. Maybe she’s waiting for someb—”

“GO!”

And just like that, I was pushed to face my fate head-on by my brothers. They had a point because if it were up to me, I would just watch you from afar for as long as I lived. As I got up, my eyes darted to the old man selling candy apples at the corner, and without even thinking about it I bought one. I knew it wasn’t a jade comb, but… Maybe…

My throat had never been this dry as I was walking towards you. I felt like I was approaching my demise, but at the back of my head, I caught myself repeating the same thing.

I’m ready. I’m ready to die.

I don’t really know how to be gentlemanly. I didn’t receive some manners training like the bourgeois guys famously do. Heck, I don’t even have proper schooling.

But I noticed your shoelaces were untied.

When I finally reached you, I kneeled down to tie them without giving it much thought as if I was a marionette. I didn’t deserve to be in your presence when you were a queen and I was just a simple man. I didn’t deserve to breathe in the same air as you when you were a goddess and I was just a mere mortal.

But our worlds had collided somehow and there we were, sitting right next to each other on a bench under the morning sun. I forgot all the words in my vocabulary as I handed you the candy apple. You took a glance from it and then looked at me. Then you looked at the candy again and finally grabbed it from my hands. You weren’t wearing your floral-pattern dress, but you were wearing a white one that had little hearts on it. It suited you so well, and you looked so beautiful that I wanted to fucking punch myself in the face.

“You have it so easy, Romeo,” you spoke while looking at the sea solemnly, “I’m madly envious of you.”

I was a complete stranger to you. I know you didn’t mean it like the astronomically lovesick fictional man; you were just being mordant, but the sorrow in your voice was more palpable than anything else.

Nevertheless, you did call me Romeo.

“There’s nothing expected of you,” you continued your monologue, “You can be whoever you want to be and people would still give you a standing ovation. You can be with whoever you want to, bed whoever you want to, and no one would shame you for it. I would die laughing if you told me you had a curfew. Mere mortals like me can only dream of what you readily have at your disposal. We come and go as your kind pleases, and I have to get married to someone I barely know as a form of financial security. Did you know?”

I couldn’t say anything. I just listened and listened and listened, hoping against hope that the block of lead on your heart would at least move an inch. Dump it on me, I don’t care. You don’t deserve to be riddled with worry. Your soul is too beautiful for that.

You deserve to be the happiest person in the room instead.

“I apologize for unloading on you like that. I don’t have any friends,” you wistfully smiled at the candy apple, “And forgive my lack of response to your kindness. I’ve never received a present before.”

My eyes followed you when you stood up. My heart stopped when you held my gaze. I died a thousand deaths when you put your hand on my face.

“I hope the world gives birth to more people like you, Romeo.”

You left. All I could do was watch you walk away until you shrunk into a dot in the distance. My soul was being ripped apart with every step you took.

Please don’t walk away from me, I beg. I think I’m falling in love with you, Juliet.

The day you and your mother were supposed to meet Bridget O’Connor’s camp for lunch and shopping, the sky was so bleak that it could not be a coincidence. Apparently, even the weather gods felt the need to cast an appropriate background to project the fog that had colonized your soul. Or they were maybe just mocking you, who knew?

“Ah, what a pleasing sight! Such pure beauty,” Bridget squeezed your face when she saw you, lightly sinking her demonically long nails into your cheeks in the meantime, “Nowadays even common streetwalkers call themselves a lady just because they put on makeup. Despicable.”

You didn’t talk much throughout the entire lunch. Nobody directly asked you anything anyway. You felt more like an auction item on display listening to people discussing your price while eating your soup. You silently followed behind as Bridget and your mother bonded over whatever it was they were gossiping about. You didn’t pay any attention. You just walked watching the patterns on the pavement instead. After entering the department store, you didn’t feel like joining them in their wardrobe conquests.

“I have utmost faith in your taste. I will be fine with whatever you pick for me. Thank you very much.”

You politely excused yourself towards the bookstore corner of the huge hall and left the ladies to lose their minds over accessories and dresses and shoes and whatnot. You walked between the aisles and browsed and browsed with blank eyes. You weren’t even processing what you were looking at for your mind was crawling with grim thoughts.

“Wedding preparations?”

Your heart almost gave out when you heard a voice inside your left ear. You sharply inhaled to suppress your shriek and pressed your hand on your chest, trying to calm down your frantic breathing. When you finally calmed down, you turned to your left, just to have your heartbeat go crazy again.

It was him. The man with the silver chain from the pier, looking at you with an apologetic smile and chuckling to himself. Romeo. This was the very first time you heard his voice, and it was just so… So…

Soothing.

“Actually yes,” you quickly turned to face the books again.

“Why aren’t you with your folks then?”

Good question. These pre-wedding shopping sprees were supposed to be one of the most fun things about getting married, but in all honesty, it felt more like your mother was packing underwear for you to use in jail.

“I don’t feel like shopping for my own imprisonment,” you put the poetry book in your hand back on the shelf, “So it would be preferable if you indeed gave me a heart attack right about now.”

That solemn tone again. His face dropped along with yours as you picked up another book to flip through. The silver necklace man, on the other hand, asked you a bizarre question quite seriously while examining a copy of some short story collection.

“Did you hear about the circus fire?”

“Circus fire?”

“Yeah, it was in tents.”

You looked at his face with creased brows trying to figure out what the heck he was talking about. Then it… clicked. And you let out a very disgraceful snort. Seeing your features relax, he tried his hand at the lame joke parade once again.

“Isn’t it great spring is here?” he picked up another book, “I got so excited I wet my plants.”

The things he was saying were so unfunny that you found them hilarious for some reason. However, you had no idea how his heart combusted when your lips curled.

“Stop being so inappropriate, please,” you kept giggling with your eyes intently on the shelf still, “Someone might see us. ”

“I also have a joke about pizza, but it’s a little cheesy.”

Your giggles evolved into a full on laughter at that point, and you were trying hard not to make a loud sound that would attract attention. He started laughing with you, not that there was anything funny going on, but because of how contagious your joy was.

“I just wanted to tell you that you look heavenly this fine afternoon,” he leaned against the bookshelf with his residual grin.

“Fine?” you wiped the tears from your eyes as your laughter died down, “It’s pouring outside.”

“Then tell me why your smile is brighter than the sun, Juliet.”

You snorted again. He could do this all day, saying and doing a bunch of corny stuff just so you would shine that bright.

“Is that the pizza joke by any chance because that was so cheesy.”

“But you’re smiling.”

This was brand new to you, to say the least. Nobody had ever tried to woo you, court you by any means, much less through intentionally poor humor than a bunch of sweet nothings. Yet it worked on you. You had always found this man incredibly good looking starting from the very first glance you stole from him at the pier, but turns out he was also as charming as they came. You might have been deluding yourself, but it kind of looked like… he liked you.

“Say, do you come to Poseidon a lot?”

Panic immediately washed over all your giddiness upon hearing the name of your secret hideout. You shoved him into that little space behind the shelf and pressed your hand on his mouth.

“Please keep your voice down,” you hissed in a whisper.

This was a knee-jerk reaction to shut him the hell up before anybody heard anything, so it took a while for you to process how close you actually were to each other. Neither of you was saying anything, nor was able to look away for that matter. You were just intensely staring into one another’s widened eyes with deep breaths through your noses.

Then you started... perceiving him for the first time.

Flawless skin, adorned with a beauty mark right under his eye. He was so smooth to the touch and he smelled incredible, like the lovechild of amber and vanilla, permeating through every single orifice of your body. You could feel how hard his heart was thumping from the way he was breathing into your palm.

Something you were completely oblivious to was how much he was yearning to kiss you, but it was okay. He could make do with this substitute, too. Your skin was on his lips anyway.

“I’m– I’m sorry,” his voice came out all muffled under your palm.

You removed your hand and walked away all flustered. He kept following you like a magnet with a giddy smile on his face.

“Are you uh– Are you going to come on Friday, too?

“What did I just say about keeping your voice down?” you harshly turned around.

“I think you should. We’re having a little private gathering backstage,” he continued with his attempts to persuade you with his big brown eyes beaming, “Ms. Simone is going to be with us, too.”

“WHAT?!”

You slapped your hand on your own mouth this time to hush yourself.

Ella Simone. The first lady of song. Your idol was going to be there, and he was inviting you to meet her? In person? You were on the brink of losing your whole entire mind.

“Dear? Where are you?”

You turned around all alarmed hearing your mother’s voice in the distance. Remembering you weren’t here all by yourself, the man hurriedly grabbed your hands.

“Please come. Ask for me at the door. My name is Hyunjin,” he placed a kiss on your hands and flashed a devastatingly bright smile, “I’ll wait for you, Juliet.”

You watched him walk away with hasty steps, and his name kept echoing in your head. Hyunjin. Hyunjin, Hyunjin, Hyunjin, Hyunjin…

The spots he kissed kept burning for the rest of the day as if he branded your skin with the outline of his lips.

I don’t really care about the technicalities. Looking back, this was our first date.

The amount of embarrassment I felt after asking you to come to Poseidon that Friday, but not giving you the time… Let’s just say I’m not in my right mind when I’m around you. I didn’t even know if you were going to show up for that matter, but I started waiting for you around 4 PM. The club started getting more crowded, and I couldn’t peel my eyes from the entrance. I wanted to greet you the second you stepped foot in here. I don’t know how much time passed by when I finally heard Minho’s voice yelling at me.

“Hyun! You have a visitor!”

I bolted towards the door so fast that I was surprised how I didn’t knock over several tables along the way. I was breathless by the time I reached you.

“You… You came.”

God, what a beauty. You were absolutely stunning. You might have looked like an ordinary person to anybody else when in fact you were a princess masquerading among her subjects. As if to confirm my suspicions, you reverenced. I knew it was a joke, but I bowed back doing my best prince impression, and I audaciously extended my hand to you.

Some nerve I have, huh?

But you graciously allowed me to hold your hand as I escorted you inside. I never knew hand-holding was one of the most intimate things a person could experience. I could feel your entire body temperature through your palm. I could count your heartbeats through that simple motion alone. If you simply looked at my throat, you could count mine, too, for my pulse was through the roof.

I told you I’m not in my right mind when I’m around you. It never occurred to me to ask your name until I was introducing you to everyone backstage. You seamlessly intervened before I drew a total blank and embarrass myself, but I want to say one more time how sorry I am. Somehow my brain was convinced your name was Juliet.

And don’t get me wrong, your actual name is one of the prettiest things I’ve ever heard, but I’d much rather call you my girl instead. My soul. My other half. I know you’d think I was insane if I said any of this out loud, but when you find the one, you just know.

And I just knew, so sue me.

I realized you were a little tense being around all those people you didn’t know. I learned from Ms. Pearson long ago that a little drink always helped to calm the nerves. Heck, even Ms. Simone rolls one before going on stage. When I asked you whether you would like one and if you had a favorite, by god, I never expected whiskey sour as an answer. Just…

Just how fucking cool can you get?

I admit, I made it look like I was doing this for you, but in fact, I was about to die of nervousness myself.

It worked. As we reached the bottom of our glasses, you were much more relaxed, smiling more brightly at people, but not just out of politeness. I could tell it was for real because your eyes shine when your smile is genuine. You were answering their questions while looking at them in the face. By then, there was nothing left from your initial reservations, and I was loving seeing you so at ease with us as if we knew each other for years.

And I just couldn’t take my eyes off of you.

“A pool table!” you exclaimed and pointed at it, “I’ve always wanted to learn this.”

“I can teach you if you want.”

“Really?!”

You didn’t even wait for me to answer and grabbed my hand to drag me to the table. It always irked me out when people touched me for some unknown reason, but you… You…

I wish I could spend the rest of my life with you touching me at all times. And this is fucking dangerous because I’m so scared of getting addicted to the feeling. Not the feeling of touching—you touching me.

Teaching you to play pool was the hardest thing I had to endure. Make no mistake, you’re quite a fast learner, but every time I got close to you… I uh– How do I put this delicately?

Your presence alone was already… doing things to me. Now add the fact that I could smell your perfume from that up close. I made goddamn sure there was enough space between us so as not to make you uncomfortable, but every time I was adjusting the way you were holding the cue, I had to… stand behind you, and…

Call me delusional, but I think you knew what you were doing to me, too. I saw the way you were biting into your smile every time I got flustered.

“I’ll be damned, you’re a great teacher, Romeo. Ever thought about doing this for a living?”

Please. Please stop calling me that before I fall irrevocably in love with you. It’s so hard to resist already. I’m one minor incident away from asking you to marry me as it is, for the love of god, please stop.

I was saved by the bell when Ms. Simone finally graced us with her presence. I swear, the look on your face was priceless when you finally met her.

“Ms. Simone, I’m such a huge fan. I’ve studied all your songs on the piano!”

Really? Fucking really? You know how to play the piano, too?

Just how fucking cooler can you get?

“Then let me see you play, girl,” Ms. Simone pointed at the console piano we had backstage. You, on the other hand, were clearly flabbergasted.

“H-Here?”

“Of course!”

I nodded at you with as much encouragement as I could convey as you shyly made your way towards the bench. When you started playing, my jaw fucking dropped all the way to the floor. I’m not quite proud of what I’m about to divulge, but yes, I did get extremely turned on. That was quite literally the most passionate thing I had ever seen. Erotic even.

“Go,” Ms. Pearson suddenly nudged me on the shoulder, “You know the song. Accompany her.”

I had to think fast about all the unsexy things I possibly could to manage my… situation because there was no way I was about to walk to you like that. Chairs. Sloths. Minho’s snoring…

When I finally calmed myself, I picked up Elaine from her case and started playing along with you. Not too long after, Ms. Simone joined us and sang her heart out as flawlessly as she always did.

A roar of applause broke out in the room with the last note, and from the corner of my eye, I saw the way Raquelle was looking at me with spite by the door. She left the area, most likely to tend to some of her patrons. Did I feel bad? Not really, but I did feel angry. I don’t like it when people bring their negative energy around me.

When Ms. Simone approached you, I left you alone so that you could have a private conversation with her. I leaned against a table, just watching you from afar, probably with a dumb smile on my face.

“So that’s the reason for the cold shoulder,” Ms. Pearson whispered in my ear and there was a huge knowing smile plastered on her lips, “You need to kiss her, my boy.”

“Believe me, I’m willing to sacrifice a lot of things just for one kiss from her,” I told her with my eyes following your every move, “but she’s getting married, Ms. Pearson.”

“So?”

“What do you mean so? She’s… taken.”

She did this every time she wasn’t satisfied with an answer of mine. I felt her notorious tornado smack at the back of my head.

“She’s not some property to be owned, you absolute buffoon!” she spat through her teeth, “She decided to be here with you tonight, didn’t she?”

I mean… She had a point. You didn’t necessarily have to be here. It was a choice. But you probably came to see Ms. Simone; I did tell you she was going to be here. It wasn’t… because of me. It couldn’t be.

“Listen to me, son. Don’t let people tell you it’ll pass,” she grabbed my shoulders and turned me towards her, “I’ve watched people die of heartache before.”

The way you were beaming with happiness while talking to Ms. Simone… My heart swelled several times its size in my chest because nothing was more beautiful than a happy you. You told me yourself that you had to get married to someone you barely knew as a form of financial security. You told me yourself you didn’t feel like shopping for your own imprisonment. So you didn’t love whoever this goddamn lucky bastard was, that was for sure.

Maybe… Was there maybe a snowball’s chance in hell that you would… choose me?

As you made your way to Poseidon that Friday, you didn’t really know what to expect. The only thing you were acutely aware of was the butterflies invading all the possible space in the pit of your stomach.

You didn’t know what to expect, but you knew what you didn’t expect: having this much fun engaging in things that your mother would call lower-class ways. Eating with your hands. Playing pool. Basically everything a lady was not supposed to do. You met some amazing people that day, and everybody was so warm and welcoming towards you that you felt like you knew them for years.

Lower-class ways combined with Hyunjin’s presence made you so insanely happy that you could die.

“I did warn you about keeping the last piece of chicken to yourself, didn’t I?” Changbin slammed his hand on the table.

“Then you should have prioritized that over your girl’s lips, bro.”

“Oh, fuck you, Hyun!”

A roar of laughter spread around the table. Hyun. People close to him were calling him Hyun. You found the name incredibly endearing.

You asked for a bottle of beer to have with your food, but the opener was nowhere to be found. Hyunjin quickly opened it with a knife he took out, earning a very concerned look from you.

“Why do you carry a knife with you?” you pointed at the sharp object.

“Oh, it’s– It’s not what you think,” he quickly put it back in his pocket, “I sharpen my charcoal with this.”

“Your charcoal?”

“Yeah, when I draw. Wanna see?”

He wiped his hands and showed you the leather-bound folder you were already familiar with. It contained pages and pages of his work inside. As the dates started going back in time, his depictions became… freer. Streetwalkers on a bridge. People having intercourse. A naked woman blowing out smoke with an absolutely satiated expression on her face. Things that people knew were happening but avoided talking about at all costs.

You were flushed from head to toe seeing those as if you were watching pornography in public.

“Do you… not like it?” Hyunjin hesitantly asked you when you didn’t say anything.

How could you not like it? You were on the brink of crying for how much it moved you. You were just thinking about how it was possible for a person to capture human emotion within a limited space in the shades of a single color.

“These are beautiful, Hyunjin,” you managed to utter with a look of total admiration on your face. While his relief was apparent, his smile was trapped between proud and embarrassed.

When you closed the folder and handed it back to Hyunjin, you were met with Changbin openly kissing his girl Anne without an ounce of shame across the table. You didn’t mean to stare, but the more you watched it, the more it tickled something in you. Although it was a mortifying thing to admit, you realized that you wished… Hyunjin would do that to you.

“I need to use the restroom,” you jumped to your feet to splash some cold water on your face. Otherwise, you were going to spectacularly catch on fire.

You managed to somewhat calm yourself in the restroom and when you walked out, you were met with Hyunjin by the door.

“Are you okay? You left so suddenly. I wanted to check on you.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m– I’m fine,” you stuttered but when you caught a glimpse of the happy table in the distance, you involuntarily smiled again, “I’m more than fine actually.”

“Are you glad you came?”

“Absolutely! This is the most fun I’ve had in… well, ever.”

There was a huge neon sign on the fire brick wall to your right in the shape of a trumpet, and the yellow light emitting from it was cast on you two like a spotlight. You were frozen in your place as Hyunjin slowly approached you. The more he closed the distance between you, the more rabid your heart was going. You really wanted to kiss him, but you became so self-conscious of the people in the vicinity that you moved away at the last second.

“Will you– Will you really leave me so unsatisfied?”

“What satisfaction were you expecting from tonight?” you immediately responded.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t– I didn’t mean to–” he held his hands to frantically apologize, “It’s– It’s from Romeo and Juliet, and–”

If humans could die out of endearment, this would be it for you. You had picked up on the reference of course since you were quite familiar with the scene from the play yourself. Just because you uttered the line using modern grammar with such a straight face, he must have thought you were actually offended.

It took iron-clad willpower not to burst out laughing.

“Please let me rephrase,” you held his hands, “What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?”

When Hyunjin saw you smiling at him again, he mustered whatever amount of courage he could, and responded to you with absolute adoration dripping from his eyes.

“The exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine.”

Your smile grew wide and you placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. Hyunjin turned beet red as if you just shamelessly drowned him in open mouth kisses for everyone to see. You extended your hand for him to hold this time, and you both returned to the table all giggling.

“You’re an O’Connor, too?” Changbin asked you out of nowhere as you were sitting down. Even hearing the name made you shudder with dismay.

“What makes you say that?”

“The shamrock,” he pointed at your glinting necklace, then nodded towards the public area, “Your folks are here.”

You dashed to the door in utter panic, and when you peeked out, you saw all three O’Connor brothers about to sit down at a booth.

“Oh, FUCK me!”

This was the first time you cursed out loud in your life. Hyunjin looked at you with gigantic eyes in shock and then cracked up with everyone else in the room.

“They can’t see me here. I– I need to leave.”

Hyunjin instinctively grabbed your hand along with his folder, and you snuck out through the back door with everyone’s help to remain unseen. You ran hand in hand down the street towards the pier, laughing your asses off as if you were playing a game of tag. It was still the young hours of the night, so it was quite a feat not to knock people over when the streets were that crowded.

When you finally reached the lighthouse, you thought it’d be empty inside, but it looked like someone was living there. There were signs of a very modest life. A mattress and a pillow, some books, a teapot…

“Um… I don’t think we should be here,” you turned to Hyunjin with worry.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. This is my stuff.”

“You live here?” you asked him in sheer surprise.

“Not live per se, but I come here some nights. To unload my mind.”

As he walked to the little portable cooker on the floor to make some tea, you sat down on the mattress and started going through his folder again.

“You really love what you do,” you uttered with a fond smile, “It really shows, you know?”

Hyunjin didn’t say anything and just sheepishly smiled in response while making the tea. You kept turning the pages and eventually saw the obscene compositions again, not being able to help the way you gulped thickly. The curiosity was killing you, and you just had to ask at this point.

“Did you… actually see these people… while… you know.”

“Some of them, yes,” Hyunjin casually replied, “Europeans are different, I guess. My friend had no problem fucking those women in front of me.”

“And you watched them?!” you shrieked, totally scandalized.

“Not– Not like that. I was in the room sometimes to understand what they were feeling,” he explained, “It’s fascinating to witness how lust manifests on one’s body. It’s unique to the person, you know? Much like a fingerprint.”

Lust as a fingerprint. The thought revolved inside your head as you examined the drawings closer.

“You said fucking.”

“Hm?”

“You said he had no problem fucking those women in front of you.”

“Oh,” he sat down next to you while handing you a cup, “I didn’t mean to be crass.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s the verb you used,” you smiled at him, “Sounds very… raw.”

“The physical act is exactly the same, don’t you think?” Hyunjin took a sip from his raspberry tea and looked at the papers, “I mean, I’d love to fuck someone I’m in love with, but making love sounds very ceremonial to me. I’d much rather we were our rawest selves while feeling each other than put on some performance. It’s an animalistic instinct after all.”

The way he described it so honestly made you tingle in places you didn’t know were possible, and you happened to notice the subject he used. So did he.

And it absolutely mortified him.

“I mean… When I say we, I didn’t… I don’t… I mean in general…”

“It’s okay,” you burst into laughter at the way he was stuttering, “I’ll take your word for it. I don’t have any experience in the subject.”

“Well, me neither,” he shrugged.

To say that you were stunned would be an understatement, but you were. You were stunned that a stunningly gorgeous man like him did not put his hands on someone.

“You… You really never–?”

He shyly shook his head no, but then it devolved into a broken smile.

“But you’ll find out soon enough, no?” he forced a chuckle, “Since you’re… getting married.”

“I expect there will be penetration, but it won’t be an act of love.”

Every time your face fell like that, Hyunjin found it so hard to endure. He felt like his flesh was being ripped apart; it hurt him that much.

Run with me, he wanted to beseech. Run with me, Juliet. Be my wife instead. I’ll shower you with acts of love first thing in the morning and last thing before we go to bed. I won’t let you fall asleep before loving you to death.

But he couldn’t say any of it. His shoulders drooped in resignation, not knowing what to do to make you smile. You, on the other hand, kept going through his drawings and stopped on the one that depicted a man under the sheets from the waist down, his back arched and eyes shut tight, clearly on the brink of a release.

“Do you do this, too?”

“Do what?”

You made it a point to hold his gaze intently when you replied.

“Touch yourself.”

It took a couple of seconds for him to react, but he couldn’t say anything out loud. He nodded somewhat abashed instead.

You wondered what he was touching himself to.

“How does it feel, Romeo?”

“How does what feel, beautiful?”

The name caressed something inside you, causing your lips to be tainted with a smile. You didn’t know where this brazenness came from, but you didn’t feel a shred of shame holding this conversation with him.

“An orgasm.”

You weren’t really curious about what an orgasm felt like per se—you wanted to know what it would feel like if Hyunjin gave you one. You wanted to know how many ways there were you could die in his arms. You wanted to know what he looked like watching your release.

He, on the other hand, was appalled at what he just heard.

“You surely have… I mean… Yoursel… Like…”

It entertained you way too much that he couldn’t say it out loud even though he had no problem depicting what fucking was mere seconds ago.

“I’m not following,” you feigned ignorance and looked at him with big confused eyes to elicit the word ‘masturbate’ from him, but he kept beating around the bush.

“You know,” he drew lines on the floor with the tip of his shoes, “Make love to yourself.”

“I thought you said making love was ceremonial.”

“If you’re gonna do it to yourself, it better be ceremonial.”

You burst into a loud cackle that was so disgraceful, but honestly, you didn’t give a rat’s ass anymore. Hyunjin was right about wanting to be his rawest self, and it wasn’t just about laying with someone. You wished you could act exactly like this all the time, doing and saying whatever felt natural to you.

But you only… wished.

“I’ve never made love to myself before,” you spoke in a mischievous whisper.

“Oh,” he responded, still unable to look you in the eye, “How… How come, though?”

“See this?” you pulled down your bust the tiniest measure to show a glimpse of the corset you were wearing under your dress, “I’m not allowed to take this off.”

“But when… when you’re bathing—?”

“I’m not allowed to bathe myself, either.”

Hyunjin didn’t know what to say, and frankly, saying anything else would be colossally rude at this point. It was your privacy in question after all. Nevertheless, it didn’t stop him from being confounded to learn that you were denied very basic things in life. Meanwhile, your eyes darted to his folder again.

“I’d love for you to draw me like that, too.”

He couldn’t have possibly heard that right. He was completely bewildered at what he was hearing, almost breaking his cup in the meantime.

“You… You want me to watch you while someone else is—?”

“NO! God no, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You put down your cup on the floor and scooted closer to him. There was an amalgam of hesitance and expectation on his illegally beautiful features. His lips slightly parted when you leaned in, and you could see how his eyes darted to your mouth, intently watching the shape of it when you uttered the words in a whisper as if letting him in on a little secret.

“When I touch myself.”

There was nobody around for you to feel self-conscious anymore, and Hyunjin was right there, breathing heavily and utterly unsure of what to do next. It was like he was waiting for an indubitably clear sign from you just so you wouldn’t take him for what he was absolutely not. You hyperfixated on the shape of his criminally beautiful lips and when you leaned in mere millimeters closer to him, he couldn’t hold himself back any longer.

Your first kiss. Also his. Your very first taste of pleasure.

It was a very simple motion of him pressing his mouth against yours, but it set an uncontainable wildfire on your entire body. When you moved your lips, he started kissing you deeper, tasting as much of you as he could, your hands traveling on each other’s faces and hair, wanting dangerously more with each passing second. You were going crazy with the intensifying scent of his cologne mixing with his own natural musk, and he tugged you even closer when he noticed how sharply you were inhaling him. You were both breathless when you stopped to catch your breaths, foreheads pressed against each other. You dared to look him in the eye in a momentary lapse of sanity, and there was only one desperate plea written all over that gaze.

Can we do it again?

You gave in. Of course. Of course you could do it again. You could do it all the time.

“You taste like heaven,” Hyunjin spoke against your lips, “God, you taste like a fucking aphrodisiac.”

When he cursed… It stirred something unknown in you. Raw. Just like he said.

Was this… what falling in love felt like?

“Can I touch you?” you asked him, your breathing barely stable.

Touch me. Feel me. Murder me with your fingertips. Perish me under your skin. I’m yours to consume until there’s nothing left of me.

But what spilled from his lips was the complete opposite of what he was craving.

“Not now,” he brushed your hair behind your ears, “It’s not the right time.”

You were quite obviously disappointed, but you also knew he was right. You lowered your head somewhat ashamed of what you just asked of him.

“But you can touch me here,” he guided your hand to his chest. His heart was beating like it was about to give out. You couldn’t help the urge to kiss him again.

Your kisses were shapeshifting, getting more and more passionate, and it was about to cross a dangerous threshold for Hyunjin. It was getting harder and harder to control his need for you. He needed to step away right fucking now for you were colonizing his entire existence, but he would rather kill himself than do something inappropriate.

“I don’t– I don’t wish to disrespect you. I wouldn’t even dare, but– but I—”

You actually wished he would disrespect you. You wished he would defile you right then and there and claim you for himself so that you would be with a man you were feeling intense things for. You’d love to be tainted, a hand-me-down, a second-hand as your mother described women who had premarital intercourse, but at least you would be Hyunjin’s.

At least you would be choosing the man responsible for your goddamn happiness.

You touched his dangerously reddened face as if he was coming down with something, but he still couldn’t open his eyes to look at you. He was trying so hard to keep his breathing stable.

“I– I still want to make love to you but with my words only. It’s more than fine if you say no but– but will you love me back?”

It wasn’t what he said; it was the way he said it. Scared and desperate and almost lovesick. You smiled at him and cupped his face to appease his apparent fears.

“So you want it to be ceremonial.”

“Yes,” he snapped his eyes open and replied without an ounce of hesitation, “For you, yes. Whatever you want from me, yes to everything.”

You pulled him closer for another kiss, and Hyunjin took it as an invitation from you. Your lips were swollen from being loved so intensely but you didn’t care. You didn’t care one bit.

“You still didn’t tell me what an orgasm feels like,” you whispered against his mouth. Hyunjin briefly locked his gaze on you, and then...

“An orgasm feels…”

As he spoke, he ghosted his lips on the naked skin of your collarbones, alarmingly close for you to anticipate a kiss, but still keeping the bare minimum of a distance.

“...really…”

Your shoulder.

“…really…”

Your neck.

“…really good.”

Your lips.

“Like a crescendo.”

“Tell me how you touch yourself, Romeo.”

Hyunjin was aware his face was burning, but even he couldn’t tell if it was because of embarrassment or extreme arousal.

“Do you think I’m attractive?”

What kind of a redundant question was that?! Was water wet? Everybody who had eyes would acknowledge this indisputable fact.

“Oh, please…”

“But do you? Look at me,” he lifted your chin up to make you face him, “Do you find me attractive?”

“It’s ridiculous how beautiful you are actually.”

“It’s ridiculous how beautiful you are,” he spoke, voice still barely audible, “Does it… Does it feel wet between your legs?”

“Yes.”

“When the time is right,” Hyunjin caressed your hair, “I will ask your permission to let me lick it clean. Nothing else. Just taste you. I want to kiss you there just like I’m kissing your lips. Only wetter.”

You were squeezing your legs together out of instinct. That tiny bit of friction indeed felt good, and he noticed the way you were almost squirming.

“It gets to you when I talk like that, doesn’t it?” he smirked all content.

“I don’t know wh– I don’t kn– I…”

Adorable had to be the last thing he could have found you under these circumstances, but nevertheless, he did. He softly chuckled into your ear, still refusing to directly touch your body in the slightest.

“Because I arouse you, beautiful,” he whispered, “But believe me, it’s nowhere near how much you arouse me.”

Your eyes instinctively closed. So this was what making love with words felt like.

“Come closer,” you lightly pulled on his wrists, “Walk me through it. Everything you will do to me.”

Hyunjin crawled right behind you and started speaking directly into your ear with the softest voice.

“You’ll be bare for me from the waist down. I’ll have the privilege of touching this supple skin,” he put his hand on yours, “It might feel ticklish when I start kissing you right there.”

He pressed your hand on your crotch, avoiding direct contact. The only thing he was touching was your hand, but it felt like he was rather teaching you how to please yourself. He was keeping the tiniest measure of distance between you out of whatever amount of respect he could show you in this context. You might not have had any experience but you were not naive, either. You knew he was doing it so that he wouldn’t be… touching you.

“Closer,” you breathily exhaled, “I want to feel you against me.”

He was clearly hesitating, but you erased all his doubts on his behalf when you yanked on his arms and pulled him flush against your back. You were able to feel his heartbeat down your spine and how hard he was on your hips. The scent of his cologne got denser on your nostrils and you were feeling completely drunk.

“Keep going,” your pulse started to escalate to match his rhythm, “Tell me. Tell me how you’ll love me.”

You intertwined your fingers with his. The way he was breathing down your neck made you feel tingles all over your body. You had never felt this naked in your whole life.

“I’ll explore every inch of your body to learn what you like. I’ll devote hours to it if that’s what it takes. Days even. Weeks. I’ll learn how to touch you just right. I’ll drown you in kisses. You’ll want more and more, and I’ll give it to you.”

You squeezed his hands with all your might as your breathing started getting labored. Hyunjin continued much more shamelessly in your ear.

“I’ll taste you everywhere. I’ll tease you until your pretty cunt aches for more. You’ll sound so fucking delicious whimpering under me, moaning my name over and over again. You’ll just tell me where you want me on your body and I’ll oblige, but I will not lick you until you push my head between your legs. I want you to become as hungry for me as I am for you.”

The more obscene his language got, the more unhinged you were becoming. You could completely picture everything he said. It felt like he was already on your body, about to break you in, and you were loving that it was him.

You were loving the way he loved you no matter how hypothetically.

“Touch yourself next to me, Hyunjin,” you exhaled in one breath, “Right now.”

That was a pleasant surprise for Hyunjin to notice that you weren’t this timid little thing, but unfortunately for him, his arousal levels hit the roof when you uttered his name in such a desperate and commanding tone at the same time.

“Don’t… don’t say things like that or I’ll—”

“I won’t watch if you’re embarrassed,” you reassured him, “I just want to know what it feels like.”

“What what feels like, my soul?”

Why would you say that?!, you wanted to yell at his face. As if the way he was making you feel was not intense enough. As if he wasn’t imprinting himself all over your existence already.

As if you needed further encouragement to fall madly in love with him.

“When you– when you climax because of me.”

“The lowlife term is cumming, you know,” his voice was riddled with mischief, “You can say it. Say you want to watch me cum.”

“I want to watch you cum.”

You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t stutter. You flat out told him what you wanted, and it snapped something in Hyunjin. He couldn’t take it any longer, and you felt a very wet kiss on the left side of your neck. The buzzing sensation between your legs intensified threefold.

You were oozing.

“Say you want to watch me cum to you. Say you want me to be a slave for you,” you heard his belt unbuckling behind you, “Say you love me. Say you love me back. Please.”

You pecked his right hand with your eyes still closed, then turned it around to sloppily make out with his palm. His breathy moans started becoming louder in your ear. When you finally let go of his hand, he started stroking himself in a languid rhythm. You couldn’t see it, but you were able to clearly hear it.

“It sounds so wet,” you squeezed your eyes harder. Hyunjin, on the other hand, managed to shove the softest of chuckles in between his panting.

“This is what it will sound like when I’m inside you.”

Your wetness was so out of control by then that you felt like you soiled yourself. It felt like a part of you was itching and you badly needed to scratch it. You were seeking that friction that was going to relieve you. The fabric of your corset was indeed thick, but you pressed your fingers on it as hard as you could and started rubbing yourself.

“You mean when we– when we’re fucking.”

“Yes, when we’re fucking. When we’re making each other go insane,” his voice started becoming high-pitched, “You’ll feel so warm, so tight around me. You will drag me through hell when you start moaning in ecstasy. You will kill me when you cum all over me.”

You leaned against his chest and spread your legs wider to rub yourself properly. Hyunjin held your other hand and locked his fingers with yours.

“No one has ever made me feel this way before,” he barely managed to utter while heavily breathing, “I know I shouldn’t, but I’m so gone for you, beautiful. I want to be at your beck and call. I want to be your man. I have complete tunnel vision for you.”

“I want to see,” you sat up straight in one go, “Please let me see how you’re touching yourself to me.”

You didn’t know why you always pictured male genitalia as something unpleasant because when you turned around, you saw exactly how pretty Hyunjin was, flushed pink with clear liquid pooling around the very tip. The moment you caught a glimpse of him, it felt like a dynamite exploded inside you and you felt yourself getting infested with the most obscene thoughts you had ever had. You wanted to do so many things to him. On him. With him.

There wasn’t an ounce of rational thought left in you, and you were finally able to internalize the meaning of raw. The only thing you were able to process was your most primitive urges taking over, which you didn’t even realize you harbored within you.

“Touch me while I touch you, Hyunjin.”

“D-don’t… If you do…”

“Touch me.”

You grabbed his hand and pressed it between your legs over your clothed core. Feeling him even through all those layers of fabric jumpstarted something in you, and you watched yourself wrap your fingers around his cock, careful not to hurt him. He was so warm to the touch, burning to the point of spiking a fever, and you replicated the exact same vigorous rhythm he was stroking himself with. You unleashed yourself on his lips completely instinctively, and once he slipped his tongue inside your mouth and started swirling it around yours, something violently erupted deep inside you, causing you to convulse hard as you held onto Hyunjin for dear life. Not too long after, you felt something warm and wet gushing all over the hand you were pleasing him with, his muffled moans echoing inside your mouth and reverberating throughout your body.

You felt pleasantly tired, but you also felt like you were glowing. You felt this odd sense of total satiation that you had never once felt in your life before, and it made you giggle like an idiot.

“How do you feel, Juliet?” he asked you while cleaning your hand. The contentment on your face was the complete opposite of the words you uttered.

“I think I’m dying.”

“You look stunning when you’re satisfied, you know.”

Hyunjin crawled right next to you and pulled you into his embrace. You could feel the way he smiled when he kissed your hair. You laid there in silence for some time, just basking in each other’s warmth, allowing yourself to live in this little bubble of coziness that defied all reality.

Nevertheless, all good things had to come to an end. You fixed your appearance, and let Hyunjin hold your hand as you walked back to the Institute building where you were supposed to be picked up in another half an hour or so.

“A thousand times good night,” you told him before entering the building. He kissed your hands and reciprocated your line.

“A thousand times the worse to want your light.”

When Hyunjin went home that night, he spent hours drawing the exact expression on your face while you were cumming. He didn’t know what you looked like under your garments, but he’d at least seen you from collarbones up.

That was enough for him to draw a bust clearly indicative of you being naked just for his eyes to see.

“Can I ask you something, Mother?”

“What is it, dear?”

“I’m aware at this point I’m probably considered engaged to Ryan although I don’t have a ring or anything,” you added a finishing touch in your hair with a black silk ribbon, “Hypothetically speaking, if the Mayor’s son approaches me tonight, should I avoid conversing with him?”

“That would be very rude. There’s no harm in entertaining a conversation,” your mother winked at you.

That was enough to make you properly nauseated.

“I hate to be asking you this, and I wouldn’t if I absolutely didn’t have to,” you tugged on the hem of your shield, “My corset makes it very hard for me to breathe in this dress.”

“Oh, come on, dear, I’m sure you can endure it.”

“The concert is over two hours, Mother,” you appealed to her superficial logic, “I really don’t wish to pass out on stage and make a fool of myself. Please.”

She eyed you from head to toe and made a quick calculation in her head, eventually punctuating it with a sigh.

“Fine, but only this once. Don’t make a habit of this,” she started untying the laces on your back, “I still don’t understand why I cannot come to this event.”

“I’ve explained this already, Mother. It’s by invitation only, and they all go to very high-level people. There won’t be any parents there tonight.”

And that was the second lie you told her in a span of thirty seconds.

When you asked me to come with you to the reception thrown in honor of your ensemble, I panicked. Hard.

Needless to say, I don’t have experience with high-class events, and I only have one suit. Thank goodness Ms. Pearson was there when I showed up at Poseidon because I don’t want to imagine what would happen otherwise.

“Good god my boy, surely you’re not going to escort her like this? You look hideous!”

She dragged me to the artist lounge and put me in one of those expensive tuxedos reserved for orchestra members, made some quick calls, and before I knew it, I was at the mercy of some styling people. I have to give it to them though—they did such a fantastic job in such a short amount of time that if I appeared at some red carpet looking like this, no one would be able to guess they were looking at Hwang Hyunjin from Magnolia Street.

Ms. Pearson had arranged a fancy town car for us to make an appearance as she called it. She was over the moon when you also invited her so that she could network with some people. Between you and me, once you’re okay in her book, you’re there for life. As we were waiting for you to arrive, she orchestrated quite the bluff to make me look good, though.

“Mr. Hwang here is an up-an-coming musician, as well. Quite the saxophonist training under Mr. Parker.”

“Really? Are you headlining anywhere, my good man?”

“He will be headlining at The Titan this summer.”

The moment the man we were talking to left us, I felt the need to urge her to pump the brakes because what the hell indeed.

“Damn Ms. Pearson, you wanna cool it a little?”

“Shush. Just follow my lead.”

Well, she was the boss lady around here so she probably knew better, right?

When you finally walked through that door, dazzling the heck out of me in the meantime, she took it as her cue to leave the premises. You know she’s like my mom, so I hope you didn’t mind she hugged you that openly in public considering who she is. It’s just not that common of an occurrence for her to see me happy. She’s really fond of you, you know?

I watched your magic for however long that was, but honestly, it felt like only five minutes to me. I wish I could watch you longer. The way you play… Your attachment to music… It’s just mindblowing, Juliet. Tonight reaffirmed to me how much you and I are meant to be. You’re literally my other half.

After the concert, you were surrounded by people congratulating you just like you deserved, and I couldn’t feel any prouder watching you from afar although I had nothing to do with this. It’s like… This is the woman I love, you know. Witness her magic. Be as hypnotized by her as I am. She deserves the world. She deserves all the good things life has to offer.

Looking at everyone else crowding that hall, I didn’t feel like one of those good things. These people were… different than me. They had the means. Call it money, power, influence, talent, or whatever you want. They had all the things I didn’t have and they could offer you many more things that I could only dream of offering you in my wildest dreams.

But tonight wasn’t about me. It was about you. It was your moment to shine and I just felt lucky enough that I was able to witness it.

“Wonderful tonight,” I lightly touched your arm and turned around to see myself out.

“Going somewhere?” you looked at me with huge eyes, borderlining on sad.

I can admit this now. If you didn’t ask me that question, I was really going to leave. I wasn’t sad or anything; on the contrary, this was one of the happiest nights of my life. I just didn’t think… you needed my shadow around you.

But it was at that moment I decided to give you the piece of paper I was keeping in my pocket.

“I uh– I’ll just get some fresh air,” I discreetly handed you the note I had hastily scribbled.

Meet me by the fountain outside.

Not even two minutes later, you actually came. You had an apologetic look on your face when you absolutely shouldn’t have.

“I’m really sorry for not being able to get out sooner,” you approached me with quick steps, “These people can talk.”

Just… Why are you this beautiful, Juliet? You make me wanna cry sometimes.

I heard an Ella Simone song playing in the distance. I was convinced just mere minutes ago that I had no place in your life but…

I love you. I can’t help it. It’s wrong maybe, but I love you with sincere greed.

“Can I have this dance?” I extended my hand to you.

You took it. We danced under the moonlight in that garden where no one was around. We kissed each other slowly as if we had all the time to kill in the world. I fell deeper in love with you, and I could swear you loved me, too.

Then you said something that shortened my lifespan by ten years.

“Take me back to your lighthouse, Romeo.”

This was how you knew it was real. All your waking thoughts were riddled with Hyunjin. The way he smiled at you. The way he looked at you. The way he tightly held your hand. His eyes. His lips. That little mole on his face you were dying to kiss. Just… Everything about him was invading you. Your mind. Your heart.

And your body.

You couldn’t even keep track of how many times he appeared in your dreams, doing the exact same things as he whispered in your ear. Just loving you, fully unhinged. You were both falling under a euphoric spell as you ravished one another until the sky started gaining consciousness again. Dying in each other’s arms just to be resurrected into the same life. In the same breath.

You knew in your heart of hearts that you belonged with him. And you wanted to belong to him. In every sense of the word possible. That was why you asked him to take you to the lighthouse again without any hesitation. You wanted this more than anything else.

“Are you nervous?”

“No,” you replied with a total lack of pause, “Put your hands on me.”

He did. He put his hands on your face while kissing you, but you felt something you had never felt before, which was cause for concern.

“You’re trembling, Romeo,” you kissed his hands, “Are you nervous?”

“I’m just overwhelmed,” he shook his head, “I– I can’t stand the idea of you being with someone else, but if it’s what it takes to be with you… I’ll– I’ll settle for being the other man.”

“Do not say such things ever again,” you held his face in your hands, “There’s no other man. There’s only you.”

You kissed him like you never did before to get your point across. You kissed him so that he knew once and for all that the sovereignty he had declared in your heart was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. That you couldn’t even see anyone else. That he was the exclusive owner of your soul.

“Do whatever feels natural to you,” he whispered with a quivering voice as if he was left out in a blizzard for hours, “Teach me how to touch you right.”

“Undress me.”

It was the most unrushed thing ever. He was so careful with the way he was stripping you as if you would disappear into thin air if he got one move wrong. Excruciatingly patient. You did the same for him as you got rid of his bowtie, his blazer, and his shirt, just leaving him bare for you to appreciate.

When you were finally naked, Hyunjin admired you like with his jaw dropped like you were the world’s eighth wonder. He hugged you tight and put his hands on your back, pressing you close to him and just kissing you. Your shoulders, your cheeks, your lips… He was trying to soothe himself rather than you for you were devastatingly enticing to witness in your full glory. You ripped the necklace off of you and tossed it to the side for nothing was able to come between you. Absolutely nothing.

“Only you,” you pulled him into a kiss again. As deep as it could be.

He laid you down on his mattress, and it felt cool against your back. The only thing accompanying you two was the sound of the waves crashing in the distance.

“You’re way too beautiful,” he placed a kiss on your forehead, “Did you know you taste like my other half, Juliet?”

Your hands were all over each other albeit very clumsily. Your somewhat abashed giggles tickled each other’s eardrums every once in a while, but they were subdued when one of you touched somewhere just right. Even the way you looked at each other changed when that happened. You both took quick mental notes and iterated the motion that caused the other to let out that delectable sound of pleasure. Much better than any piece of music that could ever be written, past, present, or future.

“Turn around for me.”

You kissed all over Hyunjin’s bare back like you would kiss his plush lips. Delicately, with intention, with meaning. Tattooing little I love yous on his skin every time you pressed your lips on him. This man was made to be loved and he was made to be loved by you. No doubt about it.

“Oh… God!”

You found it. That spot right under Hyunjin’s right shoulder blade. That one spot that sent an absolute shockwave down his spine. His drive crazy button.

“I could– I could cum to this.”

“Then cum,” you silently whispered into his ear.

You held both his hands and alternated between his shoulder blades, listening to the escalating frequencies of his moans under you. He really came. When you turned him around again to face you, there were beads of sweat on his forehead. You wiped it clean and kissed him there. Then his nose. Then his cheeks. Then his lips. As his breathing was returning to normal, he was somewhat embarrassed about the mess he made and tried to cover it up with the sheets.

“No,” you stopped him, “I’d much rather we were our rawest selves.”

You made your way down between his legs, and all he could do was watch you with crushing anticipation.

“It’s an animalistic instinct after all,” you flashed a comforting smile.

Hyunjin flinched with sharp exhales when you kissed him on his crotch. Your lips were getting stained with his cum and watching that was so fucking erotic that if he was properly recuperated at the moment, he’d cum again right then and there. He was so sensitive to the touch but he didn’t care. He just let you do whatever felt natural to you.

And to you, what felt natural was kissing all over his most vulnerable corners and dragging your tongue over the bitter extract of him. You would absolutely detest this if it was any other person, but just because it was Hyunjin, the taste shapeshifted in your mouth. You sipped on him as if he was a refreshing glass of whiskey sour rejuvenating and intoxicating you simultaneously.

“Lay down. Let me,” he eventually stopped you and traded places with you, “Curse if you feel like it. Don’t stop yourself.”

You. Right there. On that mattress. Under him. Waiting for him to please you.

Were you even aware of how hard it was for him not to go insane?

If Hyunjin was overwhelmed before, he was on the brink of having a goddamn seizure now that he was this close to your soaked cunt, glistening perfectly under the dim lights of his oil lamps. He couldn’t decide what to do first. Touching you, or kissing you, or licking you. Which one would you like the most? Which one would make you cum so violently that you would ask him to please please remember it and do it again? Because he would. He would do anything to please you just right. He would do it until he conditioned you to cum with a single drag of his tongue on you.

You were keenly watching his every move, anticipating what he was going to do to you next. You suddenly remembered what he said to you all those times ago in this very place.

I will not lick you until you push my head between your legs. I want you to become as hungry for me as I am for you.

You weren’t sure if that was a hypothetical question or not as you simply couldn’t be any hungrier for him. You knew that for a fact because all that ruled your entire mind and body was your most carnal desires, and all of them were about Hyunjin declaring all your uncharted territories as his.

“Touch me,” you somehow managed to utter.

He pressed his thumb on your clit and you flinched hard in your place. The more he provided friction, the more aroused you were and it wasn’t enough. Hyunjin simply touching you was never enough. You couldn’t take it anymore and tangled your fingers in his hair to press his beautiful face between your legs.

“Oh, FUCK!!!”

His mouth on your pussy was everything you could possibly dream of. So warm and wet, slowly licking clit, gently sucking on it, kissing you just like he was deeply kissing your lips but only wetter. You were involuntarily grinding against him to get as much friction as possible, and with each lick, you felt closer to dying.

“Hyunjin, please,” you started whimpering under him, “Hyunjin. Hyunjin. HYUNJIN!”

This feeling was impossible to describe. This beautiful man you were crazily in love with, the man who deeply loved you back gratifying you in the most obscene way possible and taking obvious pride in it, looking dead into your eyes as you came hard into his mouth, hungrily savoring every single drop you had to offer until you begged him to stop… This couldn’t be real. The amount of passion and affection was so otherworldly that it just could not be real.

“You’re my dream come true, Juliet. I love you,” Hyunjin kissed your soul out of you with those lips that tasted exactly like you, “Love me back. Love me harder.”

“To hell with making love,” you held onto his shoulders, “Fuck me.”

“You’re hellbent on killing me tonight, aren’t you?”

Hyunjin aligned himself with your entrance and started moving inside you with very shallow thrusts, watching your every mimic to understand how you were feeling.

“More,” you urged him, “Push more. I can take it.”

He held your gaze at all costs as he gently moved further and further and further and finally…

“I love you, my soul. I’ll love you with everything I got now.”

He started thrusting into you with sharper movements. The way he was gliding inside you so easily, the sheer amount of pleasure he was drowning you in when he grazed against your swollen walls like that… You wanted to die. You wanted to die right then and there so that this was the last thing you remembered from this life.

Nothing could feel this good. Nothing could make you feel this satisfied than the man you were deliriously in love with paving his way into you. His face all convoluted, panting heavily, confessing his love for you over and over again through guttural moans.

“Hold on to me,” Hyunjin put your hands on his shoulders, “Look at me when you say you love me. Just look at me. Day and night.”

You couldn’t even say it properly when you felt yourself in ruins under him. All you could do was clench and hope that he was able to translate that somehow. Seeing how much he liked it when you squeezed him inside you, you clenched harder and harder and harder until you felt him spill inside you with a deliciously loud groan.

You wished you could do this every night in a bed that belonged to the two of you. You wished you didn’t have to come back to your senses and hug each other to sleep instead. Even after giving yourselves to each other, you had to face the ugly truth of putting that goddamn necklace around your throat again.

Every time you left the lighthouse, the cool night breeze would greet you, giving you a breath of fresh air until you had to go back to your reality.

When you opened the door this time, you were faced with all three of the O’Connor brothers instead.

“The FUCK you think you’re doing here with my girl you fucking lowlife?!”

It happened so fast that you couldn’t even process it. The three men ganged up on Hyunjin and started beating the crap out of him while all you could do was scream for help, beg for Ryan to stop while trying to pull him away, and violently cry.

“OH, YOU GOT SOME GODDAMN NERVE!!!”

By whatever stars aligned, Ms. Pearson burst through that door and broke the fight off in an instant. She was surprisingly strong for a woman. You noticed there was someone else who came with her. The beautiful girl from Poseidon.

“Learn to put a leash on your man, whore,” Ryan yelled at Raquelle while wiping the blood from the corner of his lips.

“Learn not to get castrated, O’Connor,” Raquelle dexterously drew a knife and pointed at his throat, “Stay put. We’re leaving.”

You wanted to say something, do something, but you were frozen in your place. All the strength left your body and you sat on the floor when your knees gave out, just watching Raquelle take Hyunjin away. In the meantime, you were somehow able to register Ms. Pearson’s voice echoing in the room.

“You three are familiar with Mr. Ricardi, right? Your father’s boss?” she was speaking directly to Ryan.

“And?”

“We happen to have a very close relationship with him, young man. If you don’t believe me, next time you see him, tell him Ms. Pearson said hi and watch the blood drain from his face,” she fearlessly walked towards the three men at the same height as her and pointed her finger at them, “You will not speak of this to anyone. If you do, I’ll dig a little O’Connor family grave myself. Now get the fuck out of here.”

The second they left, she rushed to you to hug you, rocking you back and forth like a little baby as you cried your eyes out in her chest. You didn’t know for how long you stayed there in her arms. When you finally calmed down, she put you in a car and instructed the driver about where exactly he needed to drive you off.

“Ms. Pearson, Hyunjin–”

“Shh, he’s okay, precious. I’ll be with him,” she patted your head through the window, “Go home and get some rest, okay? He’s in good hands. I’ll let you know how he’s doing as soon as I can.”

Meanwhile, back at a very empty Poseidon, Raquelle was in the middle of cleaning Hyunjin’s wounds surrounded by a monk temple-like silence.

“How do you know him?” Hyunjin asked her at last.

“Who?”

“O’Connor. You called him by name.”

“Oh,” she replied, unfazed, “Yeah, he’s one of my regulars.”

“How did you even know how to find me there?”

“They were here at the club and left extremely angry for some reason. I heard your name being mentioned so I thought I’d follow them.”

She poured some more antiseptic on a piece of cotton and gently dragged it on Hyunjin’s lips.

“You really should have thought it over before calling yourselves Romeo and Juliet. They both die at the end, you know,” she spoke with pseudo-indifference obviously laced with envy, “Was it worth it to get beaten to a pulp?”

“Yes, it was. I’m not about to compare getting some scratches to being away from her,” Hyunjin immediately answered, visibly annoyed.

Raquelle Shecter. Beauty queen. Famous burlesque dancer. Desired by the entire town and earning way more money than she could count.

One thing she was not, however, was being Hwang Hyunjin’s object of affection no matter how hard she tried.

She had tried being subtle, being not-so-subtle, even being embarrassingly obvious, getting her pride severely damaged in the meantime.

One thing she had not tried, however, was straight up telling Hwang Hyunjin how ridiculously in love she was with him.

“I can quit this life just to be your girl right fucking now,” she finally blurted it out, “Just say the word. You would always be my main man, Hyunjin. I can make you so damn happy!”

Hyunjin closed his eyes and took the deepest breath of his life, trying his utmost best to keep his composure.

“I’m not gonna repeat this again, Raquelle. Don’t ask me to do impossible things,” he stood up in one swift movement, “And next time you attempt to pull some shit like this, at least have the guts to properly finish the job.”

Raquelle Shecter. Beauty queen. Seen as the ugliest creature by the man he hopelessly loved for how transparent she was.

“Hyunjin, please, it’s not what y—”

“Don’t,” he shushed her, “I know you think I’m not as smart as you, but just don’t insult me anymore.”

As Hyunjin left the premises with a busted lip and bruises all over him, Ms. Pearson watched her adopted son seethe in fury and sorrow from a dark corner. The moment the front door closed, her heels started clicking on the hardwood floor as she approached Raquelle sitting on a bar stool all by herself.

“You were the one that led them there, weren’t you?” she rhetorically asked as she sat down on the stool right next to her, “Love is many things, silly girl, but if you’re willing to watch the person you love get hurt and not even blink, that’s called something else.”

Jeanette Pearson. Fierce lady, but a complete softie towards the people she loved. Mother to all kids who lost their way. She had seen way too much in her life that gave her the superpower of recognizing shame from five miles away.

“I’ve always liked you. I know deep down you’re a nice girl. You just made very bad choices somewhere along the way,” she swiveled on the stool to face Raquelle and spoke very very softly as if she was reciting a fairytale, “But Hyunjin is my son, and that crosses a line with me. I don’t give a fuck who you are and who you know. I’ve lived twice as much as you, and trust and believe, you don’t want to know who I know and what I’m capable of doing. ”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink. I need you to stop acting crazy and leave him alone.”

Jeanette Pearson. Known for her graceful badassery. True to her reputation, she pulled out a knife from her purse twice the size of Raquelle’s and silently placed it on the bar counter.

“Otherwise I won’t be responsible for what might happen to you.”

This is worse than prison.

Ms. Pearson told me to lay low for some time, but I’m about to go crazy missing you, Juliet. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t think straight. I keep thinking about you, and I’m worried sick not knowing if you’re alright or not.

I know I need to keep it together for both of us, I know. I know you have it worse than me, but I’m gonna die if I can’t see you soon, my soul. Even just a glimpse of you from miles away would suffice. I just want to know if you’re okay.

I keep thinking about the night we vowed ourselves to each other. I miss you. I miss your scent invading mine. I miss your taste on my tongue. I miss being wrapped around you like your personal safety blanket. I caress my pillows every night imagining it’s you. I caress myself thinking you’re still with me in my bed. That this is not happening and we’re not apart and I’ll wake up to your beautiful face next to me in the morning. I don’t touch myself to satisfy some need; I do it so that I can at least see you in my dreams. I’m running out of tears to cry over you. I miss you. I miss you so much.

Hang in there a little while longer, my soul. I won’t let anything happen to a strand of your hair.

Completely contrary to your expectations, none of the O’Connor brothers seemed to have said anything to anyone, but that didn’t stop them from stinging you with thinly veiled sardonic comments whenever you faced each other. If anyone accused them of being rude, all of them would break into a uniform smile and say something along the lines of, “We kid, of course. We’re close enough now to have our inside jokes,” when it was so obvious what a blatant lie that was. What was worse, your mother didn’t seem to have a problem with it as long as an O’Connor was willing to take you.

You couldn’t see Hyunjin. You couldn’t sneak out anymore since you were escorted everywhere by the personal bodyguards of the O’Connors now. Your mother was next-level insane thinking this was a gesture of Ryan being doting and protective.

You started spiraling. Bad.

You stopped getting out of your room even to go to school. You refused to see a piano for it reminded you of Hyunjin. Everything reminded you of Hyunjin and Ms. Pearson hadn’t let you know how he was doing like she promised. It had been days, didn’t this qualify as soon? How soon was now, for example? You were cursing at yourself for not memorizing the phone number for Poseidon. You just needed a piece of news. Something. Anything.

Even getting out of bed seemed like an extremely difficult task, and you started considering how much your life was worth. A necklace? Some clothes at a department store? One flimsy lunch?

“Dear? Could you come outside, please? Ryan wants to see you.”

Your mother’s singsongy voice pierced through your locked door. Ryan wants to see you. Not Ryan is asking if he can see you. Not even Ryan is here to see you.

“I don’t feel well, Mother. Please send him away.”

“But he came all the way here to see you, dear. Fix yourself quickly and come out.”

All the way here. From Camden Hills to Beauvoir Drive, it literally took less than ten minutes by car. This motherfucker had just pulled up to your house, not even asking if you were decent first. He was just so used to getting everything he wanted, wasn’t he?

“No.”

“Young lady, don’t make me come in there.”

What could she possibly do if she came in here? Drag you from your hair and throw you at Ryan’s feet? Didn’t she have enough trying to live a reality she wanted for herself through you? Wasn’t everything she forced on you was fucking enough? Wasn’t being treated like a little doll enough? Wasn’t this godforsaken straitjacket of a corset ENOUGH?!

That was the absolute last straw. You had a full on meltdown and started screaming your lungs out, ripping all your pajamas and that fucking corset off of you. You could hear your mother’s mortified voice descending into worry echo outside your room, but you didn’t give a shit about what she had to say anymore.

“Young lady, it’s me,” you heard Shima crying with you, “Please. I’m begging you, please let me in. I’m by myself. I won’t let anyone inside. Please let me see you.”

This was the first time you heard her begging that desperately while violently crying for that matter. Your hiccups abruptly stopped like a baby finally hugging his mother. You carefully approached the door, very slowly turned the key in the lock not to make a noise, and opened it a microscopically small measure to see who was outside. It was indeed Shima by herself, still crying. You pulled her in, locked your door, and hugged her tightly to cry in her chest. You didn’t know how much time had passed when you finally calmed down. She was soothing you by caressing your hair in her lap, and it reminded you of Ms. Pearson a lot.

“Why are you this enamored with the artist boy, young lady?”

You looked at her face half shocked, half mortified at the unexpected declaration.

“You– You knew?”

“How long have I been taking care of you? You’re not as sly as you think,” she warmly smiled, her voice completely inaudible from the outside, “Why do you love him so much?”

“Because he saved me, Shima,” you confessed, “He saved me in every way a person can be saved.”

She didn’t ask you any further questions and just caressed your hair lovingly. If she told you she was your biological mother right then and there, you would believe her. Why was every other woman more motherly than your actual mother for fuck’s sake?

After sending Shima away, you locked yourself in your room again and just laid there on your bed until the darkness of the night came to hug you. You watched the clear sky until it was the deepest hours of the night, and your tears fell down along with some shooting stars. You kept wishing on them to see Hyunjin one more time, to hug him tightly to remember what he smelled like, to run your fingers through his silky hair once again, and to peck the mole right under his eye. You cursed at the fact that you had to be born into two diametrically opposite universes.

“Wherefore art thou, Romeo?” you spoke between your sobs. The gentle tapping of the branches on your window lulled you to sleep. You kept hearing the tapping sound as if it was thick raindrops hitting the glass. It continued. It continued for a long time. When you opened your eyes, you were greeted with a dark figure waving at you on your window and you would recognize that slender silhouette among a thousand shadows.

“Hyunjin?!”

When you checked your clock, you saw that it was way past midnight, and your wish had indeed come true. This was the craziest thing he could possibly do right now, but he didn’t give a damn, not that you were in your right mind either. You carefully opened your window to let him in, and the second he stepped foot in your room, he hugged you as if he wanted to squeeze the life out of you. You buried your head into the crook of his neck, filling your lungs with as much of his scent as you could. He was crying as he was kissing you. So were you.

Out of happiness for once.

“I’m going insane without you, my soul. I had to see you,” he whispered while drowning your face in kisses.

“I’m yours,” you held his face between your hands, “I don’t care what anyone says. I’m only yours.”

“Then deny thy betrothed and refuse thy name,” he smiled at you blindingly bright, “Come away with me. Marry me. We won’t have much maybe, but I promise I’ll devote myself to making you the happiest woman on earth.”

Hyunjin brought out a modest silver ring from his pocket and offered it to you.

Love doesn’t feed you. It never will.

FUCK all of that, maybe.

“Yes,” you let him put it on your finger, “Infinity times yes.”

You celebrated your impromptu engagement, the real one this time, by kissing the man you loved for a long, long, long time, avenging all that time you had to spend apart.

“Don’t go. Please, don’t go,” you pulled him close to you in your bed, “Stay the night with me.”

“But–”

“I can’t pretend my fingers are you anymore,” you looked him dead in the eye, “I need you. I know you need me, too.”

Well, if that wasn’t the truth… If that wasn’t the indisputable truth because the reason Hyunjin bolted to your window that night was a massive meltdown he also had himself.

“Then don’t make a sound.”

You pretended it was your actual marital bed you were fucking in that night. He pretended you were doing him the biggest favor when you let him eat his own cum out of your pussy.

“Nothing can taste this good, my god,” he kissed your inner thighs and smeared his cum all over you, “You and I… This is proof that we’re meant to be.”

You talked in quiet whispers until the first lights of daybreak, telling each other everything that happened in each other’s absence in excruciating detail. You felt better for the first time in forever. He was smiling. You were smiling. He said he loved you. You said you loved him more. You both said But I love you most in unison. Then Hyunjin told you all about the plot he was concocting as of late.

“Just act like you’re actually gonna go through with the wedding, Juliet,” he kissed your forehead, “Lucky for us, my letter from Verona did not get lost in the mail, and I’ll know you’re faking your death.”

On the day of your wedding, your mother was expecting guests to arrive at the venue, yet she had one in the afternoon knocking on the house door.

“Yes?”

“My name is Jeanette Pearson,” the stranger introduced herself with a smile, “Can I please come in to talk about your daughter?”

“Is everything okay?” her face bleached with worry.

“I’m afraid, not so much.”

Jeanette followed the head of the household into the living room area and sat down on one of the comfortable couches as your mother ordered Shima to make some tea. Without further ado, Jeanette cut straight to the chase with a katana.

“You think courtesans are nothing but gold diggers, don’t you, ma’am?”

Even hearing that reprehensible word was enough to push your mother to the very edge of a hysterical fit.

“You didn’t come here to give me a lecture on the elegance of courtesanship, I presume?”

“I’m biologically a man, my good woman, and I was one heck of a courtesan back in my glory days,” Jeanette crossed her legs with finesse, “But look at me now. I’m sure as hell twice the lady some folks will ever be.”

“What does this have to do with my daughter?”

Jeanette’s expression turned serious. She wasn’t there to make a point; that could be saved for another day way into the future. She was just here to have a heart-to-heart. Mother-to-mother, if you will.

“Would you rather protect your daughter and have her resent you for the rest of your life, or set her free and finally earn her daughterly affection, ma’am?”

“I’m not about to discuss motherhood with a stranger.”

“But you do,” Jeanette replied with a faint smile, “If she died tomorrow, how would you feel?”

“Don’t say such horrible things! God forbid!”

“But how would you feel, ma’am?” she insisted further, utterly heartbroken at the hypothetical question herself, “Wouldn’t that bestow the worst of agonies on you? Wouldn’t you go through hell on this earth every waking minute of every day? Is there anything in this world that’s worth this pain?”

Your mother stood silent as the tea arrived, partly furious at a stranger’s audacity to talk about such unspeakable things, partly revisiting that horrendous period she had gone through with you before you accepted to get married to the O’Connor boy. She really thought you were losing it, but she had no idea why. Come to think of it, she had no idea about many things when it came to you. Why you loved the piano so. What your teachers were thinking of you. She thought you would just tell her all about it, but you never did, and with every passing day, it felt like you were slipping away from her.

She was doing exactly what she had learned from her own mother. How could she be possibly wrong?

As she was having her internal monologue, only silence ensued. Jeanette let her process her feelings for some time, but then finally spoke up for there wasn’t much time in her hands.

“Then you know what really matters to you in this life.”

She fished for something in her brand-name purse, an envelope, then made her way to your mother and sat right next to her.

“I know about your late husband,” Jeanette disclosed as she placed the envelope inside the feeble hands of the woman next to her, “I know the situation he put you in and how he put you in it, but this is not your daughter’s fault. You can’t make her pay for this.”

When your mother opened the envelope, she was met with a hefty cheque inside.

“If this is about the money, you got it. If this is about fame and prestige, she already has it, and this isn’t even a fraction of what’s to come her way. She really is very talented, ma’am,” Jeanette looked at her with very fond eyes, “Please don’t let her go through with the wedding.”

Maybe it was the little glass of brandy your mother had had earlier to fight the stress of the wedding day, but was there any truth to this stranger’s words? Was she really making you pay for things? How was securing your future making you pay for things?

Then she remembered how you wouldn’t talk to her at all but would confide in Shima instead, spending time with her all day in your room behind a locked door. You were treating her like the enemy and you were way past your adolescent years for this to be a spoiled brat hissy fit.

You didn’t even like the O’Connor boy, did you?

“We’ve– we’ve come this far. How can I ever back out of this now? What would people think? The shame of it all…”

Jeanette leaned into her with mischievously squinted eyes.

“What if you had a really good reason, and people would shame you if you didn’t back out of it?”

Enter Raquelle Schecter. Beauty queen. Famous burlesque dancer. And one hell of a temptress.

“Can’t believe you’re about to tie the knot O’Connor,” she entered the groom’s suite with her tiny dress that left very little to the imagination, “Does that mean you’re not gonna come around anymore?”

“What a pleasant surprise!” Ryan broke into a sleazy grin, “I didn’t know you were invited today.”

“Well, I wasn’t,” Raquelle put her hands on his shoulders and started playing with the bowtie of his tuxedo, “But I’ve always been a little bit of a gatecrasher. I thought I could finally have my groom fantasy with my favorite man. For old times’ sake, huh? What do you say?”

“You’re gonna be the fucking death of me, Schecter,” he melted into her lips, not even trying to hide how fucking weak he was for her.

Their kiss quickly escalated to Ryan’s favorite act, and he dropped his pants to have this beauty choke on him one last time.

“You know the drill, baby. Suck it like your life depends on it.”

“Ryan?”

It would be one thing if you were the only one standing at that door. Your mother and Bridget were on either side of you with their mouths open, unable to look away from this car crash in front of them as Ryan hurriedly pulled up his pants.

“It’s rude to keep the necklace, dear,” your mother nonchalantly spoke to you, “Give it back.”

You calmly took the necklace off, poured the chain into your palm, and launched it on Ryan’s face with all your might.

“Fuck you, O’Connor.”

As you and your mother turned around to leave, you whispered in her ear.

“I’ve always wanted to do that.”

Once you walked out of the doors, you hugged your mother tightly, and for once her warmth felt like Shima’s to you.

“Go, dear,” she smiled through her tears as she touched your face.

She got in the backseat of the family car and told to chauffeur to drive her back home while you ran towards the opposite side of the garden as fast as you could.

“Romeo!”

Hyunjin turned around when you called out to him and opened his arms for you to run into.

“Do you still have your knife with you?”

“Always, my soul.”

He handed you the knife he used to sharpen his charcoal, and you cut through the ridiculous petticoat holding you back. You ran hand in hand with Hyunjin, just like the very first night you were running with him, but for sure into a literal sunset this time.

People use many different words when they talk about me. “Free spirit” is one of them. “Rascal” is another. Now I have something else.

Romeo.

It’s been such a long time, but it still rings in my ear as beautifully as it did the first time you called me that.

I know I said we wouldn’t have much if you married me, but apparently, that was a lie. Even before our big night, you give me so much every single day, Juliet.

You wake me up with kisses, sometimes not even on my lips. You smile so big when you see me cook breakfast for you. You don’t even get mad at me when I burn things sometimes. You listen to the poems I write for you. You let me brush your hair when you get out of the shower. You let me love you endlessly, and I’m so proud to call you my girl. My soul. My other half.

The day we finished composing our song for Ms. Simone, you wanted to name it Charcoal Blues in C Minor. I acted like I was caving and letting you have the last word when in fact I spectacularly lost my goddamn mind over it.

She promised to sing it at our wedding, by the way. Act surprised.

It wasn’t that you wouldn’t accept it if I flat out asked you, but luring you into a deal is much more fun. You know how much I love teasing you. So we shook on it. You agreed to let me draw you.

When you touch yourself.

You know exactly how to torture me, you absolute seductress. You know how I can’t think straight every time you talk to me like that. You know how my mind goes completely blank when I see you bare.

“You’re still gonna pay me for this, right?” I asked you when sharpening my charcoal, “I don’t draw for free.”

“Oh, is that so?” you stood in front of me with your arms crossed over your chest, “How much, pretty boy?”

“Five thousand.”

“Excuse you?!”

“Or you know, you could let me eat your pussy.”

God, I love it when you smile at me with fire shooting out of your eyes. That’s the sexiest fucking thing. I don’t care how many layers of clothes you have on you, it gets me instantly hard.

“Do you take the payment in advance?” you straddled me on my chair and threw your arms around my neck. I lose it every time you do that because your scent envelops me through and through. You’re much better than whiskey sours at getting me drunk.

“Always, my soul.”

Stripping you fully naked is something, but having you half-dressed for me, only bare at your most sensitive spots is something else entirely. This feels more erotic to me. Only a couple of your shirt buttons loose, just enough to let me suck on your nipples. Your underwear still on and I only slide it to the side to kiss your clit. I guess it all started when we fucked on the pool table at Poseidon that night. I still remember how hard you came, fucking—

There aren’t many surfaces of this house where I haven’t eaten your pussy, but my desk is surprisingly one of them. I’ve been saving it for this moment specifically. But I’m not gonna do the half-opened present thing today. I want to see you fully spread for me and I wanna see everything up close. The exact moment you start to drip. To start clenching. When you can’t take the teasing anymore and prop up on your elbows to watch me make out with clit.

It doesn’t change. Every time my face is between your legs, it feels like home to me. Every time I get a taste of you, I’m so grateful I’m alive.

“Lick first.”

Now, always from your entrance. Always from the source of the spring. I love spreading your own juices all around you with my tongue. I know how much it annoys you when I lick everywhere and avoid your clit at all costs, but you do trust me, don’t you? I do it for a reason.

“Kiss me.”

Of course I will. Just knowing my lips are fully covered with your slick gets to you, doesn’t it? You like it. No, you love it. You love it when I kiss the other pair of lips on your body like that. But I might be enjoying it a little too much for my own good. I always make sure to whisper my confessions to you every time I kiss you down here. It’s a little game I invented for myself. I get a kick out of it when you’re able to decipher the shameless secrets I hide in sighs and you start moaning louder.

“Suck me now.”

This is where I cease the torture. I love it when your clit gets that swollen when I barely do anything to it. It feels like you’re silently begging for me. You always say you like my lips so much, but I think I finally figured out why. When I trap your clit between them and start sucking on it, doesn’t it feel like a perfect match? It’s the perfect sleeve for you. Meant for you to sit on whenever you feel like it.

“Oh god, don’t– don’t stop!”

Oh, there it is. You’re calling out to me with that desperate tone. I fucking love it when you get impatient and start riding my face. You want it all, don’t you? You don’t want the feeling the stop because the prelude feels so good, but you do want to cum hard at the same time. You can only have one or the other, beautiful. Do you want the endless buildup?

“Hyunjin!”

Or do you want me to endlessly tease that clit until you snap? I’m in love with satisfying you, but all I can think about is how I’m gonna slide right in if I make you cum.

“FUCK!!!”

I don’t know what it is about you cursing a mouthful that turns me into an absolute wild animal, but it does. You know it does. When you cum in my mouth pushing my head down as much as you can, that’s your way of giving me permission for what I’m about to do to you. Your walls are still throbbing, yet you take me in so easily. Feeling your aftershocks on my cock is my favorite part.

Who needs lubricant when I have you?

It’s the same thing as you pushing my head down when I lick you. Even though you just came, you like it when I hit your deepest corners when you’re so damn sensitive. Me?

I love it so much that it’s actually a fucking problem now.

“Don’t– don’t clench like that. Please!”

Every time I say please, you do the complete opposite. Please touch me. You won’t. You relentlessly tease me instead. Please kiss me. You won’t. You ghost your lips on me until I fucking snap. Please make me cum. You goddamn won’t because why would you when you can edge me forever?

But when I say Please don’t make me cum…

You rip my soul out of me and chuck it down the depths of an ocean made of molten lava.

And I fucking love it when you do that and drown me in kisses afterwards.

“I love you, Romeo.”

Ms. Simone might be the first lady of song, and rightfully so. No one can dare oppose that. But you’re my first and last of everything, Juliet.

Romeo and his fair lady might have been star-crossed lovers that fell victim to a tragedy, but you and I…

I know in my heart of hearts that we are beyond forever.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

🍮Like my content? Consider supporting my work with a pudding!

My longest one-shot to date. An homage to my first fictional love, Leo in the '90s.

If you enjoyed this story, feel free to share your thoughts with me in reblogs, tags, or in my inbox. As long as you're kind, that is.

-R. (CB97%)

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