kiyof

[kiyof]

im always so weak when it comes to stories that uses memories as its main theme or really anything to do with memories, so this was lowkey a perfect angsty story for me.

that opening line was just NASTY too, like, “How shattered must your heart be, to long for oblivion over a name once uttered like a prayer?” baby im about to end it all right now

hope you know that right before starting this, i was reading an actual book—a book proofread by professional editors, printed by a named publisher, distributed and sold globally—but i VERY MUCH prefer your fic to that book (it was “frankenstein and cleopatra” by coco mellors, which, by the way, isnt a very good book).

anw such a gorgeous story!!! i love u thank you for writing this

THE ARCHIVE

pairing: choi soobin x reader

"Here. Please read each clause carefully dear."

The papers were handed in your hands, making your heart pound, each beat a hammer striking painfully inside your ribs. Your fingers tremble against the pen, gripping it so tightly your knuckles ache, but the pressure doesn’t help you—nothing ever will. Your eyes trace the final lines, the words smudging under the sting in your eyes.

You have given extensive thought behind your decision and give "Brighter Days Inc." the exclusive permission to remove this person completely from your memory:

☐ Yes ☐ No

warnings: reader discretion is advised. neuro-science fiction au, set in the year 2125, romance, angst, psychological drama, character!death, depression!, anxiety!, stages of grief, flashbacks, self-destructive!reader, self!harm, accidents, everything written is a work of fiction. if any of the warnings above might be triggering for you, please step back. let me know if I missed anything.

wc: 13k — playlist.

notes: inspired by parts of ariana’s we can’t be friends music video aka eternal sunshine of the spotless mind... concept is there, but the plot itself will take a different path. oh, and buckle up.

a big thank you to @killa-1009 for beta reading this. ilysm.

How shattered must your heart be, to long for oblivion over a name once uttered like a prayer?

"Sweetheart."

Warm hands find your waist, circling you with a gentle pull, long fingers tracing slow, reverent patterns across your bare skin. A soft squeeze follows, then, warm—featherlight kisses trail from your neck to your ear, each one taking time to settle on your skin. Your name slips from his lips, barely more than a breath, before he tucks himself closer, body melting into yours.

"Wake up, sleepyhead."

You laugh softly when you feel him press another kiss behind your ear. He always wakes you up like this—unhurried, endlessly affectionate. And no matter how much you loathe early mornings, he somehow makes them worth waking up for.

Turning over, you’re met with his familiar smirk, eyes already tracing every inch of your face like it’s the first time he’s seeing you. His hands find your cheeks, cradling them gently—like he always does. As if he hasn’t held you a thousand times before. As if you haven’t been his to hold since high school.

"It's a crime to be this pretty when you just woke up, don't you think?" he teases, his nose bumping against yours before he gives your lips a quick peck.

"It's too early for your silly jokes, Soobin," you mumble, voice still heavy with sleep as you reach for him, burying your face against his shoulder blades. His warmth is familiar, comforting. Your eyes slip shut again, and he hums softly, his hand tracing slow, soothing patterns on your back.

"I'm not joking," he murmurs.

"Okay," you whisper back, not quite awake but not quite asleep either.

A beat of silence. Then—

"Are you sleeping again?"

"No."

"You’re going to be late."

"Uh-huh."

He exhales a quiet laugh, shifting beside you, and when you finally lift your head, his face is already turned toward you, bathed in the gentle glow of morning. His dimples appear with a smile—one he always saves for you, like tiny craters in the universe of his face. You reach out, pressing a finger into the tiny hollow of his cheek, and his grin only widens.

How does he never grow tired of looking at you like this?

"Come on, let’s eat, yeah?" he coaxes, pinching your cheeks.

You let yourself watch him—watch the way his eyes soften, the way he always waits for you, the way his love sits so effortlessly in the space between you.

"I love you," you whisper.

His fingers brush your cheek, his smile turning impossibly fonder.

"I love you more."

He somehow managed to pull you out of bed, though not without a few sleepy complaints. You lazily threw your hair into a ponytail—an attempt at looking somewhat awake. The moment he caught sight of it, though, laughter spilled from his lips, his dimples deepening with amusement.

“What is this?” he teased, reaching out to play with the loose strands. "A masterpiece of chaos?"

"It's ugly, isn't it?" You pouted, lips jutting out just enough to make his teasing falter. Panic flashed across his face before he quickly cupped your cheeks, his thumbs brushing over your skin as he pressed frantic kisses all over.

“No. You’re beautiful,” he murmured between each kiss. “Always beautiful.”

You let him win that small battle, if only because the warmth of his touch made surrendering easy.

It's always easy with him.

"Put some butter and milk in it," Soobin says, watching you whisk eggs in a bowl. He’s perched at the kitchen table, chin resting in his hand, his gaze fixed on you as you move around the kitchen. The pancakes on the stove have just started to sizzle.

"You like them better that way," he adds.

"Oh, right!" You laugh, hurrying to grab the missing ingredients from the fridge. You mix them in just the way he likes, and when the pancakes are golden and ready, you set the plates down in front of both of you, fetching the utensils.

"Thank you, love," he hums, cutting into his pancake as you take your first bite. A satisfied groan leaves your lips as the warmth of the food soothes your hunger.

"Nothing beats pancakes for breakfast," you sigh. "You and your obsession with them."

He chuckles, watching you with amusement, his elbow propped on the table and his chin resting in his palm. "Good job, chef."

You roll your eyes, dramatically bowing. "You're welcome."

He grins before his expression softens. "You have plans later, right? Be careful out there, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"And—"

Before he can finish, the sound of the doorbell cuts through the moment.

"I’ll get it," you say, pushing your chair back.

He nods at you with a smile, watching as you disappear toward the door.

You step toward the door of your apartment, fingers curling around the handle before pulling it open.

"Wonyoung, good morning!" you greet with a soft smile, but the way her eyes widen—just for a fraction of a second—doesn’t go unnoticed. She hides it quickly, clearing her throat as she shifts the bags in her hands.

"Morning," she says, stepping inside, her gaze immediately scanning you.

Her gaze sweeps over you, taking in the messy hair, the oversized shirt that’s swallowed you whole—the same one she saw you wearing last time. The deep shadows under your eyes, the pale exhaustion etched into your skin.

"Are you okay?" she asks, careful, cautious.

"Yeah, I am," you answer without hesitation, as if saying it fast enough will make it true. You turn to grab the house slippers meant for her, but your fingers hesitate when you notice Soobin’s slippers still neatly tucked by the door.

He didn’t wear them? But the floor is cold.

Shaking the thought away, you straighten up. "I'm having breakfast with Soobin. We made extra, by the way. You can eat with us."

Silence.

Wonyoung just looks at you, her expression unreadable, her lips parting slightly before closing again. There’s hesitation—pain, even—as if she’s searching for the right words.

"What's wrong—?"

You don’t get to finish.

The bags slip from her hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud as she strides toward you. Before you can react, her arms wrap around you, pulling you in tight. The force of it makes you stumble slightly, but she doesn’t let go. Her grip is desperate, as if she’s holding onto something fragile, something already breaking.

You feel her take a deep, shaking breath before she whispers, voice barely above a whisper.

"Y/N… Soobin’s been gone for two years now."

Panic grips you as your breath catches in your throat. Your head snaps toward the table—the very spot where you left him—only to find it empty—a plate of untouched food, sitting there like a ghost.

Everyone in the world fears something—even those who swear they don’t. And at the core of it all, there’s death. It is inevitable and final. It’s like spending years studying, only to fail every job interview. Like working yourself to the bone for months, only to walk away empty-handed. Like pouring your heart into a meal, only to take a bite and realise it tastes terrible.

But for you, fear isn’t just about endings. It isn’t just about pain. What haunts you more than death itself is the thought of being forgotten—or worse, forgetting.

Forgetting is terrifying. Yet, as you sit there, clipping your nailbeds, lost in thought, forgetting made you see him. You saw him this morning, standing there, just as he always had. And without thinking, you breathe.

For that fleeting moment, he’s here. Because you forget that he’s gone.

"Y/N."

You look up from the table, your fingers stiff against the wood. Your mom's eyes are swollen, glassy with unshed tears, rimmed red from exhaustion. She looks at you with so much pity it makes your stomach churn. "Are you even listening to me?"

"I am, Mom."

She exhales sharply, dragging a hand down her face. "I said we should go back to Dr. Park for another check-up. And maybe… maybe we should finally consider what she’s been recommending—"

"No." Your voice is firm, cutting through the air. "It’s just a waste of money—"

"That’s why I’m working two jobs, dear." Her voice shakes as she reaches for your hands. You flinch, but she doesn’t let go. Her grip is warm, trembling.

"You’ve been hallucinating again." She swallows hard. "I thought time would make it better. I really did." Her breath hitches. "But it’s been two years now. Your dad... he’s sick. He can't even get up on the bed, and—"

"You don't understand, Mom." Your voice trembles as tears well in your eyes. Crying has become second nature—easier than eating, easier than sleeping, easier than existing without him. "How am I supposed to act? I'm trying, I promise I am."

"Y/N." Your mom wipes her own tears, her breath unsteady. "It’s hard for me too. He was my son."

You drop your gaze, staring at the table, at the empty space in front of you, anywhere but at her.

"It haunts me," she whispers, "how deeply he loved you. He’s always here. Always with you. Always worrying about you."

The words steal the air from your lungs. Your chest tightens, the room tilts.

"But do you really think," she continues, voice breaking, "that he wouldn’t understand? That, of all people, he wouldn’t want you to keep going?"

The chair screeches against the floor as you stand abruptly. Your mother flinches at the sound. You turn to leave, but her voice stops you just before you step away.

"He loved you more than his own life," she says softly. "Do you really think it wouldn’t break his heart to see you like this?"

You bite your lip as you step out of your parents' house. Wonyoung had dropped you off earlier, she didn’t trust leaving you alone. No one does anymore. Everywhere you go, people watch you with that same look—pity, like you’re a glass figure they’re waiting to see shatter.

Like you’ll be the next one to disappear.

Your chest tightens as tears prick the corners of your eyes, blurring the edges of the world. A hiccup escapes, sharp and unexpected, and you clamp a hand over your mouth as if that might keep everything else from spilling out. You fumble with the car door, your fingers trembling against the handle. It’s only been three months since you managed to get behind the wheel again, but even now, the familiarity of it feels like a fragile lifeline—something that says I’m still here. I’m still trying.

Two years. Two years since his funeral. Two years since you last stepped into your office. Two years of nights that felt endless, of mornings that felt pointless. Two years of watching the people around you crumble under the weight of your grief, their hearts breaking because yours refuses to heal.

And for two years, the doctors have been whispering the same thing, their voices clinical, detached.

The procedure of erasing him from your memory completely.

Your knuckles whiten around the steering wheel as you pull out of the driveway, heart pounding harder than the engine. Every turn, every streetlight, every crack in the pavement feels like it carries his shadow. But there’s only one place where it feels bearable—one place where you can almost convince yourself he’s still there.

Choi Yeonjun’s eyes swept across your face, taking in the tear-streaked cheeks, the vacant gaze, the way you trembled just standing there. He didn’t say anything, just stepped aside and pushed the door open a little wider. You walked past him, your steps sure, like you were following an invisible thread pulling you toward the one place you needed.

"Do you need anything?" You shook your head. Because what you need isn't here anymore.

And then you slipped inside. His room.

Two years had passed, and Yeonjun never touched a thing. Dust had settled, time had moved forward, but this room remained frozen—trapped in the moment before everything shattered. They had been roommates for years, but after Soobin died, Yeonjun never found the will to replace him. Never found the strength to erase the evidence that he had once been here, that he had once been real.

No one was ever allowed inside.

No one but you.

You crossed the threshold like a sinner entering a church, hands trembling, breath unsteady. And when you sat down on the left side of the bed—his side—your chest caved in as you sob.

This was where he always slept. Where he curled into you on restless nights. Where he pressed sleepy kisses to your temple, murmuring half-formed dreams against your skin. The sheets no longer smelled like him. Time had stolen that, too. But the ceiling above was the same one you woke up to with him beside you, and if you closed your eyes, you could pretend.

Pretend that if you reached out, you’d feel his warmth. Pretend that if you called his name, he’d answer. Pretend that you weren’t alone.

But pretending could only take you so far.

You never found the strength to open the door again. You curled into yourself, gripping the blanket like it could hold you together. And when sleep finally came, it was with his name spilling from your lips.

A name that no longer had a future.

The knocking pulled you from the depths of sleep, insistent. You groaned, the sound barely more than a rasp, your throat raw from last night’s tears. Your eyelids felt swollen, heavy, reluctant to open. "Yeah?"

"It's afternoon," Yeonjun said through the door. His tone was careful, but you could hear the quiet concern woven between the words. "You’ve been sleeping for over twelve hours."

Shit.

You knew that wasn’t normal. But then again, nothing about you had been normal for a long time. Some nights, sleep was a stranger you couldn’t reach no matter how exhausted you were. Other days, it swallowed you whole, dragging you under until the hours blurred into nothingness. Staying in bed felt easier.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, "I'll come out in a minute."

Yeonjun hesitated. You knew he wanted to say something—to tell you that you didn’t have to apologize, that he understood, that he wasn’t judging you. But in the end, he just sighed. "Okay."

You listened as his footsteps retreated down the hall.

With a heavy heart, you forced yourself to move, peeling the blanket away like it weighed a thousand pounds. Every part of you ached—not just physically, but in a way that settled deep into your bones, into the spaces between your ribs. The bathroom mirror reflected a version of you that you barely recognized. Hollow eyes, a face drawn thin by grief, lips pressed into something that was neither a frown nor a smile—just existence. Surviving.

You turned on the faucet, splashing cold water onto your face, letting the chill bite into your skin. Your fingers gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white, as you sucked in a breath.

And then you saw them. On the shelf behind you; Soobin’s shelf.

Your hairbands.

The sight of them made you waver. Because it was proof, wasn’t it? Proof that once, you had a place here. That once, he was here to tease you about leaving them everywhere, to slip them onto his own wrist absentmindedly, to hand them back to you with a laugh.

"You always lose your hairbands, baby."

Soobin's voice was soft and teasing as he pressed lazy kisses along your cheek, your temple, anywhere he could reach. You tried to ignore him, focused on brushing your teeth, but he never made it easy. His hands slipped under your shirt, palms warm against your bare skin, tracing absentminded patterns over your stomach. He always did that—always found some excuse to touch you.

"So," he murmured, grinning against your jaw as he pressed your cheeks to his. "I bought a whole stack of them."

You paused, raising an eyebrow at his reflection in the mirror. "A whole stack?"

"Mhm." His fingers tightened slightly, possessive. "So now you have one less excuse to leave—and one more reason to come back."

Your hairbands. Like you, were waiting for someone who was never coming back. You shake your head, snapping yourself out of it. Then you heard knocking again. "Yeonjun. I said I’ll be out in a minute."

A pause. Then, softer this time—

"It’s been an hour since you last said that. Are you okay?"

You exhale, the breath shaky, uneven. Time has slipped through your fingers again, and you hadn’t even noticed. But that’s nothing new.

It happens more often than not.

You sit with a book in your lap, determined to do what they say might help—immerse yourself in another world, let fiction be a temporary escape. But you blink, and somehow hours have passed, and you’re still stuck on the same page, the words forgotten.

You eat lunch, fork moving mechanically between your plate and your mouth, only to glance outside and realize the sky has darkened, the day gone without your permission.

You tell yourself you’ll go out, that today, you’ll meet Wonyoung like you promised. You put on your shoes, even grab your coat. But then the door never opens. And before you know it, she’s the one standing there, knocking, asking why you didn’t come—why you never showed up.

You know it’s getting worse. And the worst part? You don’t know how to stop it. You don’t want to stop it.

Because it means moving on.

Moving on has always felt like erasing him. Like accepting a world where Soobin is nothing more than a memory—left behind.

And the thought that one day, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday—everyone, even you, will stop mourning him?

That terrifies you more than anything.

You eat slowly, each bite feeling heavier than the last. Yeonjun had made you bacon and eggs—simple, warm, something that should’ve felt like comfort. But the food is cold now, left waiting for you just like he was. He eats in silence, but you feel it—his eyes keep flickering toward your wrist, checking. He doesn’t say anything.

It yanks you straight back to those first few months after Soobin’s death.

"Y/N?" Yeonjun’s face is sharp with concern as he pushes open the door. He had knocked—once, twice—but you hadn’t answered. That alone was enough to send his heart into a spiral.

"I brought you some food—" His words cut off the moment his eyes land on you. You’re sitting at the edge of the bed, shoulders curled inward, your body eerily still. But then he sees it—your wrist, the red staining your fingers, spilling onto the white sheets like ink bleeding through paper.

His breath catches. And then—

“What the fuck are you doing?” The words tear from his throat again, raw and panicked. The bags slip from his grasp, hitting the floor with a muffled thud, but he doesn’t care. He’s already rushing toward you, dropping to his knees, reaching for your wrist with hands that won’t stop shaking.

“What are you doing?!” He shouts—not out of anger, not at you—but because he’s terrified.

It scares him. God, it scares him. What would his best friend say?

"I—I don’t know," you sob, voice wrecked. Your body trembles under his hold, and the words spill out between uneven breaths. You just saw it and you couldn't stop yourself. "I don’t know what to do anymore."

Yeonjun clenches his jaw, his own tears burning behind his eyes. "You must not do this," He’s trying to be strong for you, but his hands betray him, quivering as they hold onto you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away completely. Because you might. Because you want to. "Please, Y/N. Please."

You were so beautiful in Soobin’s love, and now it clings to you like a disease.

"I know it’s hard," he chokes out, pulling you into his arms. "Fuck, I know. But think of his face." He pleads. "Whenever you see your wrist, whenever you look at your skin—think of him. Do you ever want to hurt him?"

"Jjunie." Yeonjun's eyes lift to meet yours. "You don’t have to keep looking at my wrists anymore,"

A breath leaves him, slow and measured, as if he’s been waiting to hear that. He tries for a smile, small. "It worked like a miracle, didn’t it?"

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. "He always is." The smile that flickers across your lips feels foreign, like something borrowed from a version of yourself that no longer exists.

"My dad…" you hesitate, fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater. "I—I need to go back to work."

Yeonjun watches you carefully, as if afraid you’ll change your mind. He nods. "It’s only about time, Y/N."

Silence stretches between you before he speaks again, voice careful, "Are you considering the treatment?"

You don’t answer.

Yeonjun didn’t kick you out. He never would.

In the afternoon, the two of you sat on the couch—long enough to fit three, but only occupied by two. And yet, without thinking, without speaking, you both left a space between you. A space for him.

Infinity War played on the screen, a movie you’d both seen more times than you could count. It was muscle memory at this point—the dialogue, the fight scenes, the inevitable heartbreak.

The credits rolled, and the room felt heavier.

"Soobin always bawled his eyes out here," you whispered, voice trembling. You laughed, but it cracked in the middle. "Like a baby."

Yeonjun exhaled shakily, his own throat tightening. "It makes me wonder how such a tall man could cry that easily."

You nodded, wiping at your face as tears slipped free. "He’s a loser." Your sob broke through before you could stop it. "He’s my loser."

Yeonjun pressed his lips together, but it was useless. His own tears fell before he could even blink them away. "Fuck," he muttered, voice thick.

Neither of you moved.

Because some absences can never be replaced.

"It's time for you to move on," Yeonjun says, his voice steady but careful. "You tried going back to work, but you can’t. You should be out there, living your life."

A fresh wave of grief crashes over you. "It feels like I'm betraying him, Jun." Your voice breaks, and before you know it, you're fully sobbing, the weight of it pressing down on your chest like it might crush you.

Yeonjun exhales sharply, his hands clenching into fists. "I feel like he's going to haunt me any day now for letting you stay like this, and he'd probably call me an idiot for not shaking some sense into you sooner." he half-jokes, but it’s bitter. It’s pained. The two of you laugh, but it doesn’t reach your eyes, dies as quickly as it comes.

"But if you're worried about him—about who will take care of his… grave," Yeonjun hesitates as if the word itself could break you. "I promise, I’ll do that. His family will, too. He won’t be forgotten, Y/N. Ever." You hate it. Hate that he’s making sense. Hate that every word he says feels like it's prying you away from Soobin, piece by piece.

"Your father, your mother, your siblings... they need you back," he presses on, his voice gentler now. "And you… you need to go on with your life. That treatment, it’s the only thing that can help you now."

You shake your head, barely able to breathe between the sobs. "I can't let him go."

Yeonjun swallows hard, his hands trembling as they reach for yours. "You’re not letting him go," he whispers. "He's already gone."

And then, softer, like he’s begging, "And I know, if he were here… to talk to you one last time, he would beg you to keep living."

It took him two years to say it, but Yeonjun cried with you that day, his own grief spilling over as you sobbed into the worn-out cushions of the sofa. Because he, too, was once afraid—to let go, to move forward. But he knows now, knows in the deepest part of himself, that Soobin, the kindest soul he had ever met, the person who loved you deeply, would understand.

Yeonjun will spend his lifetime visiting Soobin’s grave, honouring him in the quiet ways he can. For Soobin. For you.

Even if he has a family of his own one day. Even if his hair turns grey, and his legs grow too weak to stand. Even then, he will still go. And he’ll pass that promise down to his children, to his grandchildren, so that Soobin’s name is never forgotten.

But if he lets you waste away like this, there will be no future to carry on. And the guilt would eat him alive because Yeonjun knows—more than anyone—what Soobin would have wanted.

It’s cruel, cruel that he had to pull the names of your family into this, had to remind you of the people who are still waiting for you to come home. But it’s the truth. And if you can’t find the strength to fight for yourself, then at least let them be the reason you try.

You step out of the car, your breath hitching as your eyes sweep over the familiar neighbourhood—the one you used to visit so often, the one that once felt like a second home. Now, after two years, it feels like stepping into a past life.

"Y/N!"

You barely have time to react before Soobin’s older sister is pulling you into her arms, her laugh warm, her embrace familiar. It nearly unravels you.

"I missed you," she murmurs.

You swallow the lump in your throat. "I missed you too, unnie."

And then your eyes land on the small boy in her arms—the baby who was just two the last time you saw him. Now four, grown but still soft with childhood. His wobbly cheeks, the way his dimples deepen when he shifts shyly under your gaze—

It’s too much.

"Hi," you say, voice barely above a whisper.

"Hi," he replies, eyes wide, cheeks flushing as he clings closer to his mother.

You look away. Because he looks too much like him. Because for a second, your mind plays cruel tricks, and you almost convince yourself that if you just turn your head, Soobin will be right there, smiling at you like he used to.

But he's not. He never will be.

"Come inside," his sister says gently, as if she understands the storm inside you. "Mom knows you’re here." And you nod, forcing your feet to move, even as your heart screams for you to turn back.

In the first month after Soobin was gone, his mother stayed by your side. She held you as you cried, made sure you ate, whispered that she understood, because she had lost him too.

In the following months, she kept visiting, kept checking in. But as time passed, she began to pull away. Subtly, at first. The visits became less frequent, the calls shorter. And then, one day, they stopped altogether. Your messages, your calls—they went unanswered. His family, the people you once thought of as your own, had slowly closed their doors to you.

Except for his sister.

She leads you inside, her expression unreadable as she gestures toward the dining table.

And there she is. The woman you once called mother.

"Mother," you bow, the word slipping from your lips before you can stop it.

She doesn’t even turn to look at you. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?" Her voice is clipped, distant. "And why are you here?"

You swallow, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. "Because I wanted to see you. I wanted to talk to you."

Finally, she rises from her chair, her gaze locking onto yours. And it is nothing like before. It is cold. Empty. Unforgiving.

“Get out, Y/N,” she says, her voice devoid of warmth. “Don’t come here anymore.” Your chest tightens. You don’t even realize your hands have started shaking.

"Mom, don't be like this," Soobin's sister cuts in, her voice soft but firm.

And for just a moment—a brief, moment—you see it. The way her lips press together. The way her shoulders tense. The way her eyes, for just a second, glisten as though they, too, are on the verge of breaking. She blinks the tears away before they can fall, turning away from you, like it’s the only way she can keep standing. She walks away without any second glance.

“I’m sorry,” Soobin’s sister whispers.

You force yourself to smile, though it trembles on your lips. “It’s okay,” you murmur. “I just… I just really need to talk to her.”

You spent the hour with Soobin’s sister, unraveling everything you had kept inside. Every dark thought, every ounce of guilt, every desperate attempt to hold onto him. And she listened. She held your hand, pulled you into her arms.

But time moves forward, even when you don’t want it to.

You check the clock, exhaling. “I’m going to try talking to her again. I have plans after this, too.” She doesn’t stop you. But the way she squeezes your hand before letting go, it’s as if she knows how much this is going to hurt.

As you walk through the house, memories seep into every corner. His presence is everywhere. The framed pictures lined the walls, the dent in the couch where he used to sit. It’s overwhelming. It steals the breath from your lungs, forcing you to press a hand to your chest just to steady yourself.

You don’t belong here anymore. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to leave.

The kitchen light is on. The soft rhythm of a knife against the cutting board fills the silence.

She’s there.

Soobin’s mother stands at the counter, slicing vegetables with practised precision. You swallow, stepping forward, trying to find your voice. She doesn’t look up.

“Didn’t I tell you to leave?”

"Mom, I missed you." Your voice trembles, barely above a whisper, and for a moment, her hands still. The steady chopping ceases, but she doesn’t turn. She keeps her back to you, her shoulders rising and falling with each controlled breath. "I came here because… I wanted to let you know that I think it’s time. I’m going to get the treatment."

Your own arms wrap around yourself, as if bracing against the cold creeping into your bones. "It will alter my memory. There’s big a chance I’ll forget you, too."

The words shatter something inside you. "But I wanted to say it—just one last time. Thank you. For everything. For giving birth to Soobin. For raising him into someone who could love me so deeply, who made me feel safe, who made me feel like I belonged here. Thank you for accepting me, for loving me. And I love you. I always will. I just… I just hope you can forgive me for what I’m about to do."

At your last words, she turns. And for the first time in a year, you see it—the grief she’s buried, the pain she’s carried alone. Her eyes, red and wet, spill over as she closes the space between you, pulling you into her arms.

You don’t hold back. You collapse into her, sobs wracking through your body as she holds you like she used to. As if you were still hers. As if you always would be.

Her hands run soothingly over your back, her voice breaking. "My daughter… I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you had to go through this."

She clutches you tighter. "I thought… if I pushed you away, if I kept my distance, maybe you’d find a way to stand on your own. I thought if I pushed you away, maybe it would force you to move forward. Maybe it would break whatever was keeping you trapped in the past. It felt like it was my fault you couldn’t move on. Our fault. That the love my son left behind has been anchoring you instead of lifting you. And I’ve been so afraid, afraid that his love, instead of saving you would destroy you." She cries, "I prayed for you every single day. That you would find the courage. That you would choose to keep going."

You shake your head against her shoulder, your grip on her tightening. "I understand. I do. I just—" Your breath hitches. "I’m scared. I’m scared to forget him."

She exhales shakily, her lips pressing against your hair. "Forgetting… it’s easier than suffering for the rest of your life." Her hands cup your face, her thumbs brushing the tears away even as her own continue to fall.

"You won’t lose him. Not really. Whatever Soobin left in this world, it’s you." Your breath shudders as she presses a kiss to your forehead.

"I want you to live, sweetheart. To build a life that he would be proud of. A new one, filled with love, with hope. And maybe, one day, we’ll meet again—whether you remember me or not. And even then, I will love you. Always. Just like he did."

It was a hard goodbye—one that clung to your skin like the scent of home you’d never return to. Their arms around you had been warm, their voices soft, their smiles trembling. And as you drove away, watching Soobin’s family grow smaller in the rearview mirror, you forced yourself to smile, to wave back.

But the moment they faded from sight, the mask crumbled.

Your hands tightened around the wheel as your breath hitched, but it was useless. You pulled over, burying your face in your palms, sobs wracking your body.

You knew you would never see them again.

A shuddering breath escaped you as you wiped your tears with shaking fingers, swallowing against the grief clawing at your throat. You couldn’t fall apart now. Not yet.

Because there was still one more goodbye to say.One more person waiting for you. One who had left but never truly rested. Because for two years, you hadn’t found the courage to let go.

To free him.

You don’t know how you managed to bring yourself here. Your legs felt heavy the whole way, like they knew what your heart refused to accept—that every step forward was another step closer to goodbye.

The grave is pristine, not a speck of dust in sight. Someone else had been here. Someone else still comes. And for a moment, a tiny splinter of relief wedges itself into your grief. He’s being cared for, even without you.

You stand there, your throat tightening, your lips parting—then closing again. The words are trapped somewhere deep inside you, tangled between the memories and the pain. What do you even say? How do you speak when just looking at his name carved into stone is enough to make your chest cave in? How do you even start? What do you say to someone who can’t answer back?

And then your eyes fall to the base of the headstone. White roses. Fresh. Untouched.

Your breath stumbles.

White roses—his favourite. The same ones he gave you that night, trembling fingers offering a bouquet, his eyes filled with so much hope. Now, they sit beside his grave, a brutal echo of the past.

And you wonder—when did forever become something so short?

You swallow hard. "Hey," you whisper. Just one word, and already, you feel yourself crying. "Are you somewhere nice?"

"I really… I really hope you are," your voice trembles, your vision blurring. "God, I cry so easily now. You’d tease me for it, wouldn’t you?" A broken laugh escapes your lips, but it fades as quickly as it came. "I’m nothing like the person you knew. I'm not that woman anymore. I’ve changed." You take a shuddering breath. "All because you left me."

The confession spills out before you can stop it, "You left me here alone, and I didn’t know what to do. Because you were my world, and our plans—" Your voice cracks. You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head. "No. No, Soobin. I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean any of it. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry."

Your knees buckle, and you let them. You fold into yourself, pressing your palms against your face as the sobs finally come, wrenching their way out of you. "I’m weak," you choke out. "I’ve been nothing but weak without you."

Time slips away. You don’t know how long you sit there, trembling, letting everything have its way with you. At some point, people come and go, visiting the graves nearby. They stay for a while, whispering prayers, placing flowers, saying their goodbyes. And then, one by one, they leave.

But you don’t.

Because you know—this is the last time you’ll ever be here.

What does it truly mean to forget?

Is it letting go of the bad memories, even if it means losing the lessons they left behind? Erasing the trauma, even if it forged the strength that kept you standing? Wiping away the heartbreak, even if it unmade the love that once felt endless? If forgetting means unravelling the version of yourself shaped by every moment... then is it really freedom? Or is it just another kind of loss?

And if you don’t forget—who carries the weight of those memories with you? The nights spent in quiet conversation, the laughter that once echoed in familiar streets, the warmth of his hand in yours. Does one painful ending justify the erasure of everything that came before?

It doesn’t. Because memories do not vanish. They are not erased like ink wiped clean from a page.

The streets still remember the way you walked together. The wind still hums with the echoes of his voice. The people who once saw your love still hold its remnants, even in passing glances. And perhaps, this is the only way to keep it beautiful. Your memories, deserve to be left as they are. You should not taint it any further.

"I decided to do it," you whisper, your voice barely carrying over the wind. "I’m finally doing it, love. It took me so long, but… I will."

"I don't want you to think that I'll forget you. Because you're my life." A shaky breath escapes your lips, your fingers tracing the edge of cold stone as if it were his hand, warm and real, just one last time. "But you don’t have to worry about me anymore," you murmur. "You can rest now."

Your eyes lift, meeting the name carved into eternity—Choi Soobin. A tear slips down your cheek, catching on your lips as you whisper, broken and raw—

"I love you. And I’m sorry."

Sorry that it took this long. Sorry that you held on when you should have let go. Sorry that no matter how much time passes, some wounds never really heal.

Your wounds will never heal.

The overhead lights burn against your swollen eyes. You blink, but it only makes the sting worse. You thought they would’ve dried by now. That at some point, your body would just refuse to keep grieving.

Do people have a limit? Is there a point where you simply run out? Or does the body just keep producing sorrow, as long as there’s pain to feed it? Has anyone in history ever cried so much that their body just… gave up?

Maybe not.

Or maybe, if you stay like this long enough, you’ll be the first. Because this is all you know how to do now.

Cry. Cry for him. Cry for yourself.

Cry because it’s the only thing that makes the weight in your chest feel even a little less suffocating. Because if you stop, even for a moment, you’re terrified you’ll realise just how empty the world is without him in it.

You're not strong enough.

"Are you sure you don’t want me to come in?" Your mother’s hand is warm as she pats your back, enough for you to let out a breath you were holding.

"Yeah," you whisper. "You can wait for me in the waiting area." Your eyes flicker toward the entrance as another person steps in. She carries a box, full of things and when your gaze meets hers, you swear you see your own reflection staring back.

Haunted.

Your own box grows heavier in your hands.

"I’m a big girl, you know," you murmur, forcing the words out as if saying them makes them true.

Your mother gives you a small smile before kissing your cheek. "I’ll be here," she says softly. "After all of this, I’ll be here to pick you up."

Something tightens in your chest. Such simple words, so ordinary, yet they make your throat close up. One less worry, a hundred more to carry.

But she’ll be here after.

No matter what happens behind those doors, no matter how much of you is left when it’s over—your mother will be here, waiting on the other side.

And that should be enough, right?

You take a step. Then another. Three steps before something in you falters, pulling you back. You turn around, and your mother, standing right where you left her. Her eyes meet yours, and one of them glistens now, like she’s holding something back. She’s trying to be strong for you.

"Does it have to be today, Mom?" Your voice wavers, barely above a whisper. "I mean… can we, can we just—" The words die in your throat. You swallow hard. You promised him.

You promised.

And if you don’t do it today… you might never do it at all.

“Honey, we can always come back.” Your mother’s voice is soft. She’s in front of you now, hands warm on your shoulders. “We can reschedule, and—”

“It’s fine.” You shake your head, refusing to meet her eyes. If you look at her, if you see the way she’s looking at you, you might shatter right here, in front of her. So you turn away. The door is just a few steps ahead. White. Sterile. All you have to do is cross it. You can do it. You have to do it. Because—

You promised him.

"Miss Y/N?" The sound of your name barely registers. You don’t even remember sitting down. One moment, you were outside and now—now you’re here. In this cold, sterile waiting room, surrounded by people clutching their own silent burdens. Boxes. Everyone has one. Resting on their laps. Some are dressed in stiff work clothes, like they came straight from their jobs. Others wear the softness of home... sweatshirts, slippers, a kind of exhaustion that no amount of rest could ever fix.

No one speaks.

No one looks at each other for too long.

It doesn’t matter where you came from. It doesn’t matter who you were before this moment.

You’re all here for the same reason.

"You need to sign the waiver. Please read each clause carefully dear. The nurse will call you once it's your turn." The papers were handed in your hands, making your heart pound, each beat a hammer striking painfully inside your ribs. The relentless ticking of the clock thumps in your ears, a fierce reminder of the gravity of what you’re about to do. Your fingers tremble against the pen, gripping it so tightly your knuckles ache, but the pressure doesn’t help you—nothing ever will.

You sigh, biting your lip so hard you taste a bit of blood. Your stare drifts ahead, settling on a woman a few seats away. Her eyes are red, swollen. She isn’t crying anymore, but she looks like she hasn’t stopped in days.

You follow her stare, down to the box in her lap. It’s small. Too small. A bib, baby rattles, tiny clothes meant for someone who never even saw their first birthday. Your throat tightens. You force yourself to look away. Swallowing hard, you check your own papers. Your box sits beside you, shut tight. Your mother had suggested covering it with a cloth—to make it easier, to keep you from looking at it. And it worked. Because if you had to see what was inside…

You don’t know if you’d still be here.

Your hands tremble as you stare down at the waiver, the words blurring in and out of focus. You read the clauses again. And again. And again. Your eyes trace the final lines, the words smudging under the sting in your eyes.

You have given extensive thought behind your decision and give "Brighter Days Inc." the exclusive permission to remove this person completely from your memory:

☐ Yes ☐ No

You shakily checked what you knew... he'd want for you. You need to think this is what he would've wanted.

“Y/N?” The nurse’s voice is gentle, but it still makes you flinch. She stands in the doorway, dressed in white, looking at you. You wipe away a tear, but another one slips free before you can stop it. “You can come inside now.”

“Okay,” Your legs barely carry you as you stand. Your trembling hands clutch the box, holding it so tightly.

Inside, the room is cold, sterile. Three people wait—one dressed in blue, one who looks like the doctor, and the nurse who fetched you. The chair in the middle looms, surrounded by wires, screens filled with numbers and statistics you don’t understand. But the moment your eyes land on the headrest, on the equipment waiting there—your stomach drops. Your body moves before you can think. A step back, then another, until a hand gently stops you.

The nurse reaches for your box. Your fingers twitch as they slip away from it, “Let’s get you on the chair,” she says softly. You nod. You don’t trust yourself to speak. You started crying again. Not with sound, not with sobs... just endless, silent tears slipping down your face, one after the other.

No one tells you to stop crying. No one even reacts. You wonder how many people they’ve seen like this.

How many they’ve seen as wrecked as you.

Her hands are warm against your shaking ones, steadying you just enough to guide you down into the chair. You let her. You don’t have the strength to resist. The doctor moves quickly, securing straps around you—across your wrists, your chest. Another band wraps around your finger, likely for your heartbeat. It’s already racing. You don’t need a machine to tell you that. The person in blue starts placing wires against your temple, the cold press of metal settling on the right side of your head. It sends a shiver through you, but you don’t move.

You barely breathe.

“Okay, so now—” The doctor’s voice is calm, clinical. “As you’ve read, you’ll need to recall the moments tied to the things you brought. We asked you to choose items that hold the strongest memories because only then can they be altered. These machines will help bring them to the surface. You don’t have to force it—we’ll go slow, one step at a time.” A pause. “Are you ready?”

Your throat closes. Your hands curl into weak fists against the armrests. All you can do is nod.

The man in blue moves quietly. You barely notice him at first, lost in the weight pressing down on your chest—until he reaches for your box. The cloth is lifted. Your breath catches.

The first item is pulled free, and the moment your eyes land on it, something inside you crumbles. "Wa-wait," A sob rips through you, raw and unrestrained, your whole body trembling. The nurse kneels beside you, her eyes unbearably soft, understanding. "It will be much easier after this," she murmurs.

You swallow back another sob, hiccupping through shallow, gasping breaths. It's ridiculous, isn’t it? That at your weakest, you're placing your trust in strangers. That you can't even find the strength to speak. But this isn’t for you.

For him. For your family.

For him.

Your nails dig into the synthetic material on the armrest. You close your eyes, surrendering to their instructions, to the machines humming around you. A sharp beep echoes in the room, signalling the process to begin. A single tear slips free, tracing a path down your cheek, and despite the agony twisting in your chest, you manage the smallest, most broken smile because you see his face.

Memories. It all flashes.

THE PEN

"Let's take a 30-minute break, and then we'll go over the discussion again, okay?" Your ten-year-old eyes lock onto your homeroom teacher, a sigh slipping past your lips. Math has never been kind to you. Numbers blur together, equations twist into impossible knots in your head. If you had it your way, subjects like this wouldn’t even exist. You’d much rather read—preferably a hundred books. Or better yet, a hundred manga.

You reach for your bag, already deciding that a "break" means exactly that. No memorizing. No thinking about numbers. Your brain deserves rest. With a small pout, you pull out your current manga, flipping through the worn pages with practiced ease.

Your friends prefer watching anime, gathering around their phones or talking about the latest episodes. But your mom—she's strict about screen time. Too much of it, she says, will rot your brain. So, you stick to reading. At first, it was just a substitute, a way to keep up with your friends. But over time, it grew on you.

You're barely on the second page when a shadow falls over your desk.

"Uh, Y/N? Do you have, uh… an extra pen?"

You glance up, mildly irritated at the interruption, only to be met with the tallest boy in your class—Choi Soobin. A transfer student. You’ve only been classmates for a few months, and until now, you’ve barely spoken.

"I don’t," you reply flatly.

His eyes dart to your open pencil case, where at least five pens sit in plain sight. "But… you have so many," he points out, looking almost betrayed. "Please? I swear I’ll give it back!"

You sigh, flipping another page of your manga, already regretting this conversation. "Fine."

He grins, reaching straight for the glitter pen.

"Not that one—" Your head snaps up. "That’s off-limits, it’s my favourit—"

"Wait, is that Inuyasha?!" His voice practically jumps an octave, eyes wide with excitement as he plops down in the seat beside you without a second thought. "I love this series! I read them all the time!"

Your annoyance falters, replaced by something close to surprise. You glance at him, then at your manga, then back at him. "It’s my favourite," you say, flipping the page. "I have all the volumes."

His eyes widen. "Whoa. Lend me some?"

You raise a brow. "And what do I get in return?"

"Uh… strawberry milk?"

"I hate strawberries."

"Hand massages?"

You pretend to consider it, tapping your chin. "I’ll think about it."

He nods eagerly, leaning in a little. "Okay, but—serious question. Kikyo or Kagome?"

"Kagome," you answer without hesitation. "I pity her." At that, he studies your face.

"But Kikyo…" he murmurs, gaze dropping for a second. "I pity her more." His voice is softer now, "Because she doesn’t get to be with Inuyasha anymore. And I think… that’s sad."

For ten whole minutes, the two of you went back and forth—voices overlapping, hands flying in exasperation—until your classmates abandoned all pretence of studying just to watch. Some whispered bets under their breath, stifling laughs as you and Soobin yapped at each other like two kids fighting over the last piece of candy.

And then, finally, Soobin sighed, slumping in defeat. "But at the end of the day," he muttered, rubbing his temple, "Kikyo is Kagome, right?"

You scoff, shaking your head. "That’s not how it works." You roll your eyes, turning back to your manga. "Loser,"

And then—he laughs. Not just a chuckle. A real laugh, the kind that makes his eyes scrunch up until they almost disappear, deep crinkles forming at the corners. His dimples dig so deep it’s like someone pressed a pencil into a soft dough, and his cheeks, full and round, look annoyingly pinchable. You catch yourself staring, warmth crawls up your neck, spreading to your ears.

That day, for the first time, you let someone else use your glitter pen.

THE POLAROID CAMERA

Your feet dangle lazily in the air as you scribble in your notebook, your laptop propped open in front of you. You scroll through pages, searching for answers, when a notification pops up.

Meet me at the playground?

You sigh, fingers hovering over the keyboard. But I’m doing homework…

I’ll let you copy mine.

Your lips twitch. Okay. Be there in 10 minutes.

Excitement bubbles in your chest as you throw on a hoodie and a pair of shorts, not even bothering to check if they match. You bound down the stairs, brushing past your mom just as she calls after you. "Be careful—!"

"I’m meeting Binnie, Mom!" you shout over your shoulder. Her resolve crumbles instantly. She sighs, but there’s a small smile in her voice as she mutters, “Be home before dark!”

The walk to the playground is short. When you arrive, you spot Soobin awkwardly lingering by the swings, kicking at the dirt with the toe of his shoe.

"Soobin!" His head snaps up, and the moment he sees you, a grin spreads across his face.

It’s been three years since you first met, three years of him becoming your best friend. Everyone at school knows it. High school doesn’t feel as scary because he’s always there—hovering, teasing, sticking by your side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. People assume you’re together, which is ridiculous. He’s your best friend. Sure, he goes everywhere with you, sure, you’ve fallen asleep on the same couch during sleepovers, sure, his family adores you, and your mom—well, sometimes it feels like she likes him more than she likes you. But again, he's your best friend.

You slow your pace, tilting your head playfully. "What’s up? Finally giving in and letting me copy your homework?" You wiggle your eyebrows, smirking as you catch the faint pink dusting his cheeks—something that happens more and more these days.

But instead of rolling his eyes or firing back with a sarcastic remark, he just exhales. "Happy birthday," he says. "Happy 13th birthday."

Before you can react, he holds out a neatly wrapped box. Confused, you take it, fingers fumbling with the ribbon before you lift the lid. Inside, is a brand-new Polaroid camera. The exact one you’ve been rambling about for weeks. You gape at him. "No way."

Soobin shrugs, scratching the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you. "You wouldn’t shut up about it," he mumbles. "Figured it’d be easier to just get you one instead of listening to you whine forever."

Your throat tightens, something warm spreading through your chest. You can't stop yourself from hugging him. His hands stilling on his sides. "Shut up," you whisper. "And thank you."

If you weren’t pressed against him, your face buried in the fabric of his hoodie, the hoodie you gifted him, you would’ve seen the deep flush creeping up his neck, turning his cheeks a fierce shade of red.

THE TEDDY BEAR

“Stop staring.” You nudge his foot under the table, twirling the lollipop in your mouth—the strawberry ones. You used to hate the flavour, the fruit too, but it was impossible to keep up when it’s his favourite. “Am I ugly or something?”

Soobin hasn’t stopped looking at you since you showed up at his house. Not the kind of stare that lingers, but the kind that keeps sneaking glances every five minutes, like he can’t help it.

You cut your hair. The long strands that used to reach your back now barely brush your shoulders. Because I’m turning 18 tomorrow, you told him earlier. And of course, he laughed.

“Okay, okay,” he finally says, chuckling. You’re sprawled out on his bed now, while he’s still at his desk, spinning a pen between his fingers. “Do you wanna sleep over tonight?”

You freeze. Hands dropping from your face, you stare at him. “Why?” you ask, voice laced with suspicion. “Seriously? I’ve spent the midnight of my birthday with you for almost… five years now?”

“Four years.” — “What?”

“It’s four, not five.” He pushes up his reading glasses—the ones that somehow make him look even more handsome. Not that you’d ever admit it. He leans back in his chair, casual as ever. “Stay over, okay? Let’s play League.”

You scoff. “So you can bully me the whole time? Yeah, no thanks.”

“I’ll go easy on you.”

You grab a pillow and chuck it at him. He catches it effortlessly, smirking. “That’s worse!”

You stayed. One pout from him, and you caved. You acted annoyed, but in truth, you just didn’t want him to know how easily he could sway you. You will do anything to hide the fact that he had you wrapped around his finger, whether he knew it or not.

And so, you played. You laughed until your stomach hurt, cursed loud enough that Soobin’s sister pounded on the door, yelling at you both to shut up. But it didn’t matter. Nothing outside that room ever really did when it was just the two of you.

Your birthdays used to be simple, just another day with family, another year passing by. But ever since Soobin came along, they became something special. Something that felt irreplaceable. And the thought of him not being there, of waking up to a birthday where he wasn’t the first person you saw, made your throat tighten in a way you couldn’t explain.

Maybe you didn’t want to explain it. Maybe you were scared to.

"Let's go out to the balcony," he says, shutting off his computer with a final click. You glance at the clock—11:45 PM. Fifteen minutes till you turn eighteen.

"Why?"

"Just because." He nudges you forward, hands settling on your shoulders, his touch impossibly light. No matter how much taller or broader he’s gotten over the years, he never holds you too tightly. It’s always careful. And that’s why your heart stutters in your chest every time.

You step outside, the night air crisp against your skin. The trees sway below, dark silhouettes against the dim glow of the streetlights. You wrap your arms around yourself, glancing at him. "So… are we spending my birthday just standing here?" you tease. "Shouldn't we be doing something? Eating ice cream, maybe?"

He smiles, "We’ll do that after," he says, already stepping back inside. "Wait here."

You're confused as he leaves you outside. Through the thin curtain, you see his shadow moving; shuffling, hesitating. "Soobin, don’t tell me you got me a cake or something," you call out, teasing. He doesn’t answer right away, and that alone makes you smirk. "So you did get me a cake."

"Sh—no. Yes. Ugh, I hate you," he groans, but when he steps out, there it is, a cake in his hands, eighteen candles flickering in the night breeze. He clears his throat, awkwardly starting, "Happy birthday to you…" His voice is unsure, barely above a murmur, but it’s enough. You smile, and as cheesy as it sounds, your heart clenches in your chest. You close your eyes, letting the warmth of the moment settle over you.

Please let forever be like this.

You blow out the candles, and when you open your eyes, he’s grinning. "I baked this, by the way."

"Wow, looks amazing," you breathe, taking the cake from him. The effort, the slightly uneven letters of your name written on top—it makes your throat tighten. You don’t say anything, just sit down beside him, forks in hand, digging straight into the cake. The wind picks up slightly, ruffling your hair, but neither of you cares. You talk, laugh, and steal bites from each other’s sides, like time doesn’t exist.

"Y/N," he says, your name rolling off his tongue softer than usual. His gaze lingers, watching as you hug the big white teddy bear he got you. Your fingers clutch the plush fur, cheeks pressed against it, lips curled into a quiet, content smile.

His chest tightens.

"Eight years... For eight years, I, I've been," He falters, blinking, momentarily losing himself in the way your eyes widen at him. God. You’re beautiful.

"Hmm?"

He exhales sharply, fingers twitching at his sides. His heartbeat stumbles over itself, but before he can think, before he can think of the script he rehearsed over and over, before he can convince himself to hold back—

"Could I please be your boyfriend?"

THE SILVER METAL BAND

"Sweetheart."

Warm hands find your waist, circling you with a gentle pull, long fingers tracing slow, reverent patterns across your bare skin. A soft squeeze follows, then, warm—featherlight kisses trail from your neck to your ear, each one taking time to settle on your skin. Your name slips from his lips, barely more than a breath, before he tucks himself closer, body melting into yours. "Wake up, sleepyhead. It's almost midnight,"

You laugh softly when you feel him press another kiss behind your ear. Turning over, you’re met with his familiar smirk, eyes already tracing every inch of your face like it’s the first time he’s seeing you. His hands find your cheeks, cradling them gently—like he always does. As if he hasn’t held you a thousand times before. As if you haven’t been his to hold since high school.

"It's a crime to be this pretty when you just woke up, don't you think?" he teases, his nose bumping against yours before he gives your lips a quick peck. "I love looking at you,"

"We're seriously keeping up with the tradition?" you mumble, voice still heavy with sleep as you reach for him, burying your face against his shoulder blades. Your eyes slip shut again, and he hums softly, his hand tracing slow, soothing patterns on your back.

"Happy 25th birthday, baby," he murmurs. Then, softer—like he’s letting the words settle between you before he dares breathe again, "I love you." His voice pulls you from the edges of sleep, and when your eyes flutter open, you find him already watching you.

Is there anything in this world more beautiful than love? More sacred than being loved?

"Thank you," you reply, smiling. He sits up beside you, and you chuckle softly as he fumbles for something on the floor beside the bed. "What did you get me this time?"

But then your breath stumbles. White roses. A small black box in his hands. Your heart clenches. "Soobin,"

"I’ve been thinking about how I should do this," he starts, chuckling nervously, though his fingers tighten around the box as if anchoring himself. "I thought about renting a place, throwing a party, taking you to some fancy dinner, or even an overseas trip." His gaze finds yours, earnest. "But the truth is, nothing makes me happier than waking up beside you. Nothing feels more right than this—just us, here, like this. So I chose this moment, this place… because I want it forever."

His voice trembles, his hands unfolding the box before you. The silver ring with a single diamond sitting atop. "So please," he whispers, his throat tight, his eyes searching yours. "Could you—will you—marry me?"

“Fuck.” The word rips from your throat as reality slams into you. The room is chaos—voices rising, bodies moving, the cold bite of metal and plastic pressing against your skin. The doctor’s hands fly across his keyboard, adjusting something you don’t understand, while the nurse grips your shoulders like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You’re crying.

You don’t remember when it started, but the tears won’t stop. Your breath comes in sharp, panicked gasps as your hands scramble to your chest, fingers clutching desperately at the thin chain around your neck. The ring is warm against your skin, pressed into your palm, solid and real. His ring. The one he slid onto your finger with shaking hands.

“Please,” your voice cracks, “please—just let me keep this.”

The nurse exchanges a glance with the doctor. Their hesitation is suffocating. “We need to take it,” someone says—calm, detached. Like this is just another part of the process. Like it doesn’t matter. “It goes with the rest of your belongings.”

Your heart seizes. The box? What else was in the box? You try to remember, but your mind is a blur of static, you can't. You can't remember now. “No,” you sob, curling around it, pressing it to your lips, your chest, anywhere that might keep it safe. “Please. Not this."

The nurse looks at you with something that almost feels like pity. A softness in her eyes that only makes your chest ache more. “You’re almost done, honey,” she murmurs, her voice gentle, coaxing. “A little more. You can do this. Just close your eyes. You just have to close your eyes.” Your hands won’t stop shaking. The tremors run up your arms, through your ribs, settling somewhere deep in your throat. You feel the prick of a needle, the slow push of something cold into your veins. It soothes the sharp edges, dulls the panic—but not enough. Not enough to stop the tears from slipping down your cheeks. “Close your eyes,” she whispers again.

You do.

Your hands are in his. The car hums beneath you, the city lights flashing by in a blur, but all you can focus on is him. He drives with one hand, the other wrapped around yours, bringing it to his lips every time you hit a red light. Soft, lingering kisses against your knuckles, “How many babies would you want?”

You nearly choke on your drink, coughing as you turn to him. “What?”

He laughs, eyes flicking toward you for just a second before focusing back on the road. “I mean… I’d love as many as we can have. But of course, it’s your body, baby. You get to tell me.”

Your heart flutters. “We don’t even have a wedding date yet.” Another red light. Another kiss against your hand.

“I know,” he says, voice softer now. “It just crossed my mind. Last night, I dreamt of a little girl… she looked just like you.” He pauses, his thumb brushing against your skin. “She was so beautiful. Like you. And I—”

His words are cut off by the violent, shattering force of metal colliding with metal. The world twists—spins—flips. A scream rips from your throat as the car is thrown into chaos, gravity shifting, glass cracking, the deafening sound of impact swallowing everything.

In the middle of it all, his hand finds yours. Instinctive. Desperate.

Then—stillness.

A ringing in your ears. The distant sound of voices, footsteps pounding against the pavement. Shadows moving outside the wreck. Someone is calling, you think it's for an ambulance. Your chest heaves as you groan, the taste of blood thick on your tongue. Pain radiates from everywhere, your head throbbing as you press trembling fingers against your scalp. Everything hurts.

You turn, breath shaky, searching. Soobin.

You look to your right and he’s already looking at your face. Pale, dazed, blinking too slowly. "Y/N, are you okay?" His voice is hoarse, weak, but when you nod, he exhales a shaky, "Thank fuck."

His grip tightens around your hand. You can barely feel it, your body is numb, adrenaline rushing through your veins. But you squeeze back. Hold on. You breathe. It’s going to be okay. The ambulance is coming.

Then your eyes drop. And your stomach lurches. "Soobin?"

A jagged piece of debris—large, sharp, too deep—juts from his stomach, trailing up his chest. Blood blooms around it, staining his shirt, spilling over his hands where he grips it like he’s not sure whether to pull or hold on.

Your world tilts again. This is just a dream. "Soobin, what—what—how the—"

There’s so much blood. Too much. Your hands press against the wound trembling, trying to keep it from spilling out, but it’s everywhere—warm and sticky between your fingers, staining your skin, pooling beneath him. You’re sobbing, whispering frantic words that don’t make sense, but you can’t even hear yourself. The panic is eating your face, roaring in your ears as you struggle to breathe. “How should I—”

Then his fingers find your face.

His touch is weak but certain, cradling your cheeks, forcing your wild, tear-filled eyes to meet his. His voice is hoarse when he speaks, but stronger than it should be. “Look at me.” His grip tightens, thumbs brushing your tears away. “Baby, shhh, look at me.”

You shake your head, choking on a sob. “Soobin—”

“I don’t wanna see you cry.”

You’re unravelling. He’s bleeding out beneath you, and you can’t do a damn thing to stop it. “Help! Please, someone help us!” you scream, voice cracking. There are people—so many people—but no one can touch him.

His breath stutters, but he still holds onto you. “Y/N.” Your eyes blur with tears as you grip his hand, pressing his palm tighter against your cheek. “Look at me, yeah?” His lips tremble, but he’s still here, still fighting to keep you calm. “Just keep looking at me. Please.” His forehead rests against yours. “It doesn’t hurt when you’re looking at me. We’re gonna get help soon. You're gonna get help soon, okay?”

The last memory crashes over you, pulling you under. Your chest feels heavy, unbearably so, but then… slowly… it gives. The weight that has kept you drowning eases, just enough for you to take a breath. The sound of machines hums beside you. A final tear slips down your cheek.

It feels like the end.

You close your eyes, just for a moment, just to see him one last time—the Soobin you knew like the back of your hand. And then, you see his face. That soft, lopsided grin that always made your heart stumble. His voice is a whisper, just a breath against your skin.

“I’m proud of you.” Your lip trembles. “You’ll be okay.”

"Congratulations, it's successful."

The doctor shakes your hand, his grip firm, reassuring. You smile, nodding along. The nurse beside him looks at you with warmth, and before she can react, you throw your arms around her. She lets out a small gasp before melting into the hug.

You feel light. Weightless.

They tell you the treatment worked. They tell you your mother is waiting outside. You nod again, absorbing their words, but for a brief moment, your fingers drift to your neck, expecting something to be there. But it’s bare.

You push the thought away as you step outside. The air feels fresh against your skin, and then you see her. Your mother. She looks thinner than you remember, her cheeks a little sunken, her eyes holding something you can’t quite place. Had she lost weight?

"Hi, Mom," you say, smiling. She looks at you—really looks at you—and her lips part. She smiles back.

"Oh, honey," she breathes, pulling you into her arms.

You giggle, warmth spreading through your chest. "What’s wrong?"

She pulls back just enough to cup your face, shaking her head. "Let’s go home, okay?" You nod, letting her guide you toward the entrance. Everything feels new, yet oddly familiar, like a dream you barely remember but somehow miss.

You're about to step outside when someone walks in. A bouquet of white roses in their arms. Your breath catches, feet falter. Your head turns instinctively, eyes following the flowers, something deep in your chest stirring, something you can’t name.

Your mother notices. "What is it?"

You blink, exhaling softly. "Nothing." You force a small smile, eyes lingering on the roses. "Those flowers… it’s beautiful."

"Yeah, I'll go home after class, Mom," you say, balancing your phone between your shoulder and ear as you adjust your bag. "Plus, I'm nineteen. An adult now. I can take care of myself."

Your mom chuckles on the other end, the kind of laugh that says she doesn’t quite believe you but won’t argue. "Alright, alright. Just don’t stay out too late."

"I won’t." She sighs, but you can hear the smile in her voice as she bids you goodbye.

The campus is buzzing with energy, students milling about for the event. It’s a collaboration between three schools—art students showcasing their work, others just here to admire. Beside you, Wonyoung loops her arm through yours, eyes scanning the crowd. "Girl, I’m getting us drinks," she announces. "Wait for me here."

You roll your eyes with a laugh. "Okay, okay. Don’t take forever." She winks before disappearing into the crowd, leaving you standing in the middle of it all.

Your eyes drift over the canvases, taking in the strokes of colour, the textures, the stories woven into the art. And then, you stop. Something about this one halts you mid-step. Oh. It’s a painting of—

“You’re a fan of Inuyasha?”

The voice beside you is warm, curious. You turn, finding a tall boy with black specs watching you, his hands tucked into his pockets. He shifts slightly when you meet his gaze, and after a beat, he offers you a small, hesitant smile. It’s barely there, just a quirk of his lips. And yet… his dimples poke through anyway.

He’s cute.

“It’s my favourite,” you reply, tearing your eyes away from the painting.

He nods, a quiet hum escaping him. “Mine too.” Then, after a pause, “Kikyo or Kagome?”

You blink at him. He stares at you, and something in your chest stirs.

Not deja vu—no, it’s not that fleeting, ghostly sense of repetition. This is different. Deeper. It feels like a memory you never knew you had, something tucked away in the quiet corners of your mind. Like a song, you don’t remember learning but somehow know all the words to. Like a book misplaced on a shelf, rediscovered years later—its pages worn, its story intact, as if it had been waiting for you to return.

It feels like something preserved, sealed in the vault of you.

Something... archived.

"What's your name?"

taglist: I love you @beombunni @lovingbeomgyudayone @virtaideen @hyukascampfire @fancypeacepersona @bamgeutori @lilbrorufr @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @xylatox @yunverie @imlonelydontsendhelp @moagyuu @soobinbunnie5 @usuallyunlikelyfox @txtzyallinme @younbeanz @fatbixchwithanopinion @bakudon @readinmidnight @flowzel @zaynspidey @joieouioui @kiyof @tubasmiracle @bamgyuuuri @heechwe @takimakiiiii @whatblop @frankghgr @lostgirlysstuff @philijack

[kiyof]

This is me Aya.. ‏🇵🇸

Imagine you wake up with nothing left.That's exactly what happened with us .we moved from having everything to having nothing.In a blink of an eye ,we lost everything, our house ,dreams, memories belongings and our works. We are starting from zero and need your help to climb the leader step by step from scratch.

All the positive words cannot express how generous you are, especially in sharing my posts to inform other donors about the people of Gaza who are still suffering from the terrible conditions caused by the unjust war on Gaza!

Please continue to support us by donating directly or by sharing the link to let others know. Don't hesitate to help people in difficult and miserable times until the dark days are over. 🙏🏻🍉

https://gofund.me/c4c2cf82

if anyone’s able to donate, i encourage you to visit this page and show support!!!

[kiyof]

I ABSOLUTELY LOVEDDD THIS DYNAMIC!!! when the fmc is “manlier” than the male love interest GIVE ME TO ME RACHEL!!!!! im a princess beomgyu enthusiast to the core DOWNNNNN

THE LAST SAFE PLACE

pairing: idol!beomgyu x fem!soldier reader click here for moodboard

Summary: The world didn’t end with a bang. It ended with a whisper, a deadly virus creeping through the streets, turning the living into something… monstrous.

It was supposed to be a mission. Get in. Get out. Rescue the five a-list boys holed up deep in the city of Seoul. But nothing in this new, broken world is simple anymore.

The dead don’t scare you as much as his starry eyes do—deep brown eyes that make you question if you’re the one who needs saving, after all.

warnings!: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. apocalypse!, survival!, blood!, character!deaths, zombies!, descriptions of!killing, gore!, attempted!sa, menace!reader, anxiety!attacks, signs of!pstd, cursing!, side oc characters, reader has her own last name, pov being switched from reader to beomgyu, mini timeskips, drunk-in-love beomgyu, emotional-baggage, let me know if I missed any! (not proofread, first fic.) smut!warnings: fingering!, oral!fem receiving, missionary, unprotected, slightbody!worship.

wordcount: 30k

notes: Whenever I saw writers call their fic their "baby," I used to wonder what that really felt like. Now here I am, sharing my first-ever fic—my baby—with all of you. It’s far from perfect; I know that. But isn’t that the beauty of writing? I believe we all have room to grow, and so do I.

This fic is inspired by two things I hold dear; Beomgyu (and TXT as a whole) and the idea of finding love in the middle of an apocalypse. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed creating it.

taglist: I just want to say I love you. thank you for giving this story a chance. @beomiracles @agustdiv1ne @binluvsu @saejinniestar @haowonbins @vampzity @usuallyunlikelyfox @gyu-tori @xodidarks @tubasmiracle @hyunelixbun @woncheecks @lovingbeomgyudayone @beomsdoll @baekberrie @parkweylyn @lun4mizuka @lilbrorufr @no1likemybbgcharlie

Saying the military "protects the nation" always felt like a hollow statement to you—something neat and rehearsed, meant for recruitment ads or patriotic speeches, you came to understand it all too well after years of service. Life is fragile, easily dismissed with a single command, and the concept of disobedience isn’t even an option.

You follow orders, make decisions, and carry out tasks already mapped out for you and your team. The oath you swore binds you to honour whatever higher-ups deem necessary for the greater good, no matter the cost. It matters not, even if it costs your life. That’s how it is.

You've lived like that for as long as you can remember, and sometimes you wonder if it’s that very belief—an unwavering fool—that drove you to become the soldier you are. You know by now that it will also be the very reason for your end someday.

The sound of banging at the door jerks you awake. Your eyes strain in the pitch-black darkness of the barracks. You think you might’ve slept, but it doesn’t feel like it—not really. More like you were just drifting in and out of consciousness, never quite at rest.

"Park. Roll Call." You blinked, scrunching your face. The pounding on the door didn't let up, insistent as ever, making it clear there was no chance of them stopping.

"I'm up." You shouted. The cool floor met your bare feet, and you groggily reached for your shoes tucked neatly underneath. Your eyes flicked briefly to the small bottle of sleeping pills on the bedside table. It sat there like an accusation, a stark reminder of the restless hours you spent last night. The tossing, the turning, the damp sheets sticking to your skin as you wrestled with the silence that refused to grant you peace.

You exhaled, rubbing a hand over your face. The pills—felt like the only option. You stared at the bottle, before grabbing it and slipping it into your bag.

Opening the door, you found yourself face to face with a smirking Do-hyun. "Good morning," he said, tone laced with sarcasm. "Except it’s 2:30 a.m. and we’ve got urgent business. Captain’s called us. Did not say anything about it."

"Must be top secret," you muttered, wincing as the harsh overhead light hit your face. You tried to tame your hair, pulling it into a sloppy ponytail. "C'mon."

You fell into step beside Do-Hyun, the sound of your boots hitting the floor echoing down the empty hallways of the garrison. Your shoulders brushed as you walked, the quiet around you almost unsettling. It was way too early—or maybe too late—for anyone to be this awake.

Seeing a few other soldiers from different units, you saw the same thing: them stumbling into their shoes, eyes half-closed, still caught somewhere between sleep and whatever had pulled them out of bed.

Your boots thudded against the floor with each step. Everyone knows the drill—soon enough, you'd find out what the mission was. Probably something you weren’t supposed to ask too many questions about. Face set in a hard, businesslike expression, you could feel another one coming. Another duty. Another unknown.

"This must be a big one," you muttered, scanning the growing crowd of fighters being herded into place. It was rare to see… this many called out at once. "How many teams are they assembling?"

"I don’t know," Do-Hyun replied with a tired sigh, clearly irritated. "I should be asleep, dreaming about anything other than this, but here we are." Early-morning chaos is the only thing that can get under his skin.

You followed him as he turned left down another corridor. People started staring as you passed—from other squads, lingering on the two of you. They knew. They knew who you were.

Black berets. Special Commands Unit. Infamous. You didn’t need to say it aloud; everyone already knows. The reputation of efficiency, precision, and something else—something darker. Your team never, ever failed. Your team didn’t just complete missions. You annihilated them.

That reputation followed you everywhere. You could still feel the weight of their gazes—some filled with admiration, others with something harder to read, maybe even a little fear. It wasn’t new. You’d felt it for years, people looked at you like you were a hero or a big, bad warning.

You were used to it by now.

When you finally enter into the room where your team usually gathers, the moment your eyes land on the team commander, you and Do-yun both instinctively, snap to attention, "Captain Joon. Park Y/N and Jung Do-yun, reporting."

"At ease. Sit down," Captain Joon responds, tone as calm as ever, looking at you directly as if assessing your state. You lower your salute, glancing around at the rest of your teammates already seated. Looks like you’re the last to arrive.

You make your way to an empty seat, crossing your legs as you also folded your arms, leaning back for comfort. You catch the faintest glance from another one of your teammates, Eun-woo, who raises an eyebrow at you but says nothing.

Captain Joon stands at the front, pacing back and forth, usual self missing. He opens his mouth, then stops, words not coming. He closes it again, staring ahead. It’s strange to see him hesitate like this—it’s not like him at all.

"Alright," he starts, avoiding anyone for eye contact. "We’ve got a new mission. It’s… a lot different than what we usually have." You uncross your arms and lean forward without thinking, drawn on the word "different." There’s something about it—his tone, his hesitation, maybe—that makes your stomach clench.

He continues, "This one’s high-risk. We don’t know exactly what we’re walking to. We’ve got intel, but it’s shaky at best; All I know is there’s a virus spreading. Not like Corona. No, it’s not like that. This one… it turns people into something, not human. They become—" He stops, words hanging in the air. "—they kill.. They attack. And they spread it to others. It’s not confirmed yet, but it will be. Soon."

He doesn’t wait for any further response. "We move out in an hour or two. We will be assigned to a specific mission in the middle of this. Get your gear ready. Dismissed." Six pairs of eyes follow him as he exits, leaving a heavy silence in the room. It's cold. It almost feels unreal—like something out of a movie.

You’d been to other countries, thrown into the thick of it—dealing with terrorists, and a hundred other ways to die. After all the things you’d seen, all the wars you’d fought, the idea of a virus outbreak was not the kind of fight you were used to.

"So, a virus? Like zombies?" Seo-jun’s voice breaks the stillness. He stands up, eyes wide with disbelief.

"It's medically impossible." Beom-seok replied, shaking his head, "Or at least… it should be." he added, almost to himself.

"If it's a virus—then what? How are we, supposed to stop that? A plan on how? Is there going to be a… vaccine? Some cure?"

You stand up, movement so subtle yet enough to make the others still, their attention turning to you. "We’ll figure it out," you say, voice firm. You lean back against the table, crossing your arms, "We always do. Whatever it is, we’ll handle it."

Do-hyun shoots you a look, then nods, his expression unreadable. "Right," he says. "We’ll deal with it."

The words hang in the air, and the newly shut door swings open with a loud noise, making everyone turn. A figure stands in the doorway, breathless. "Did you guys see the news?"

"Did you see the news?"

Yeonjun’s hands were trembling as he shoved his phone into Taehyun’s hands, practically forcing him to look. On the screen was a livestream—a news broadcast, but not the usual kind.

Taehyun blinked, his half-asleep face confused as his eyes adjusted to the screen. He stared, his breath catching when he realized what he was watching. He’d never been a fan of gore or horror, and this felt like both—worse, even. The video was chaos: people running, screaming, blood everywhere. Limbs tangled and barely escaping the streets. The sounds of panic—raw, animalistic—clawed at his nerves. He shivered, his voice coming out barely above a whisper. "Is this… a new movie or something?"

Yeonjun swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the phone as he snatched it back, his fingers quickly tapping away at the screen. "No," he said, voice low, "It’s from.. SBS."

"A drama from SBS?" Taehyun asked, still trying to make sense of what he had just seen.

"No," Yeonjun shook his head quickly. "News live stream. It's been trending. Saw it a couple of minutes ago." Panic flared across his face as he started typing furiously, sending messages to his mom. Where are you? Are you safe? Please reply. His heart pounded with every second of silence that followed.

As the phone screen glowed with his continuous text, the sound of a door creaking open interrupted. Soobin stepped out of the bathroom, checking the two of them that seemed frozen in place. "What happened?" he asked, voice laced with concern.

The question was left unanswered when Yeonjun’s phone suddenly rang. A small spark of relief flaring up in his chest—only for it to fade just as quickly.

It wasn’t from his mom. It's their manager, "Hello?"

Taehyun got up to get his own phone, his movements stiff. Soobin stayed by Yeonjun’s side, eyes flicking between the phone in Yeonjun's hand and his face—filled with anxious expression.

"He’ll speak to you. He wants to," Yeonjun said, meeting Soobin's gaze. His voice was uncertain. Yeonjun did not want to miss out on anything, but the manager had already requested for their leader. Soobin nodded, catching the worry in the latter's eyes. He offered a soft tone, "You can put it on speaker."

"Okay, listen up. I don’t know what’s really happening, but it’s dangerous, very dangerous out there. It’s… people eating people. Do not let anyone leave the house. All five of you. You've just had your groceries dropped, right?"

"Yeah, but what’s—" Yeonjun’s voice cracked, but the manager cut him off.

"Again, I don’t know much. None of us do. We heard the president’s about to announce martial law over this. The military’s locking down the city. You can’t go anywhere. All you need to do is stay inside. Help will come. When they get there, they’ll say my name. You’ll know it’s them." Hands trembled slightly as he held the phone, fighting the urge to hang up and try calling his mom again. Soobin saw it, his own anxiety spiking so he stepped closer, placing a steady hand on Yeonjun’s shoulder then taking the phone from his shaky grip.

"How long do we have to stay here?" Soobin whispered. "What about our families? They’re out there too."

"I don’t know," came the reply, the voice on the other end. "This started in Seoul, based on the news. The military’s setting up safe zones in every city around you. They’ll be protected. But no one can get in or out until things settle. Just… stay inside. I’ll keep you updated when I can-" The line went dead. They stared at the phone, signal bar disappearing completely.

"What are we going to do now?" They heard Kai mutter. He’d stepped out of his room after hearing the commotion. "Hiyyih is out here in Seoul too."

"I don’t have a signal now either," Soobin said, glancing at his own phone, face tightening as soon as he saw missed calls from his dad, his mom, and his sister, brother. He has missed their calls. With a frustrated sigh, he grabbed the TV remote and switched it on, only to be met with a busy signal. The screen flickered, in bold letters, the message appeared:

STAY INDOORS. ANY SIGNS OF WOUNDS, FEVER, OR VIOLENT BEHAVIOR—ISOLATE IMMEDIATELY.

He started flipping through the channels, to see something different. But each station showed the same warning. Taehyun returned, his face heavy with worry. "I got through to my mom, but she was crying too much to say anything. Just told me to stay safe."

Yeonjun was silent. He didn't know what to do, unsure if this was some elaborate prank. Looking around the room, suddenly realised something. "And where the hell is Beomgyu?"

"Sleeping."

A scream pierced the air outside the dorm room, making all of them jump in shock. Kai was the first to react, quickly moving toward the door and peering through the peephole. For a brief moment, there was nothing—just eerie silence. Then, a thump echoed, followed by continuous pounding on the steel door.

"Help!" The voice outside cried, voice hoarse. Shuffling was heard.

"Kai, get here!" Soobin hissed, Kai moved back, frozen in place, gaze still fixed on the door. Slowly, he crossed the room, his footsteps making no sound, cautious as he approached the youngest. He then grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back, away from the door. "Stay away from the door,"

Four men stood paralyzed, eyes wide and locked on the door, afraid that it might open, every muscle tense. The door vibrated with each pound from the other side, and the sound of another scream sent a chill down their spines.

Waiting in terrified silence, hoping whatever was outside would stop.

Yeah. They definitely shouldn’t go outside.

It had been seventy-two hours since the government declared the state of emergency.

Seventy-two hours, since the virus outbreak hit the public, and almost everything began to spiral out of control. Your team had been pushed from one task to the next—helping transport, fortifying armoury barricades, trying to keep the city standing. You feel like you couldn't even have time to blink.

Nothing seemed to stand a chance against the speed of the virus.

The radio crackled to life, its voice cutting through the tense silence. "It’s reported that some cases have been found outside of Seoul too."

You swallowed, the water in your canteen suddenly feeling too heavy in your mouth. Your rifle was strapped to your back—knives tucked into your pockets pulled at your clothes, a grim necessity. Your backpack packed with supplies, pulled at your shoulders.

The blood on the streets made your face contort. It wasn’t just the sight of it—it was the knowledge that innocent people, civilians, were the ones who’d ended up here. It was their blood staining the ground, their lives cut short. In just seventy-two hours, this outbreak had become a full-blown mad nightmare. It was real, right here—heavy, like the world had already started to fall apart around you.

"How long?" you asked, trying to shake the unease gnawing at your stomach.

"The report came in an hour ago," came the response. An hour. Sixty minutes. That’s all it took for the virus to spread. An hour, it was no longer just the city.

"There’s still some armory left in this area," Captain Joon says, brushing off the latest intel your team just received. "We need to clear this out, then head back to camp for the next mission."

You slip the water bottle back into the side pocket of your backpack and tilt your head back, stretching out any stiffness. It's been almost twenty-four hours since you last slept.

"Ju-won will come with us."

"The newbie?" Ji-ho raises an eyebrow.

But the thing is, he’s not really a newbie. The military doesn’t just let anyone into the special command unit—you have to be overqualified to even get a chance. People are reacting this way because it’s been years since anyone new has joined. They’re not used to it. The whole thing feels a little odd.

The boy walks forward. You glance at him, and it’s clear right away. The way his body stiffens when he sees seven seasoned soldiers in front of him—he can’t be more than twenty. But, something about the way he carries himself catches your attention. His eyes don’t drop, not even for a second. There’s no sign of hesitation or backing down, even as the rest of you appraise him, silently evaluating his physical presence. It’s almost as if he expects to be here, like he belongs.

He's got guts.

"Captain," he saluted, "Min Ju-won. Sent from Unit Two to provide additional assistance. Engineering."

Captain Joon gave a quick nod, his eyes briefly shifting to you. "Stick with Y/N." Ju-won lowered his salute and jogged over to where you stood.

"We leave in 10 minutes,"

Seo-jun let out a low whistle, looking over Ju-won with a grin. "Well, look what we got here. A kid at the end of the world. What a nice day it is." The sarcasm in his voice hung in the air as he effortlessly adjusted his M4.

"Ignore him. He's a twat," you muttered, clicking your tongue and feigning an attempt to kick Seo-jun's leg for his comment.

Ju-won, just smiled and waved it off, his eyes still locked on you with an almost admiration. "It's alright," he said quickly. "Y/N… then I must be looking at the black beret's most skilled team engineer and sharp-shooter."

"Damn right, she is," Do-Hyun chimed in, grinning as he playfully ruffled your hair. You slapped his hand away, the motion half-hearted but familiar.

The wind howled as the cargo truck went down the rugged road, the engine's hum barely audible over the gusts. Beom-Seok was at the wheel, while Captain Joon sat in the passenger seat, checking the horizon. The other six of you were crammed in the back, weapons ready.

You could feel that someone was watching you. You turned your head to the right, and sure enough, there he was—Ju-won, looking at you with an expression that was oddly calm for a day like this. You chewed absently on the sweet gum in your mouth.

"I’ve always heard your name, even when I was still training," he said almost embarrassed, but there was a hint of respect in his words, "A lot of us admire your skills. We even know your schedule—like when you will drop off at the headquarters."

"Yeah?" You raised an eyebrow, curious but not particularly moved. "What am I supposed to do with that?"

Ju-won grinned, unfazed. "And, of course, your temper is well-known too."

You snorted at that. Of course, it was. You'd made more than one higher-up nearly pass out with your snark and disregard.

Most of them acted like you were supposed to kiss their feet, even though they barely had the skills to back it up—just a good last name and a father in a high place. Lucky bastards. They got used to it—eventually.

Ju-won seemed to pause, thinking for a moment. "I want to be like you."

It caught you off, staring at him, no response from your lips. Who would want to be as miserable? Who in the right mind would? No one should have to carry this kind of burden, no one but you.

"You don’t know anything," you said, right after seconds of silence. "Trust me, you don’t."

Ju-won didn’t seem discouraged by your bluntness. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, "Then maybe I can ask questions to get to know you better?"

"No." You're unsure of where he was going with this.

"Just one then? And if I do well on this mission, I can ask for another one after?" He pumped his fist after your silence, the small gesture that made you want to roll your eyes again.

"How old were you when you joined the military?" His voice was gentle, but his curiosity was clear.

It wasn’t a question people often asked, at least not in the way he asked it. Most were interested in your skills, the missions you’d completed, or the stories you could tell. No one, ever cared much about who you were before all that.

"About seventeen, officially," you replied, the words feeling strange in your mouth. Had it really been that long?

"Woah," Ju-won exclaimed, his eyes wide with surprise. "And how long have you been in service?"

You glanced out at the passing landscape, your thoughts briefly drifting to the years that had passed. "Seven years. Counting."

"You're so cool." His gaze flicked to you a few more times, but he didn’t press further.

The only sound in the pitch-black courtyard was the soft shuffle of footsteps against gravel, your team moved cautiously toward the overrun military outpost. It had been more than twenty-four hours since anyone radioed in, and in your line of work, that could only mean one thing.

Defeat. Death. They’re dead.

You gripped the AR-15 in your hands, its weight and feel as familiar as your own skin. Your eyes stayed locked ahead, scanning the shadows, the captain just a few steps in front of you. You could feel Ju-won’s breath on your back.

"Hold." The captain's voice barely rose above a whisper, but you caught it—sharp and commanding. His hand went up in a familiar gesture, signaling. Eun-woo and Ji-ho moved, splitting off to cover the blind spots—each one wary of possible exits or hidden threats.

The minutes stretched on, almost suffocating. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, when faintly, a soft whistle.

A go signal. Finally.

The captain’s eyes flicked to you. Without words, he surged forward, and you followed, close, moving deeper into where the map was marked.

With Eun-woo and Ji-ho still posted at the entrance of the courtyard, and Beom-seok at the Cargo Truck to secure on the road, the remaining five of you moved carefully toward the building’s entrance.

Seo-jun reached for the rail handle and pulled it. It was a split-second decision, but he made the mistake of opening it too wide, too fast. The sound was deafening in the silence—a loud scrape of metal against metal. It was the darkness. Or maybe it was the way no one had heard anything.

The infected—so many of them—started to emerge from the inside, their eyes hungry, limbs jerking unnaturally as they snarled and gnawed at the space where you stood.

"Shut it off!" was yelled, but it was too late. Seo-jun tried desperately to pull the door, but the dead were already pushing their way through, toppling the door with brutal force. No stopping them now.

The growls, their gurgling moans, flooded. You took a step back, when you noticed the next wave of infected closing in from both sides—right and left. The courtyard was becoming a death trap.

“Guns!” Captain Joon barked, voice sharp and urgent. He raised his rifle, opening fire on the approaching dead, and you followed. You didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. You aimed at the nearest infected, firing with the precision you’d drilled into your muscle memory. Beside you, you felt Ju-won moving, his shots echoing through the chaos.

You kicked one of the infected coming too close toward you—hard. The sickening crack of its skull as it spun from the impact of your boots almost drowned out the growls, relief was fleeting—another wave was already pushing through.

"Move!" you shouted to Ju-won, grabbing him by the shoulder and shoving him to the right side, where it seemed there was a slight gap in the swarm. You followed, not letting up on your fire. Each shot to the head was methodical, each kill necessary for survival.

You kept repeating it in your head—headshots. Headshots, or they don’t die.

Through the haze of gunfire and screams, you spotted Do-hyun on the opposite side, surrounded but still fighting, his rifle a blur as he tried to hold the line.

"Captain!" you shouted, your voice rising over, as you saw the widening gap between your team. You continued firing, shots ringing out, each one a desperate attempt to keep the tide of the dead at bay. You grabbed the arm of an infected that crept up from behind, pulling it sidewards with all your strength. The thing flailed, but you kicked its legs out from under it, slamming its head down with a close shot. Blood splattering on your track pants.

Another bullet whizzed past you, too close, and you turned to meet Ju-won’s eyes. There was no time for words. He’d just taken down one of the infected that had come up behind you.

Minutes passed, but it felt like hours. The gunfire echoed in your ears, drowning out everything else. Then, you heard it—Seo-jun’s voice cutting through the noise.

"Captain. Orders!"

It was a soldier’s instinct, that need for direction even in the face of death. It was what you were trained to do, what you had to do.

"Fall back." His command came. The words you’d been waiting for. You began to step back, scanning the darkened courtyard. And then, just as you thought it couldn’t get worse, you saw it—a wave of infected flooding out from the building. Your eyes locked on one of them, a child, no more than twelve, wearing a middle school uniform.

No. No time to mourn, no time to think. You shake it off, turn your attention back to Ju-won, who was already falling back as well.

You ran, but it was a futile attempt. The middle part of the courtyard, the one that had been empty moments ago, was now swarming with infected.

“Go forward!” Captain Joon’s shouted again.

The sound of gunfire, the screams, the snarls—they were all blending together now. You saw Eun-woo and Ji-ho still at the entrance of the courtyard, firing relentlessly. But there were too many. It had to be the sound of all the gunfire—had to be why they were flooding in from the other buildings now.

You couldn’t run without firing. The infected were, too close for comfort.

“Ahhh!”

Ju-won’s scream tore through the noise, and you whipped your head to the side. You saw him—surrounded by four, maybe five infected. Their gnarled hands reaching for him.

You sprinted forward, the gun dropped in an instant. You reached the closest infected, grabbing its hair and yanking its head back with force. The knife you’d pulled was a flash of silver in the darkness, and you slashed it across its throat, the blade biting into the flesh with a wet sound.

You couldn’t fire. Not with Ju-won so close to them.

You felt Do-hyun and Seo-jun near you now, forming a small circle, keeping the infected at bay while you worked to free Ju-won. One by one, you killed the infected around him within seconds. But when the last one finally dropped, you froze for the first time tonight.

There's a wound. The bite. A deep, angry stash on Ju-won’s neck, blood spilling down his chest, soaking through and colouring his shirt. Your heart stopped.

"Y/N…" His voice was weak. Too weak.

"Come on," you said, trying to drag him to his feet. The others were silent, at the sight.

"Help me!" you shouted, the panic finally breaking through as the infected kept coming. "What the fuck are you staring at? Help me!"

Do-hyun snapped out of his thoughts and rushed to help. He moved to slide his arm under the left side, but before he could get a firm grip, Ju-won's hand shot out, pushing him away.

"Leave me."

"No. Come on."

“Just leave me, Y/N.” he whispered again, "I know I can't be helped."

“I’m not having this conversation—”

“It hurts!” Ju-won suddenly shouted, pain in his voice. His lips were turning blue, face pale, eyes glassy with tears. “It hurts so much. I—I want this to just end. End it. Please. I'm begging you.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He started crying, Min Ju-won.

“Y/N?” Do-hyun’s voice broke through, gunshots ringing, “Decide now.” Seo-jun’s voice was distant, more gunfire ringing out, words clear. He was asking you to make a choice.

"Shh, It’s going to be okay," you murmured, wiping his tears away, "Everything’s going to be okay." You pushed the sweat-damp strands of hair from his forehead, fingers brushing against his cold skin. “You’ll be alright.”

Min Ju-won.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” You leaned in close, feeling his weak attempt to smile on your neck, breath coming out in ragged gasps when he felt you pressed your knife to the back of his head. “It’s okay, Ju-won.”

Making sure to do it quickly, you didn’t want him to suffer—not even for a second. He stilled, and then there was a quiet exhale against your skin. His last breath.

Arms went limp in your embrace.

Min Ju-won.

You stare at your hands, blood too much, not yours, too obvious to wipe away. The vehicle lurches forward, but nothing about this mission feels like it’s worth it. No weapons recovered. And one less soldier with you.

You ignore the stares of your teammates, the silent questions they’re too scared to ask. Even when your captain demands what happened, you can’t find the words.

Death isn’t new to you.

You’ve seen it, lived with it, had to pull the trigger more times than you care to admit. Had to deal with it more times than you'd care to count. But this… this is different. There’s a heaviness in your throat that won’t lift—can still feel him, still hear his laboured breath as you hold him in your arms.

The dog tags in your hand are cold against your palm. They’re not yours. There were too many of them. The infected.

No one could even bring his body back.

"We're here," Eun-woo says, the vehicle finally pulls to a stop at your temporary camp. He'd been staring out the window for the entire ride, lost in thought, barely noticing the road or time. You don’t wait for anyone to open get out. You push yourself out, body stiff and eyes burning, but you do your best not to let anyone see. You try to blink away the moisture, to keep it together. You can’t. You won’t.

“Y/N, I—” Seo-jun starts, his voice hesitant, reaching for you.

"Save it." you snap, harshly, not letting him finish his sentence. He falters at your glare, watching turn and walk straight for the barracks, not even sparing a second glance in his direction.

Your body, with blood, not yours, and the dog tag around your hands swaying with every step.

"Give her space. She did it herself. Again." Do-hyun’s voice is softer, almost reluctant, as he watches you retreat. His eyes follow you, lost in thought.

Maybe it’s because you’re a woman and they’re all men, or maybe because you’ve always been the youngest, they've known you since you were much younger. Or maybe it’s the fact that they’ve never seen you crack, never once seen you break down when they all have at one point or another. After all these years, when they themselves had crumbled, you always seemed to keep it together. You always did. First... they admired how strong you were—physically, emotionally, mentally—and even envied it at times but as time went on, they started to realise something.

The empty look in your eyes—it's haunting. They all knew what you did for them, what you'd sacrificed.

Ji-ho pats Seo-jun’s shoulder, his face mixed with understanding and exhaustion. He points his head toward the door, a silent suggestion to let you have your space.

You stepped inside the massive military tent, the hum of conversations halting as everyone’s gaze turned toward you. You noticed someone even take a hesitant step back, eyes widening.

"I'm not fucking bitten," You didn't pause to explain further. You couldn’t. Instead, you kept walking, ignoring the stares, the whispers that you could practically feel on your skin. You didn't care, walking past the soldiers, the stares heavy on your back. You made your way to your assigned makeshift door, pulling it open and stepping inside.

The small room felt like the only place you could breathe. The bathroom was the next thing you could think of.

Once inside, you slumped onto the cold, unforgiving floor. Your face landed near the toilet, and before you brace yourself, your stomach churned. The contents from your day—what little you had managed to eat—came up violently. It kept going, feeling your body betray you as your throat burned, as your muscles contracted in spasms. The bile, bitter taste, nausea kept pushing until your stomach was empty and you felt nothing but raw, aching emptiness.

You dry your mouth with the back of your filthy hand, smell of blood still lingering in your nostrils. The memory of it—of what you'd seen, what you just did—threatened to send you over the edge again. You fought the urge to gag.

You knew it wasn’t something Seo-jun should be explaining for. He called you earlier, sounding like he wanted to apologize, wanted to make sure you were okay. But you didn’t want to tell him everything was fine. Because it wasn’t. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know what was waiting for you inside that damned place. He didn’t know the hundreds of the dead you'd have to face. He tried his best too, just like you did. But none of that mattered.

Killing is easy. You had convinced yourself that—it was something you could do without blinking now. Maybe you could even kill with the same ease as walking a dog in the park, that it could become second nature.

You killed someone who had just started to make you wonder—what question they would be asking you after the mission. Something small, something so... human. With your own hands. No real reason. No justification. For the sake of getting equipment. You killed him.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

With effort, you flushed the toilet, then let your body slide back to the nearest wall. Once it was done, you let yourself slump back against the nearest wall, Your fingers digging into your face as if you could erase the last few hours just by pressing hard enough. Sweat, cold and clammy, trickled down your forehead.

"Y/N," came a voice from outside the door.

Captain Joon. You didn't respond. You didn’t even move. "Rest," he said, his voice softer than usual, "You're needed for another mission after a couple of hours. Rest, fix yourself, and take a bath."

"Did you just take a bath?" Taehyun asked, seeing Beomgyu’s damp hair, towel draped around his neck, few droplets of water still clinging to his skin.

Beomgyu nodded, not even looking up from the crackers he was munching on.

"Again?"

"You got a problem with that?" Beomgyu’s house slipper flew through the air toward Taehyun’s. It was effortlesly dodged.

"Why are you taking a bath three times a day?"

Beomgyu shrugged, gaze finally lifting to meet Taehyun's. "There's nothing else to do,"

Taehyun paused, small ache in his chest upon the words. Being an idol, he knew well the activities—packed schedules, comebacks, fan events, concerts. It never stopped. Hell, he could not even remember the last time he’d celebrated his birthday with his family.

Beomgyu exhaled sharply, "It's been four days… You think our families are okay out there?"

Every day now was a reminder—waking up to the reality of the virus outbreak, everything at a stop.

"They should be," Taehyun replied, though he didn’t feel as sure as he sounded. "We're the ones stuck here."

Beomgyu didn’t answer, instead shuffling his trash away. Just then, Kai appeared from the bathroom, face slack with disappointment.

"Guys, the water’s stopped."

Yeonjun jumped from his seat, rushing to check the sinks, only to find no water coming out. "Shit."

Beomgyu bit his lip, frustration bubbling inside him. Just when things couldn’t seem to get worse. The isolation, the fear—it was all becoming too much now. It's growing every day. He stood up, ignoring Soobin’s frantic voice as he tried to save whatever little water they had left.

He shut himself in his room, the door clicking softly behind him. His eyes wandered to the small house model his family had made for him—a little reminder of home, something he would look at whenever he needed to feel close to them. He collapsed onto his unmade bed, staring blankly at the white ceiling, his thoughts made up mix of thoughts and scenarios. Maybe there was a miracle out there—something, anything, to change this.

Minutes passed in silence before Beomgyu’s voice broke the stillness. "I hope there’s an angel out there. Someone who’ll come get us… get me. Out here, to a safe place." His heart thudded painfully in his chest—he knew no one would ever hear those words, but he couldn’t help but hope.

You slowly make your way toward the apartment complex, the team had decided to move under the cover of darkness again—it drew fewer infected and lowered the chances of running into trouble. At least that’s what your team hoped for.

The freshly laundered combat uniform felt like it was made for you. The black fabric, almost matte, clung to your body, moving with you as if it were a second skin. Your boots, worn but sturdy, held you grounded. Each step was sure. They gave you that solid grip. On your hips, the twin knives sat, steel blades catching the light with a faint, almost imperceptible gleam. Your hair was pulled back, tight in a high knot. Not a strand is out of place.

The mission was clear: rescue the five A-list boys trapped in this building, ever since the outbreak began.

Hybe, was the one who went to the military for help. They couldn’t exactly say no to them—so here you are, walking into a situation you can’t quite predict.

Six of you, without Beom-seok to secure the vehicle on the road as usual—all armed and ready, step closer to the entrance of the block—though you spot a few infected lingering around, they’re silently dealt with. A knife to the head, no noise, no struggle—just clean and quick.

Your captain’s biggest worry is the location. The middle of the city. So many people in such a small space can only mean one thing—too many infected. It’s a risk, but it’s the job. That is exactly why these people are stuck here in the first place. No help has been able to get through until your team was sent in.

"It's here," Eun-woo says, pointing toward the stairs in the corner. He folds the marked map and tucks it away. Captain Joon nods, "One by one. Be aware of your surroundings."

Everyone gives a tight nod, moving quickly to follow his instructions. You scanned every corner, every shadow. You don’t miss a thing. There are a few infected nearby, but they have not noticed you. So long as they don’t see or hear, and you’re far enough, you’ll be fine.

Earlier, it was also clear that most of the infected in this area are concentrated in the outer courtyard. It looks like the people who lived here panicked, tried to escape out there, drawing all the infected away from the apartment complex itself. It’s eerily quiet now, almost too quiet.

You reach the door to apartment 304, and the rest of your team spreads out, covering all sides of the hallway. You catch your breath, scanning both directions again, alert to any movement. Someone begins to knock on the door. Minutes tick by, but there’s no answer.

"Are they fucking asleep?" Ji-ho whispers, his voice sharp with impatience.

"What do you expect?" you snap,"You think they’re awake at this hour, just waiting for us to show up?" The words feel bitter, but you don’t care. "Move,"

Before you can even make a move toward the door, a voice breaks the silence. It's soft, hesitant, almost as if the person speaking is scared to even let the words out.

"Who’re you?"

Kai had been just about to head to the bathroom for a quick piss when he heard it—an soft rattle against the door.

It’s been days, days, since there was any sound from the other side. Complete silence. So hearing something now, especially in the dead of night, made his blood run cold.

Someone’s trying to break in?

He freezes, mind racing. Slowly, he walks towards the door, arms out in front of him, keeping a little distance like it might somehow help. His breath is shallow as he inches closer to the small peephole in the door, just enough to get a glimpse.

Soobin made him promise not to go near the door, but he won’t know. He’s asleep, anyway.

There are people out there. No, not just people—soldiers? At least three men and a woman, he's not really sure, but they're standing and staring straight at their door. He can’t make out their words, sound too muffled, but he can tell they’re muttering something under their breath, heads tilted as if they’re listening too.

Woah. She’s… really pretty.

Kai immediately shakes his head. Focus. Now is not the time to be thinking about how pretty she is. She’s out there, trying to break the door down. Or… is she?

What if they’re the ones sent to rescue us?

He squints through the crack in the door again, taking in the soldiers’ uniforms. They’re military. That has to mean something—and waking the others would take too long. He swallows hard, asking the question.

"Who’re you?"

"Open the door," Captain Joon says, his voice firm and immediate. "We've come to help you." There’s no reply from the other side.

"Manager Jisoo. Hybe."

There’s a sound of the lock turning, and the door creaks open just a crack. It’s dim inside. The air inside hits you. Smells faintly of candles—probably because there’s no electricity to rely on anymore. One by one, everyone got ready to move inside. You turned your head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of the person who had opened it.

He looked young—his skin pale and features sharp, with a foreign look. His bangs messily hung over his eyes, longer than he probably intended. Your eyes met his, and just as quickly, he looked away. Great. You all must have really scared him—heavily armed, arriving at his dorm in the dead of night.

"We're all coming in, Son," Captain Joon said, gaze flicking to the boy’s face, silently asking for permission—though he did not really need it. You were here to rescue them, to bring everyone back. Whether they were ready or not, you were going in. "What's your name?"

He nodded and opened the door wider. "Heuningkai. Kai is fine."

"How many of you are still in here?"

"Five. Uh, I’ll need to wake everyone up first."

"Go on." You took in the space they had been holed up in. Everything screamed lived in. Floors wooden tiles. It was clean, considering men were living in this place. Some sweaters were carelessly tossed over the couch, an Uno card sat beside it, random orange peels and a few glass mugs were scattered across the table. But aside from that, everything seemed… orderly. Something about this space made you feel out of place.

"Could you please wait here?" Kai stopped after taking a few steps away from your team. The front door shut behind. You glanced at him as he spoke, and you saw it—his face.

It was almost like he was afraid that if he turned around, everyone would just... leave.

He didn’t give anyone a chance to respond. Without another word, he turned and headed for the nearest door. You took in the hallway—six doors in total. One of them was probably the bathroom, and the rest, you guessed, must be their rooms.

Kai walks in, still feeling the embarrassment creeping up his neck. He did not mean to pout or sound so desperate in front of everyone—it just kind of happened.

The whole outbreak had him on edge all the time. It wasn’t like him at all. But now, for the first time in a while, he's starting to see hope. And with that came a fear he hadn’t expected.

He shuts the door behind him, eyes flick to Soobin, who’s sprawled out on the bed in his usual weird sleeping position. One arm thrown over his face, legs tangled in the sheets like he’s trying to escape them.

If anything, it’s comforting to see Soobin still so… Soobin.

"Wake up," Kai says, giving Soobin’s arm a little shake. There’s no response. "Soobin,"

He just mumbles something unintelligible and stays still. With a sigh, Kai slaps the flesh of Soobin's thigh—a trick he’s learned always works when he's in deep sleep.

"Shi—Kai?" The latter groans, blinking his eyes open. He winces slightly, almost about to curse, but then he notices the younger one standing there, looking a little shaken, and his protective instinct kicks in. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"They’re here. They—the help. They’re outside. I let them in." The older man shot up, his mind struggling to shake off the remnants of sleep. For days, he'd been waiting for this moment, but now that it was here, he could hardly believe it.

Soobin looked at Kai’s face, searching for any sign of bluffness. None.

"Wake everyone up, Kai. I’ll, I'll talk to them. Good job," he said, his voice thick with a mix of urgency and something else—nervousness, maybe. He ran a hand through his messy hair, trying to steady his racing heart.

The younger gave a quick nod, already rising to carry out the task.

Soobin hesitated for a moment, then followed, his feet heavier than usual. When he stepped out of his room, the sight hit him. Soldiers.

All dressed in black, standing almost stiffly in the cramped living room, as if they did not know where to place themselves, presence filling every corner. They looked out of place—one man was sitting, looking collected. He was much older—maybe in his late 40s—and when he saw Soobin, he stood up too, moving with authority.

"Hello," Soobin said, bowing deeply. He wished his voice to be normal, but it cracked. His eyes stung, and he blinked, trying to hold back the tears likely to spill. These people—they look so capable.

How desperately he’d needed them.

"I know it's late, but we need to move now. It’ll make things easier for us," Captain Joon started.

Everyone had gathered in the living room now—eleven people, all listening. A large map was spread out on the table in front of them, marked with lines and notes. "We’ve got a cargo truck on standby, and someone guarding it. Waiting for us,"

You leaned against the wall at the back, trying to stay out of the way. Your long gun resting to your right side. You crossed your arms, observing them all, taking in the scene. These five—when they first arrived, you’d seen it clearly: that fleeting, unguarded emotion that flashed across their faces. Relief? Fear?

Your thoughts drifted for a moment, the hum of voices fading, when suddenly you caught something. One of them was looking at you. You met his gaze, and for a second, neither of you moved. His eyes were a soft brown, almost warm, framed by dark hair that was swept back but still fell messily across his forehead. His jaw was sharp, yet there was something almost delicate about it. Something… soft.

You raised an eyebrow at him, just a slight challenge, and he blinked, startled. He bowed his head in your direction awkwardly—before you could return it, his eyes darted away quickly. Followed by a deep shade of red that crept into the tips of his ears.

He didn’t look back at you again—as though he couldn’t look at you a second longer.

Little did you know, when you weren’t paying attention, his eyes would steal a few more glances in your direction, each one shorter, but no less curious.

"We'll travel this way, and you all will be dropped off here at this camp, as requested. Understand?"

"And, we can just bring a backpack each?" Soobin asks, looking around the group. He’d introduced himself as the leader earlier.

"That doesn't mean you can just throw anything in there," you replied, finally speaking up, giving your first words tonight. "Keep it light. Only pack what you really need." Captain Joon gave a slight nod, acknowledging your point.

"Got it,"

"While we're at it," Captain Joon continued, “since we’ll be traveling together, it’s probably best you get to know the people you’ll be with. Just in case something goes wrong.” The mention of anything happening seemed to linger in the air. The five of them had never seen an infected before. You all know that can cause problems.

"As you probably already know, I'm the Captain of this team," Joon said, he shot a quick glance at you before going on.

"Park Y/N," he nodded in your direction, "our engineer sergeant. She’s the one who builds stuff, blows stuff up—whatever needs doing, really. She's my second-in-command."

Beomgyu has a valid reason to look at you now. And when he thought he never be more mesmerized, somehow, he was.

Earlier, when he first stumbled out of bed and woken by Kai, he wandered into the living room, still half-dazed. He was caught off guard on how… beautiful you were. He’d seen soldiers, sure, but you? You were different. You looked like you belonged on a magazine cover—not out here, in the middle of a hellscape.

How are you, not a celebrity? he wonders, half-wanting to slap himself. How are you so beautiful, standing here, in the middle of this nightmare? The strangest thing, though, was the pull in his chest—even though he’d only just learned your name. Even your name—sounds pretty.

"Do-hyun," Joon said, pointing to a man near you, "he's in charge of our comms—makes sure we stay connected. Keeps the radios running, that sort of thing." Do-hyun gave a lazy salute, a smirk playing on his lips.

"That’s Eun-woo and Ji-ho," Joon went on, pointing to two others standing with confidence. "They’re our weapons experts—know every damn thing about fixing, maintaining, and using all our weapons. They also take inventory, make sure we’re stocked up when we need to move out."

"And then there's Seo-jun," Joon said, nodding toward a tall, figure standing slightly apart from the rest like you. "Does the planning, the strategizing. And last but not least, Beom-seok. He’s the one left behind—our medic.”

"You can pack now. We'll wait here. We’ve got food rations on the truck, so you can eat there." Captain Joon finally ends the conversation.

The five of them stand up and start making their way to their rooms.

Beomgyu exhales a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. The air feels lighter as he steps into his room. They're finally getting out here.

He stands in front of his closet for a few seconds, unsure of what to grab first. He picks up his backpack and starts shuffling through his things—some clothes, and his hygiene kit that Taehyun had already packed for him. He opens his drawer and realizes he’ll need to change out of his pajamas. A plain shirt, some cargo pants, his jacket… and where the hell are his boots? Before he can finish, he hears the door creak open.

"Beomgyu," Yeonjun’s says. "That chick’s really cute."

Beomgyu freezes, his hand mid-reach for his shoes. He blinks and turns to face Yeonjun. "Have you packed your stuff, or do you think we’ve got all the time in the world?"

Yeonjun raises an eyebrow, looking slightly taken aback. "Geez, chill. Why are you being so mad?"

Beomgyu hesitates. He doesn’t really know. It could be the way Yeonjun had interrupted his packing, or maybe… maybe it’s because Yeonjun’s casually saying something like that. Beomgyu feels something twist in his stomach.

Yeonjun thinks you’re pretty. He doesn’t know how to deal with that.

"'M sorry,"

Yeonjun watches him closely. "Was it because of what I said—"

"No."

A knock sounds on the door. Both of them turn toward it. Eun-woo peeks his head inside, his expression casual. "We're just waiting for the two of you, and then we're off."

"Let's go,"

The only sound is the steady rhythm of feet against the ground. Your team is spread out, moving in a loose pattern. Captain Joon, Seo-jun, and Ji-ho take the lead, scanning the surroundings. Soobin and Kai walk close behind, hand in hand. Taehyun and Beomgyu follow next, then Yeonjun.

You, along with Do-hyun and Eun-woo, bring up the rear. It’s all going smoothly. You’re alert, watching the others, everything seems calm—until you notice Yeonjun. He’s suddenly still, his body frozen in place. You glance over and follow his line of sight.

In the open space ahead, a small group of infected wander aimlessly. Movements are jerky, unnatural, and the growls that escape their throats are low and guttural. One of them is lying on the ground, its torso half severed, intestine out, but its arms are still twitching, dragging itself forward in a grotesque imitation of life.

Yeonjun’s breathing stops entirely, his chest barely rising and falling. He’s staring at them, wide-eyed, body tense. You step up and place a hand on his shoulder. The touch makes him flinch.

"Shhh," you whisper, barely audible. The last thing you need right now is anyone making noise. One sound, one slip-up, and the infected will be on you. "Move. Eyes front—Don't… do not look at them."

He does not respond at first, you’re not even sure if he’s even hearing you. His eyes check the infected again, then back to the ground. He swallows. Finally, he nods, voice tight, "Yeah."

You give him a push on the back, enough to get him moving. It was a relief to see Yeonjun walking. You exhaled slowly, locking eyes with Do-hyun. He'd seen it all. That look between you two was enough to say it all: they weren’t ready for this. They hadn’t been told nearly enough.

Everyone kept walking, the building’s echoing silence wrapping around you as you neared the first level. It wasn’t far now—just out the main door, across the block, and then Beom-seok would be waiting for you on the road. The end was in sight.

"Shit!" Soobin’s voice is loud, his hands pressed against his chest in surprise. He hadn’t expected it. A woman, infected, eyes wide open, slumped lifelessly in a chair in the lobby. Her body was barely recognizable, rotting, the decay setting in.

No one moved. You spun around, doubt kicking in, scanning the lobby for any movement. Kai gripped Soobin’s hand tighter, his fingers digging in just enough. Soobin looked at him—a silent apology, a promise to do better.

It was only a minute, before Captain Joon finally moved. You stepped out of the building, the fresh air hitting you in a way that almost felt too good. The five newcomers, still adjusting to the chaos, kept their gazes fixed ahead, careful not to glance at the herd gathering in the open space nearby.

Then you saw him—Beom-seok. Leaning against the tires on the road, his eyes sweeping the distance, waiting. "Took you long enough," Beom-seok mutters, his eyes looking at you as he watches you approach.

One by one, everyone began climbing into the truck. Ji-ho caught your eye, giving you a quick signal to get in.

"Yeah? Are you bored or something?" Seo-jun shoots back, his tone teasing.

You gripped Ji-ho's hand, pulling yourself up the tall cargo bed. You paused, glancing down at Taehyun and offering your hand. He grasped it firmly, and with one smooth pull, you helped him up. He meets your gaze and gives a nod, a thank you.

Beomgyu was next, and Ji-ho was beside you, helping Yeonjun up. Kai and Soobin were already settled inside chatting quietly, and the truck was starting to feel a little more like a secure place.

You let your hand fall, but it only took a second for Beomgyu to extend his own.

Soft. Warm. It feels different somehow.

Beomgyu feels your hand—still shielded by your tactical gloves, but with the fingertips exposed. Even through the fabric, he can feel the warmth of your skin. It’s subtle, and for some reason, it’s enough to make his heart beat a little faster. You gripped his hand, pulling him up with the same ease as you did with Taehyun.

He’s finally out—the one they’d been stuck in, waiting, starving. Water was running low, food was practically gone and no electricity. It’s been days. Time blurred together in there. He’d tried his hardest not to let his emotions spill over, even when his mind kept replaying all the times he’d imagined getting out. All the moments he’d prayed for this. And now, it’s real.

He's here.

"Thank you," Beomgyu whispers, he hopes that somehow, those two words are enough for you to know.

"Sure,"

Beomgyu smiles wider as the fresh scent of grass hits his face. It’s a smell he never thought he’d miss, now it feels like a luxury—something he never realized how much he took for granted until now.

He turns his head to look at you, he feels his heart settle. Your head slightly leaned back against the rail, eyes closed in peaceful sleep. He fights the urge to nudge the soldier sitting next to you and tell him to move so you can rest your head somewhere more comfortable. He notices a shift in your face. Your brows furrow—a small frown begins to start on your forehead. Beomgyu's smile fade. The sight of you looking troubled, unsettles him for some reason.

Then, with no warning, the vehicle comes to a sudden halt, throwing everyone forward. It awakes you, and your eyes snap open, hands reaching for your gun.

"What now?" Eun-woo asks, stepping toward the window that connects to the driver's area, his voice tight with concern. You follow his gaze and your stomach drops. A fire. A huge fire, raging up ahead. And it looks like it's right where your team was supposed to drop off.

Yeonjun holds his nose at the smell of burning, smoke.

"Didn’t you radio them, Do-hyun?"

"I did, before we started heading back, Captain," You start mentally counting the minutes—five people eating, the time it took to pack up, and the drive back. It couldn’t have been more than two hours.

Two hours, and the fire’s already this big. "What happens now?" You hear Kai ask himself.

You don't have to look for long to spot them. Infected. They’re coming toward your truck—more than you can count. A mass of tumbling bodies, moving fast.

"Captain!" you shout, your voice sharp. "They are coming. Too many of them." Your words startle everyone in the truck.

Beom-seok’s hands twitch on the steering wheel, nerves on edge as he maneuvers the truck. His mind races, unsure of the next move. Where the hell should we go?

"Head for the nearest camp," Captain Joon orders, "Do-hyun, can you get through to them?"

"I'm trying," Do-hyun responds, fingers moving over the radio—silence greets him in return. The truck moves, and all of you watch the infected, filling the road behind.

Beomgyu watches the infected, slow, stumbling figures moving toward the vehicle. He knows they wont catch up—he knows they cant outrun it—still, his stomach churns.

"Are you okay?" Soobin asks, voice soft. He saw Beomgyu’s face when he locked eyes with the dead. "Try not to look at them," he suggests. It’s what Soobin does—keep his eyes away.

Beomgyu gives a shrug. "Isn’t avoiding them just going to make it worse?" he says, eyes still glued to the decaying figures. "I mean, I would like to be able to look at them without feeling like I’m about to throw up."

Soobin sighs, "We are getting out of here. Hybe did not let these people get us just to leave us hanging. There’s gotta be a place somewhere. Maybe we’ll even be able to go home, see our families again."

Beomgyu’s throat tightens at the mention of family, he swallows the feeling down. "What if we don’t, though?" he murmurs, "You saw the fire at the camp we were supposed to be at. Do you really think we’d have made it out? If we got there earlier…. do your really think we would have survived?"

Soobin’s heart clench at the question, he can't bring himself to answer. He does not want to think about it, but he knows Beomgyu’s right. Everything had seemed okay—until that overrun camp. The silence stretches, loud with unspoken fears.

Beomgyu’s hand starts picking at his nails, his gaze unfocused. "What if there’s no safe place left?" His voice cracks,trying his hardest not to think about his family.

"Stop." It’s you. You had been close enough to hear their whispers. "I’ll let you know if there’s no place anymore. Until I do, don’t think about it."

Beomgyu looks up at you, meeting your eyes for a moment. And just like that, the heaviness inside him lifts—just a little.

The vehicle comes to a halt by the side of the road, dust kicking up as the engine sputters off. Captain Joon looks ahead, eyes narrowing at the said camp he has in mind. It’s about a ten-minute walk from here.

"Still no response, Captain," Do-hyun reports, his fingers pressing anxiously on the radio. "Should I try reaching out to other units? They're farther out, but I can give it a shot."

Captain Joon does not look at him, eyes fixed ahead. "You can do that later. For now, we need to check this site first." He pauses, "It’s not wise for all of us to go. These five civilians stay here with a couple of you, the rest of us will move out."

Beomgyu catches the glint of your fingers as you reach for your gun, checking the magazine, clicking it back and then tightening your boot laces. There's no need for more words. The message is clear. You're going out, you're checking the place. You’re not going to sit around and wait.

"Y/N," Captain Joon calls out as you start climbing down from the cargo bed.

“I’m going with you,” you say, already strapping your gun across your shoulder. Without waiting for a response, you take a few long strides,, scanning the fields around you. The tall grass sways gently in the breeze. A few of the soldiers start following suit—Eun-woo, Ji-ho, and you catch the sound of their boots as they move behind you.

Captain Joon strides past, and you follow him, your boots crunching against the dry earth.

Beomgyu watches, his eyes never leaving your form as you move further into the distance. He can hear Yeonjun’s sigh beside him, but it did not make him look away. Instead, he counts under his breath, doing everything he can to keep you in sight until you’re too far to see.

The truck was quiet, the minutes stretching on as the remaining soldiers outside paced back and forth, keeping watch.

“I’m worried about Hiyyih,” Kai said suddenly, breaking the silence. His words drew the attention of the older guys around him, all seated close by.

“Do you think she got rescued too?” Kai asked, voice quieter now. “Or maybe…she made it out to Seoul when everything went like this?”

Taehyun reached over, giving the youngest's head a soft pat. “She is okay, Kai,” he said, “Once we get to the camp, we can ask the Captain,”

“Yeah,”

“Stop stressing about it, though,” Yeonjun chimed in, “We will figure it out soon enough.” Soobin stayed quiet, gaze fixed on some distant thought.

“They’re back,” Beomgyu said, his gaze darting between the road and the distant figures coming into view. He kept watching, squinting to make out their shapes as they got closer. Minutes passed, and the faces became clear: Captain Joon, two other soldiers… and you.

“They’re fewer than we expected,” Captain Joon announced as he reached the group, his voice steady but grim. “The camp’s still standing. We’ll spend the night there and wait for further instructions.” His words weighed heavy in the air. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay composed.

When you entered the place, the sight was sobering. Just over half a dozen soldiers were left. The others, you were told, had been sent out on missions—and none of their teams had returned. You shook the thoughts away, chalking it up to exhaustion. Fatigue was setting in, and all you wanted was a shower and some sleep. For now, this camp would have to do.

Adjusting the straps of your backpack, you glanced around and saw everyone gathering their belongings. You opened your gun case and checked the magazines, counting each one carefully. “We’ll need to do inventory soon,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

Beomgyu caught your words and looked over, his eyes flicking from your face to the black case cradling the weapons.

Arriving at the camp on foot felt like walking into a ghost town. The only sign of life was… the small group of soldiers waiting, their tired eyes, makes the place feel even emptier. Captain Joon started barking orders, assigning tents to everyone. Your mind was fixed on one thing: rest.

“I’m going to shower and sleep. Wake me if I’m needed,” you told the captain, walking past him as he gave you a quick nod.

You headed to your tent, overhearing the arrangements for the five civilians. They’d be taking turns in the showers, then each also having a small tent of their own. Your own shelter was small, just as you’d expected. You set your things down, pulling out what you needed for the shower.

The shower area was sectioned off with a heavy curtain, its edges swaying slightly in the breeze. You pushed it aside and stepped in, letting the cool water wash over you. The sensation of the water running down your back. After finishing your routine, you reached for a towel and your robe. Once you’d changed into a clean military shirt and loose pants, you stepped outside, your hair still damp.

The camp was quiet, save for the crackle of a small fire in the center. A few soldiers sat around it—Yeonjun was eating, with Beomgyu and Taehyun seated beside him. Soobin, walking toward them, caught your gaze and gave you a respectful bow. Kai was likely in the showers, taking his turn.

Back at your tent, you dried your hair—hitting the makeshift pillow, your eyes drifted shut. It was harder to sleep that night.

Beomgyu jolted awake to the sharp crack of a gunshot. His chest tightened as he gasped, sitting up abruptly in the darkness.

BANG.

Another shot echoed through the camp, louder this time. He instinctively covered his ears, his heart pounding in his chest. The sound was close—too close. A flurry of gunfire followed, chaotic and all over the place. He froze as a shadow darted past the thin walls of his tent. His hands trembled as he forced himself to stand.

He fumbled for his pants, pulling them on as another scream tore through the night, quickly silenced by another gunshot. His mind raced. Should he go outside? Should he stay hidden?

Soobin. Yeonjun. Taehyun. Kai.

You.

The names rang in his head snapped him. He peeked through a small gap in the tent’s fabric, his breath hitching at the sight outside. Strangers—men he hadn’t seen earlier—moved through the camp. One of them hefted a sack of supplies over his shoulder, while others fired wildly at the soldiers.

Bandits?

The realization hit hard. These men were fighting the soldiers stationed at the camp, gunfire exchanged in rapid bursts. Beomgyu swallowed hard. His tent was further out than the others, which gave him a sliver of cover, but he knew he had to move. As he stepped out of his tent, a bullet zipped past him, close enough to feel the air shift against his cheek. He flinched, his heart hammering in his chest.

“What the—”

A scream drew his attention. A bandit, snarling and swinging his weapon, was overwhelmed by an infected lunging at him from the side. The sight froze Beomgyu in place, fear rooting him to the spot.

A hand clamped over his mouth, silencing the scream that threatened to escape. He turned sharply, eyes wide, only to see you staring back at him.

“We’re leaving. Or we’re dead,” you whispered, your voice urgent but low. Beomgyu hesitated, glancing toward the other tents. He wanted to go to the others, to check if they were okay, but you tightened your grip on his wrist, stopping him.

“They will see you,” you hissed. Behind you, the infected were starting to swarm the camp, drawn by the gunfire. Beomgyu felt a lump rise in his throat. Your hand dropped from his mouth, and you tugged on his wrist, shoving him back toward his tent. “Grab your things. Be fast.”

Beomgyu stumbled inside, adrenaline coursing through him as he grabbed his backpack. He hadn’t even unpacked yet, telling himself earlier he’d do it in the morning. Now, it didn’t matter. There wasn’t going to be a morning if he stayed.

When he stepped back out, you were watching the bandits, your jaw clenched. He noticed your backpack already slung over your shoulder. The white shirt you’d worn earlier was still visible beneath a hastily thrown-on jacket, paired with cargo pants and sturdy boots.

“Come on,” You started moving, weaving through the shadows with practiced steps. Beomgyu followed—heart heavy and torn as he glanced back toward the other tents.

His four brothers weren’t with him.

Beomgyu’s feet ached with every step. He had been trailing behind you for what felt like hours, though it couldn’t have been more than fifty minutes. Your strides were quick, far faster than he could have imagined for someone with shorter legs than his. He had no idea where you were leading him, and the darkness of the woods only made it worse.

Shadows stretched long between the trees, and every crackle of leaves underfoot made his heart jump. But then you turned back to look at him, your face briefly influenced by the moon's light—it was just a quick check to make sure he was still behind—and somehow that was enough to keep him moving.

Finally, you stopped in front of a towering tree. Its trunk was wide and strong, the kind that seemed to have stood for centuries. You tilted your head up to inspect it, then turned back to him. “This will do. We’ll climb up here,”

Beomgyu blinked, his gaze sweeping nervously between you and the tree. Climbing? He had never climbed a tree before—not even as a kid. But the alternative—staying on the ground, exposed to the infected, or people that might be lurking—was far worse.

“O-okay,” The two of you did not know where you were going—or how far you still had to go—but at least up here, you could catch your breath. He watched as you point toward the bark, signaling for him to go first.

“Here,” you said, tapping a sturdy-looking notch just above your reach. “Put your foot here.”

“You sure it’ll hold?”

“It will, trust me.”

Beomgyu swallowed hard and placed his foot on the notch. It felt solid, but the uneven texture of the bark made him wobble slightly. He grabbed the trunk for balance, his fingers scraping against the rough surface. “Here, grab this branch,” you guided him, pointing to a solid-looking limb.

The bark was rough, but he held on, his muscles trembling. The tree swayed just a little under his weight, the rustling leaves made him think that the whole thing might give way. But it didn’t. With a grunt, he hoisted himself, settling into a spot that felt stable enough to hold him. The height gave him an odd sense of relief—He looked down at you, his fear replaced by a grin.

“This is so cool,” The horrors of the night melted away. You smirked, shaking your head as you reached for the first branch, beginning your own ascent. Beomgyu’s gaze stayed on you, his hands hovering slightly as if wanting to help but unsure how.

When you were nearly at his level, reaching for a branch to pull yourself up, the wood suddenly gave way with a sharp crack. Making you slip. “Shit!” Beomgyu lunged toward you, his hands finding your elbow just in time. “I-I—What do I do?!”

“Can you not panic like you’re the one about to fall?” you snapped, though your voice lacked real bite.

“Right!” he stammered, his grip tightening. You grasped his other outstretched arm, and with one strong pull, he managed to haul you up. The force of it sent you toppling forward, landing squarely against him. For a second, everything went still. Beomgyu’s breath hitched as he looked up at you, your face inches from his.

You could feel the warmth of his body against your chest, see the subtle freckles and barely-there moles on his skin that you hadn’t noticed before. His gaze flickered to your lips.

In a swift motion, you pushed yourself off him—brushing the dust and bits of bark from your clothes, you avoided his eyes. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak just yet.

An hour had passed since the two of you settled. Your back leaned towards the tree and for a brief moment, you let your eyes close, though your mind raced.

Plans. Risks. Next steps.

“What’s the next plan?”

You opened your eyes, exhaling softly. “I’m planning to check back at the camp once the sun’s up,” you said after a moment. “From a distance. The infected were drawn to the gunfire, so I doubt they’ll stay there. But I need to see what’s left.”

Beomgyu nodded, “We should see if there’s anyone still there. Maybe stuck or hiding.”

You glanced at him and adjusted the rifle slung across your chest. The weight of the handgun in your pocket and the knives strapped to your thighs felt heavier.

“We’ll try to track them too,” you said, then added quietly, “Or you could stay here and wait for me.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“Okay.”

Silence fell between you again, interrupted only by the faint rustle of leaves. Beomgyu broke it with a sudden thought. “I can’t believe people can kill each other just like that,” he said, voice with disbelief.

The words made you pause. Your eyes, previously shut, opened fully, and you turned your head slightly toward him. But you said nothing. “Why did they do that?” Beomgyu asked, his tone softer now.

You didn’t respond. Instead, you looked away, avoiding his gaze. His eyes—they were too brown, too soft for a world like this. When the silence stretched too long, he shifted uncomfortably, his ears flushing red. “I… I wanna thank you. For bringing me with you,” he said, shyly. “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Sleep,” you said, brushing his gratitude aside. “I’ll keep watch.”

“I do think I can,” he admitted, rubbing his neck. "I swear I can still hear the gunshots in my ears.” You sighed. Sleep wasn’t an option for you either.

Beomgyu hesitated before speaking again. “Can I ask you something?”

“You already did,”

His face flushed deeper. “I mean… another question.”

When you didn’t respond, he continued, “Why are you the only woman in your team?”

Your eyes flicked to him, one brow raising slightly. “Are you implying there shouldn’t be one?”

“No! God, no,” he said quickly, his hands flailing slightly as he stumbled over his words. “I mean, it’s just—wow. It’s amazing.”

“That a woman can do a man’s job?”

“No—yes—no!” Beomgyu groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I just mean, like… it’s impressive. Especially since women aren’t even required to go through military service. But here you are, and you’re killing it—uh, not literally—well, maybe literally, but—”

You studied his flustered face for a moment before cutting him off, “I get it,” you said, watching as relief washed over him. “I think I was just… born for this. I can’t imagine myself doing anything else.”

“That’s… cool,” he murmured, nodding slowly. You hummed, leaning your head back against the tree.

“I don’t think I can imagine myself doing anything else either,” Beomgyu said, thoughtful. He stared at his hands, a small smile tugging at his lips. You watched him for a second longer than you meant to.

“That’s cool,” you echoed his words, earning a laugh from him. His smile widened, his laugh soft but real, and it lit up the darkness around you. Even his laugh—

It made you look away, your chest tightening. His smile—it was dangerous.

Beomgyu turned his gaze to you, studying your profile. The way your lashes caught the faint moonlight. Beautiful, he thought.

“How old were you when you joined the military?” he asked, randomly. Your expression froze, startled by the question.

“What?”

“I mean, if it’s okay to ask,” he said, tilting his head slightly, his tone careful. “You don’t have to—”

You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat. That question—it wasn’t one you wanted to answer again. Not now. Not ever.

“Close your eyes and rest,” you said flatly, “We’re done talking. The dead might hear us.”

The other one's face fell.

The sunlight was warm against Beomgyu's face, pulling him from his sleep. He blinked a few times, squinting at the brightness, trying to shake off his muzzy state.

"Hey, sleeping beauty." You say, "If you want to come, we need to go. Now."

He turned to see you already packing up, tossing a protein bar his way without looking. He barely caught it, fumbling it in his hands before managing a weak, “Thanks.”

"Let's go." You unscrewed your water bottle and took a quick drink before slinging your gear over your shoulder. Without waiting for him to respond, you started climbing down from the tree. Beomgyu followed, the descent easier than the nerve-wracking climb up last night, his legs still felt stiff from the awkward position he’d slept in. His feet hit the forest floor, and he took a deep breath. The woods in daylight were almost beautiful painting everything in shades of green.

He yawned, unwrapping his protein bar as he fell into step behind you. The two of you walked in silence, his eyes wandering over the scenery. It was hard to reconcile how peaceful the forest looked with the gnawing fear in his gut. About twenty minutes in, you suddenly stopped, your hand shooting up in a signal. Beomgyu, distracted, nearly walked into you.

“Infected,”

He followed your line of sight and spotted it—a man-shaped figure stumbling through the trees, its feet dragging awkwardly. The distance between you and it was still considerable.

Beomgyu glanced at you, his eyes wide. “How did you even see that?” he whispered. “I wouldn’t have noticed it until it was right in front of us.”

You ignored the question, “You haven't done this yet, so now’s the time to learn.”

Now, the words struck him awake. He’d known this was coming—he wasn’t naive—but he hadn’t expected it to be now. “Are you sure? Shouldn’t we find, I don’t know, somewhere more open for this?” He couldn’t help the nervous edge in his voice. Just weeks ago, his biggest challenge was memorizing their group's choreography.

“This is the perfect place to practice,” you said, not bothering to look at him.

He hesitated, shifting on his feet. “I mean, I’m not scared or anything, but—”

“Scared?” you interrupted, finally turning to him with a raised eyebrow.

“No. Let’s just get it over with.”

You nodded, pulling a knife from your belt and handing it to him. The weight of it in his hand felt foreign. He stared at the blade, the black handle smooth, well maintained. His eyes caught the faint etching of your name on it.

“Grip it like this,” you said, adjusting his grip. Your hands were firm, guiding his fingers into place. “Keep your thumb here for control. When you strike, aim for the head and use enough force so you don’t have to do it twice.”

He nodded, his throat dry. "Go in when I say.”

The infected was closer now, its groans louder, its movements jerky and unnatural. You gestured for him to move to the left, opposite of where you were going. He obeyed, his steps hesitant.

You moved quickly, drawing its attention. Beomgyu couldn’t take his eyes off you as you circled it without second thoughts or any fear.With a sharp kick, you knocked its legs out from under it. The infected collapsed to its knees, and you pressed your boot into its back, holding it in place. “Come here,”

Beomgyu swallowed hard, the knife trembling in his hand as he approached.

“Kill it,” you instructed, tilting the infected’s head to expose its temple.

His heart pounded as he raised the knife. He brought it down, but his strike lacked strength, and blade only sank halfway in. The infected howled, its hands clawing weakly at the air. “Y/N, I—what do I—”

“Again,” you cut him off, grabbing his other hand and placing it on the knife. “Use both hands if you have to. Pull it out and try again. Harder this time.”

He did as you said, the knife coming free with a sickening squelch. Blood splattered onto his hands, warm and sticky, and he nearly gagged. Clenching his teeth, he raised the blade again and drove it down with all his strength. The groaning stopped, the infected falling silent.

You let the body slump to the ground, standing up as Beomgyu stumbled away, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. He made it to the nearest tree before doubling over, the contents of his stomach spilling onto the forest floor.

Tears pricked at his eyes as he wiped his mouth. That infected—it wasn’t just a monster. It had been a person once, a living, breathing human being. Maybe they had a family waiting for them, a home filled with memories, or a life they’d worked hard to build. Maybe they’d been on a vacation or rushing to work the day the world fell apart.

Beomgyu’s breath hitched—he was the one who ended them, the one who took what little remained of their existence. He never imagined his life would come to this—how could he? Just a month ago, his world had been with roaring crowds, and music that echoed through stadiums. He’d been smiling at cameras, shooting music videos, and waving to fans who looked at him like he was untouchable, someone larger than life.

You crouched next to him, holding out a piece of cloth. He stared at your hand for a moment before taking it —your hands looked smaller than his, fragile—he wipes the blood on his trembling fingers.

How? How could you—manage to do all of this?

“You ended its suffering,” you said quietly, hesitant. “That’s how I try to think of it.”

“Does it get easier?”

“Never.”

It was just a single word, but somehow, it felt like a glimpse—Beomgyu feels closer. It felt like he knew you just a little bit better.

The two of you continued toward the overrun camp, the knife you’d lent Beomgyu still in his hands. For all the danger the weapon symbolized, it seemed to bring him a strange kind of comfort, his grip on it much more familiar.

Another walker crossed your path, Beomgyu stepped forward, more sure of himself this time. With just a little guidance from you, he managed to take it down.

Familiarity.

When you reached the backside of the camp, low growls echoed from ahead. Slowly, you leaned out to peek, careful not to make a sound. About a dozen infected, just as you expected.

And just as you'd predicted, the bandits had left too, leaving nothing behind but destruction. You moved, glancing over your shoulder to check on Beomgyu. He was scanning the area, his movements mirroring yours. That small action made your chest swell with pride.

He's learning. He's trying. And most of all, he's here—for his friends.

Together, you began checking the tents, moving smoothly and silently. Nothing. No survivors. But you found a few supplies—military rations, protein bars, ammo and some guns. Grabbing a duffel bag, you started packing up. Beomgyu helped in without hesitation.

Halfway through the camp, Beomgyu froze. His eyes locked on something ahead. That’s when you saw it too.

BEOMGYU, KAI, WE GOT OUT. WITH THE OTHERS. WE’RE HEADING TO THE JEONJU CAMP. STAY SAFE. SB, YJ, AND TH.

“They got out,” Beomgyu said, his voice breaking the silence. Relief washed over him, lifting some of the weight he’d been carrying. Kai wasn’t with them yet, but this was hope. He would find Kai too. He’d see this message too. “I knew it!”

He spun around to face you, a grin breaking across his face. He pumped his fist in the air, silently cheering as if he’d just hit the jackpot. That boyish smile, dimples and all, made him look so much younger.

And then, he saw it—a faint, fleeting curve of your lips.

His laugh bubbled out, soft and genuine, as he ran toward you, nearly tripping over his own feet in excitement. You're perfect, he thinks, the thought hitting him as naturally as breathing. You try to step back, caught off guard, but it’s too late.

It’s already too late.

“I freaking knew it,” he said, his arms around you warm, his chin resting on the top of your head. You stood frozen, your hands awkwardly at your sides, nodding stiffly.

“I told you,” he whispered. When he finally steps back, his eyes search your face, the smile he’d seen just moments ago is already gone. You look away, avoiding his gaze, and the sudden absence of it—leaves an ache in his chest.

He wants to see it again.

“Let’s wrap this up and circle outside the camp,” you say, pulling the zipper closed on the duffel bag you’d packed full. “We need to check if Kai’s lingering nearby. And we’ll need to secure a vehicle too. We’re in Daejeon—its a long way to Jeonju.”

“Thank you.” Beomgyu’s voice is quiet, and his cheeks flush red as he remembers his earlier outburst—the way he’d hugged you without thinking. Maybe it was the relief from the message, or maybe it was just seeing you smile at him for the first time.

“Why do you think they’re in Jeonju?”

“Probably got a radio response,”

He nods, falling in step behind you as you heft the duffel bag over your shoulder. Beomgyu quickens his pace, catching up to you. He tugs the bag from your hands. “Let me take this,”

The two of you stepped out of the tent, the silence heavy between you. You were nearing the camp’s edge when Beomgyu noticed you slowing down, your steps faltering.

Seo-jun.

His movements were slow, his hands trembling as he stumbled forward. He's looking at you. Seo-jun’s blood-soaked uniform and gaping bite on his neck entered your vision. Gunshot wounds riddled his chest—a soldier’s final stand. He had fought. Hard. For his team. For everyone.

"Y/N?" Beomgyu’s voice broke through the haze, soft but urgent. He noticed that you had stopped, your gaze fixed on the infected figure ahead. He squinted, and his heart sank when he realized it was someone from your team.

Seven years. You had known Seo-jun for seven years. You had planned to make things right with him, to talk, to reconcile. But how could you now? How could you fix things when he was already lost? You tried to blink away the moisture from your eyes.

“Am I ever getting a break?” you muttered to yourself, the words bitter. "Even here, you find a way to mock me, Seo-jun."

Beomgyu could hear the shakiness in your voice, the rawness in the way you spoke. He listens.

You couldn’t leave him like this. Alone in his lifeless form, wandering endlessly. He deserved more than that. “Come on, you shit,” you muttered, your throat tightening as you stepped forward, reaching for your knife. But you froze.

Around his neck, alongside his dog tags, hung another set. Min Ju-won’s. Even at the end, Seo-jun had carried that burden, blaming himself for something you both knew wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t let it go, not even in death.

Beomgyu moved before he could think. He didn't know if it was the look in your eyes or the way your hand trembled, but he knew one thing: he couldn’t let you do this. While Seo-jun was distracted by your figure, Beomgyu raised his weapon. Just as you had taught him hours ago, he aimed for the head.

Seo-jun’s body crumpled to the ground. Beomgyu guided him down gently, almost reverently. From his backpack, Beomgyu pulled an extra jacket. Without a word, he draped it over Seo-jun’s face. It wasn’t much, but it was the only dignity he could offer.

When he stood, his eyes met yours, raw and glistening with emotion.

“Why—” Your voice cracked, unable to finish the question.

“He was your friend,” he said quietly. “I'm not going to let you do that. Not while I’m here.”

Friend.

That single word shattered whatever fragile wall you’d been holding up. A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it, and you quickly wiped it away with your hand.

“He’s not suffering anymore,” Beomgyu added softly, his hand gently brushing the top of your head—you avoided his eyes, yet again. “He’s not suffering,”

He bent down to grab the duffel bag he’d dropped earlier, slinging it over one shoulder. Then, he reached out, his hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Let's get out of here.” He pulled you forward.

Beomgyu's hand didn’t leave yours until the two of you were far beyond the camp.

"Hey," you called out to Beomgyu, who was busy checking a nearby car. "This looks fresh—like it hasn’t been here long." He made his way over, and you held out—a baseball, cap.

"Wait," Beomgyu said, eyes widening as he took it. Turning it over in his hands, he inspected it closely. "This… this is Kai’s,"

When you looked at him, a small smile was already spreading across his face, lighting up his features like it always did.

Beomgyu… he was so easily moved by the smallest things. It didn’t take much to make him smile. Or maybe it wasn’t that simple. Maybe it was because he loved his brothers, that even the smallest sign of them was enough to give him something to hold onto.

You dropped your gaze when his eyes met yours and moved toward the next car, pretending. But your thoughts refused to stay put. Here you were again, thinking about him—about his silly antics.

In the past twelve hours, it felt like he’d done nothing but occupy your mind. Every small moment with him clung to you. The way his voice softened when he spoke—The way he’d quietly ask, “You okay?” as if you were the one who needed saving.

After Seo-jun—he hadn’t said a word about it. No awkward condolences, no probing questions. Just silence—the kind you needed. Like he just… knew. No one had ever been like this—this careful, this kind. No one had ever looked at you the way he did, with eyes that were too brown and too full of something you didn’t want to name.

You didn’t like it.

You didn’t like it at all.

“I think Kai’s already ahead of us,” you bit into the bland military ration that was handed to you. “Heading towards Jeonju, if those tracks are anything to go by. He’s smart.”

“He is,” Beomgyu agreed, a small smile at his lips as he stirred the contents of his disposable pack. “He’s the calmest one too.”

“Then I guess we will see him there,” you said with a shrug. “Now all we need to do is find a working car.”

“A manual,”

“Hm.”

“That has gas in it.”

“Figures,” you muttered. “But that’ll be the easier part.”

Silence settled over the two of you again, it had become strangely common. You both ate, focused on the food. Every so often, you’d catch Beomgyu glancing your way, and flashes you his small, boyish grin on his face.

You tossed the empty pack toward a nearby car and wiped your hands on your pants. “It’s getting dark soon,” you said. “We should camp nearby and head out at first light.” Moving at night was usually the smarter option, especially with a vehicle and a full team. But here, now? Just the two of you, on foot, with no guarantee of shelter or backup—it wasn’t worth the risk.

Sticking to the woods was safer. The fewer infected—or people—you encountered, the better. You only ventured onto the road when there was a car worth checking.

In the fading light, a barn came into view. Its doors were wide open, silhouetted against the trees. You signaled Beomgyu to wait outside while you moved to secure the area. Inside, it was clear the owner had left in a hurry, taking most of what mattered. It was empty, save for a few odds and ends no one had cared to take—its enough for a temporary shelter.

“Looks good enough,” you murmured as you stepped back outside. Beomgyu nodded, already starting to unload your supplies. The discovery of a small lake nearby was an unexpected bonus.

“I’m going to wash up,” you said, gathering what you needed and slinging your gun over your shoulder. Beomgyu gave a slight nod, his eyes lingering on you as you walked away.

The water was cold, scouring away the dirt and sweat. You were quick, not wanting to leave Beomgyu alone for long. When you returned, your damp hair clung to your neck, and your skin was clean and slightly chilled.

“Your turn,” He glanced up, eyes flitting over your freshly washed face. His heart thudded hard in his chest. Cute, he thought, forcing himself to look away. Beomgyu nodded, grabbing his things and heading out to the lake. He came back just as fast, hair dripping but visibly refreshed.

You sat side by side on the makeshift bedding, neither of you saying much. Beomgyu’s soft breathing enters your ears—hand rested close enough that you could almost feel its warmth against your skin.

You found your eyes beginning to close with peace you hadn’t realized you were still capable of feeling.

Beomgyu woke up, immediately turning to his left. There you were, curled up on your side, the rise and fall of your chest visible in the dim space. He stared, mesmerized—it was the first time he’d ever seen you asleep. You looked… soft. A side of you he never thought he’d witness.

He shifted. The urge to pee was becoming unbearable. Careful not to wake you, Beomgyu slipped off and crept toward the barn door. The cold air hit him as he stepped outside, wrapping his arms tightly around himself for warmth. He scanned the area just like you’d taught him—ears tuned to every sound. Nothing.

He let out a breath of relief and headed to a nearby tree. Unzipping his pants, he took care of business quickly, the chill urging him to hurry. After he finished and zipped back up, a faint rustling behind him made him stop. Before he could turn, a large, rough hand clamped over his mouth, oppressing his scream. Another arm locked around his neck, pulling him back against a solid chest.

“Shut up if you value your life,” a low, gravelly voice growled against his ear. The man holding him inhaled deeply near his hair, a disgusting, exaggerated sniff. “Freshly washed. You’ve got a place nearby, don’t you?”

Beomgyu’s eyes darted ahead, and his stomach dropped when three more men stepped into view. Each held a weapon—a bat, a knife, and worst, a pistol. The man restraining him gives a rough shake, his breath hot and foul. “Don’t make me ask again. Where’s your camp?”

Beomgyu shook his head violently, panic blooming in his chest. He couldn't—he wouldn't—lead them back to you. The thought of them finding you, sleeping and unaware—this was his fault. He should have been more careful.

The man growled in frustration. “Y' think this is a joke?” he spat, hardening his chokehold. Beomgyu’s throat made a strangled sound as he gasped for air. The man with the knife stepped forward, expression predatory. “Maybe this will help him remember,” he said, pressing the blade against Beomgyu’s cheek. The sharp metal bit into his skin, not enough to draw blood, but enough to make him wince.

“There’s a barn ahead,” the one with the baseball bat said,“Think that’s it?” Beomgyu’s reaction betrayed him—his wide eyes and the flash of fear gave them all the confirmation they needed.

“Yeah,” the man holding him laughed darkly, “that’s it.”

Before Beomgyu could resist, they forced his hands behind his back and bound them tightly, shoving a cloth into his mouth to stifle any protest. He struggled, but it was no use—they yanked him forward, dragging him roughly toward the barn. And he knew exactly where they were taking him. To you.

“Fucking hell,” the man holding Beomgyu growled, his gaze shifting to your sleeping figure inside the barn. A dark grin tugged at his lips. “Is this what you’re so scared of? Afraid we’ll take her away from you?”

Beomgyu thrashed, desperate to scream, to warn you, but the cloth bound tight in his mouth smothered any sound. The group moved closer, one of them stepping forward to push the barn door open. The large, old door creaked. It wasn’t loud, but it was enough to wake you.

Your eyes snapped open, adjusting to the figures looming at the entrance, shadows that didn’t belong. Your hand reached for the gun nearby. The glint of their weapons caught your eye as they aimed at you in return.

“Sweetheart,” the tallest man drawled, stepping forward. His tone was mocking, dangerous. He shoved someone in front of him—Beomgyu. Your breath hitched as your eyes locked onto his. His face was pale, streaked with dirt and tears, and a raw red mark marred his cheek. His wide, terrified eyes pleaded with you.

Red.

“What the fuck do you want, asshole?” You cocked your gun, the sharp metallic click echoing. One of them flinched. Good.

The leader sneered, shoving Beomgyu roughly to the side. He tied him to a post like he was nothing more than an animal. Your jaw tightened as you watched the way they manhandled him, your fists clenching around the gun. When he was done, the leader turned back to you, whistling low at the deadly glare you levelled at him. His cocky smirk only deepened.

“You look loaded,” he said, his eyes flicking to the bags by the wall. “And since you asked so nicely, we’d also like to take turns with you, sweetheart.”

Beomgyu shook his head violently from where he was tied, his muffled cries useless against their laughter. His chest heaved, panic consuming him as the men began to advance on you.

“We’re lucky you’re here,” the leader continued, leering. “If we didn’t have a choice, we’d take the boy instead. He’s got such a pretty face, after all.”

Red.

All you saw was red.

Your vision blurred as rage consumed you. You let one of them grab your gun without resistance. It didn’t matter.

You'll kill them all.

The leader was close now, grabbing a fistful of your hair to tilt your head back. His face was inches from yours, his smirk as disgusting as the words spilling from his mouth. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? No fight left in you?”

You smirked—just a little. It was enough to confuse him, before he could react, your teeth sank into his throat. Hard.

It was a spot right where you knew it would hurt most. A pressure point. His scream ripped through while he stumbled back, clutching at the gaping wound with blood pouring through his fingers. The bitter, metallic taste flooded your mouth, but you didn't stop. You grabbed the gun he dropped as he fell and turned, firing without hesitation.

BANG.

The man who had taken your gun didn’t even have time to aim before he hit the ground.

“Fuck—” one of them snarled, charging at you. Before he could get too close, your foot sweeped his legs out from under him. He hit the ground with a grunt.

BANG.

You aim your gun and pulled the trigger on his face. The man with the bat.

Pain exploded in your shoulder, a gunshot tearing through your flesh, but you didn’t flinch. His mistake wasn’t pulling the trigger; it was not aiming for your head like you aimed for his.

BANG.

The leader gurgled, blood bubbling up from his lips as he stared at you in disbelief. “Monster—” he chokes on the floor, his hands futilely gripping his shredded throat. His blood pooled beneath him as he sputtered his last, trying and failing to form a single word. “You—”

BANG.

You stared at the four lifeless bodies beneath you, the gun in your hand began to feel impossibly heavy. Blood clung to your shirt like a second skin, still warm, sticky. Your mouth tasted metallic, your hair a disheveled mess from the earlier struggle.

Behind you, Beomgyu sat slumped against the post, trembling. He’d watched everything—every deafening shot, every life you’d taken to protect. His body flinched with each pull of the trigger. Now, his tears streamed freely, but not out of fear. No, this wasn’t fear.

He was crying because you had to do this.

Sobbing around the cloth still gagging him, his muffled cries echoing in the now-silent barn. You moved, steps distant, as if someone else controlled them. You crouched down and began untying the ropes binding Beomgyu to the post. His breath hitched as your fingers worked the knots, your hands stained with blood that was not yours. The ropes fell loose. Beomgyu searched your face, desperate for some sign of emotion—but your eyes were blank, lost.

Before he could speak, you stood, bolting toward the barn door. Beomgyu panicked. He hiccuped, scrambling to his feet, his legs weak from being tied up for so long. “Y/N!” he tried to call, but his voice cracked. His head spinning.

You were gone. Were you leaving him? He looked around frantically, his feet faltering as the barn opened into the cool night. He couldn’t lose you. Not now.

Beomgyu finds you at the small lake nearby, kneeling in the water. The cold ripples lapped at your clothes, soaking them, but you didnt seem to notice. Your hands scrubbed furiously at your arms, over and over, like you were trying to erase your own skin. “Y/N,”

“Y-You were shot,” he said, voice cracking. His eyes darted to your shoulder, blood had begun to seep through your shirt.

You gasped for air, your chest squeezing with every shallow breath. No matter how hard you tried, it felt like the air couldn't reach your lungs. Your hands clutched your face as if you could physically hold yourself together—thoughts raced through your mind, loud and suffocating. The world around you blurred and warped, slipping further and further from your grasp.

You killed them.

“Y/N—” Beomgyu’s voice broke through. “Breathe—”

You barely registered him.

“Can you—”

“Look at me!” he shouted, louder this time. Hands cupping your face, trembling as much as yours. “Baby, look at me.” Your eyes darted up, locking onto his. Your tears spilled down your face.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice softening, “Just keep looking at me, brave girl.” You leaned into him, your weight heavy against his chest. His soft voice leads you.

“Okay,” he said, his forehead brushing yours gently. “I need you to help me out. Can you do that?” You nodded weakly in his arms.

“Good. Start with five things you can see. Anything, okay? Just tell me five things.” Your gaze darted, focusing on anything you could name. “The tree,” you whispered shakily. “The grass. The water. Your tears. And…you.”

“That’s it,” he said, “Now, four things you can touch. What are they?”

“Your hands,” you murmured, your fingers twitching against his. “The water. My hair. And…stones.”

“Perfect,” he said, his thumbs now against your cheeks. “What about three things you can hear?” You breathed deeply this time, the cloud in your head beginning to lift. “The wind. The water. And you.” His lips curved into the smallest, most fragile smile. “Two things you can smell?”

You hesitated. “The blood,” you admitted, voice cracking. “And…the trees.”

“One thing you can taste.”

You swallowed hard, finally meeting his eyes fully. “Metal,” you whispered, voice barely audible.

"You did it." Beomgyu’s voice trembled, his hands cradling your face with a gentleness that only made the tears come faster. He does his best to brush them away. "Thank fuck."

“Beomgyu,” his name on your lips slips out barely more than a whisper. Forehead pressed against his shoulder, your arms wrapping around him slowly, shakily, until they found their place on his back.

There's a soft press of lips against your temple, warm and fleeting.

He helped you wash the blood off your body, his hands careful, never lingering longer than necessary. His gaze flicked to yours every few seconds, searching for some sign of permission—or maybe for you to tell him to stop. But you didn't. You can't, not when his eyes held that pleading look, soft and desperate, as if this was the only way he could help you carry the weight of what had happened.

When it came time to clean your face, you stopped him with a slight shake of your head. He didn’t argue.

Later, he examined the gunshot wound on your shoulder, gently turning you to check for an exit wound. Relief flickered across his face when he found one. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, had this more than I can keep track of.” you replied. His head snapped up, disbelief written all over his features.

The two of you walked back to the barn in silence, clothes damp from the lake. Your hands swung loosely at your sides, brushing his once, then twice, until Beomgyu hesitantly reached out and took your hand in his. You didn’t pull away.

“You can wait here,” he said softly when the barn came into view. “I’ll grab our things. We need to leave—someone might’ve heard.” You nodded, understanding without him saying it: he didn’t want you to see the bodies again.

Within minutes, he returned with your bags. You rummaged through yours, finding fresh pants and underwear but no shirt. “Do you have a shirt?”

“I do,” He's already handing it to you.

“Thanks.”

Slipping it over your head, you caught the faint scent of him—musky, with a subtle sweetness. It suited him.

The two of you moved to a nearby tree, settling under its shadow. The world was still dark, the night stretching on endlessly. You sat beside him, his shoulders side by side with yours.“Can you say it again?”

“What?”

“My name,” he said, clearing his throat awkwardly. You noticed the tips of his ears reddening. “Like you did earlier.”

“No,”

He chuckled, his gaze falling to where your hands rested in your lap. “As I expected.” When you did not respond, he ventured another question. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“What about it?”

“Was that your first t—”

“It wasn’t,” you cut him off, your eyes fixed ahead. You didn’t know why, but the words kept coming. “I’ve killed before. Being a soldier in the war… it wasn’t a choice. Sometimes I even had to kill my own teammates.” You paused,“But this… it’s different. They were civilians.”

“You had to kill your teammates too?”

You turned to him, studying the calm expression on his face. His eyes—the same ones that had anchored you earlier—held no trace of distrust, even after your confession. “Why aren’t you freaked out by this?”

“Because I want to know you,” he said with a small shrug. “Believe it or not, I’ve always been a good judge of character—or at least, that’s what my mom used to say. Soobin, too.” He paused, his lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks. “Ever since I met you, there hasn’t been a single thing you’ve done that I couldn’t understand.” The answer caught you off guard, made something in you falter.

"I had to kill them because they asked me to,"

“Then you're the strongest person I’ve ever met.” You didn’t know how to respond—you dont trust your voice not to break. How could he look at you like that after everything he’d seen? After all you’d done?

Minutes passed, when you felt him shift beside you, his arm lifting as he gently guided your head to rest on his shoulder. The warmth of him made it easier to close your eyes.

"You can rest now,"

“This one doesn’t work either,” Beomgyu called out from up ahead. You were still busy checking the car you’d been inspecting—never mind. It didn’t work, either.

“Should we just go on foot?” he asked, exasperation into his voice. It had been over a day of wandering and hoping to find a working vehicle. There’d been a few infected here and there, but sticking to the backroads had kept you from running into anything worse than a small group.

“It’s dangerous,” you replied without looking up.

Silence.

Beomgyu never let a comment slide without a retort, you know that by now. Heart thumping, you stepped out of the car and scanned the area, instincts on high alert.

“BAH!” He jumped out in front of you, doubling over with laughter so intense it sounded like he might choke. “You should’ve seen your face!” he managed between gasps. “It was so cute.”

“Are you done?”

Clearing his throat, Beomgyu grinned. It was just another one of his attempts to get on your nerves. He pulled something from his pocket—a dusty Polaroid camera he had found in one of the trucks. He flipped it open and checked the film. Two shots left. Without missing a beat, he raised it to his face and clicked the button.

You blinked, unimpressed. “Are you even checking the cars, or are you just running around pretending to be Dora the Explorer?”

Beomgyu smirked as the film began developing. “You watch Dora?”

“No.”

“You just mentioned her.”

“She’s famous.”

“So am I,” he shot back. “But you didn’t know me before this.”

“Are you seriously going to bring that up again?”

“Heh.” Beomgyu’s grin only widened. He could almost see it—the tiniest twitch at the corner of your lips before you turned away. Almost. It made his heart flutter in that stupid, uncontrollable way he hated admitting to himself.

As the photo developed, he glanced down at it. The image of you slowly came into view—you, standing in the middle of the road, hair pulled into a loose ponytail, staring at something out of frame with a faintly confused look on your face. “Beautiful,” he exhales.

If you looked this good now, how stunning would you be on a normal day?

If this were a normal day, Beomgyu would be all over you.He’d give you flowers every single day, just to make you smile. He’d buy you anything you wanted—or even things you didn’t know you needed. Love is effort. It's what his parents taught him. — And he’d give it, all of it. He’d take photos of you, even beg if he had to, make playlists for you, play games with you, anything.

He wondered if you’d be any good at FPS games. You were already a menace with a gun in real life, so you’d probably be terrifying in a match.

Maybe, if the world ever allowed it, he’d convince you to visit Daegu, his hometown with him. His parents would love you. His brother, too, though Beomgyu would definitely have to bribe him to keep his mouth shut about the massive crush he’d been harboring on you. Would you like… Toto?

Beomgyu stared at the camera in his hands. Who knows if he’ll ever get another moment like this—another chance—in a world as unpredictable as this one? The idea settles in his mind, and he doesn’t let himself hesitate. “Let’s take a picture together.”

You stopped in your tracks, turning to give him that deadpan, unamused stare—the one that always made Beomgyu bite back a grin. Another idea sparked his mind, “Okay, listen. After this, I promise not to mess around anymore,” He jutted his lower lip out just slightly, eyes pleading like a puppy who’d been caught chewing on a shoe.

“You promise.”

“Cross my heart,” he said quickly, nodding like his life depended on it. When you didn’t immediately reply, he skipped towards you. He knew this silence, too—your subtle little “yes” that didn’t require any words. He’d been observing you to pick up on your signals, even the smallest ones.

Without giving you time to change your mind, Beomgyu lifted the camera, stepped close, and pressed his cheek against yours. The faint warmth of your skin against his made his stomach flip, but he ignored it, snapping the picture before you could pull away.

You jerked back, shaking your head.

As the photo developed, Beomgyu stared at it, the edges curling faintly as the image sharpened. There it was—your face, with that same unamused look, your lips slightly pressed together like a daughter forced into posing for an overly enthusiastic mom. Beside you was him, the complete opposite—grinning like an idiot, dimples on full display, both your faces so close, touching.

Something about the contrast, about the way your expressions came together on that tiny square, made his heart do that stupid fluttering thing again. He tucked the photo into his pocket, alongside the other one.

He kept his promise and moved to the next car with you.

After three more hours of searching, you finally found a working car. Beomgyu let out an excited cheer, breaking into his little happy dance again. You tried not to smile, tried not to let his enthusiasm rub off on you—but, honestly, it was getting harder and harder to resist.

"Catch," you called, tossing the last bag to him. He caught it easily, stashing it in the backseat. Sliding into the driver’s seat, you glanced over as he settled into the passenger side. He looked so at ease there, sprawling out and fiddling with something on the dash. A passenger princess. Or was it prince? Either way, you could get used to him being there, looking peaceful for once.

You started the engine and pulled out onto the road, the car’s windows down to let in the cool breeze. As you drove, Beomgyu’s gaze drifted to your hair, your loose ponytail starting to come undone from the wind.

“Let me fix this for you,” he said, leaning over.

You felt his hands gently brush against your hair as he worked, careful not to distract you too much while you focused on the road. In the rearview mirror, you caught sight of his face—his brow furrowed in concentration, lips slightly parted. His fingers brushed against your neck as he gathered your hair, the touch light and deliberate. You could feel the care in the way he worked, securing the ponytail more tightly this time. "There."

When he finished, he leaned back, his hands falling to his lap as he took a moment to admire his work—admiring you. His gaze lingered, drinking in the curve of your face, the way your hands gripped the steering wheel just tight enough. He never felt safer than he did here, by your side. Somehow, in the middle of all this, he’d found his safe place.

His safe place.

“Try to get some sleep while I drive,” Beomgyu's unable to look away—you were right there in front of him, so effortlessly beautiful it made his heart ache. The soft curve of your cheeks, the faint flush that he couldn’t stop staring at—he wanted to reach out, to brush his lips against them, to trace the tip of your nose with his own.

In the short time he’d been alone with you—just forty-eight hours—it felt like he’d known you a lifetime. Like you’d been waiting there all along, someone he was meant to find. He wants to know more.

“Yeah, sleep. Sure.” He replies, words catching in his throat.

You’ve been driving for a while now. Beside you, Beomgyu was fast asleep, his soft snores fill your ears. A faint smile tugged at your lips as you glanced over, his head resting against the window, one hand tucked beneath it like a pillow.

The camp was close, maybe 15 minutes away. Just 15 more minutes before you’d be separated from him. The thought twisted something deep in your chest. Selfish. You knew it was selfish to feel this way. You barely knew him, and yet…

You glanced at him again, his face soft and unguarded in sleep. Everything else seemed to fade—the road ahead, the weight of your responsibilities, even the constant buzz of survival.

Survival.

Being with him didn’t feel like you were just trying to survive.

Him—who had no choice but to end up with you. You were about to leave that camp. You're already far. But when you saw him at that overrun camp, darting between tents with nothing but desperation and bad luck to shield him from the bandits, something inside you shifted. You just moved. Your feet carried you forward before your mind could catch up, before the voice of reason could stop you.

You didn’t know then that the next two days with him would chip away at the walls you’d built.

It was the little things, mostly. The way he insisted you eat first, even when food was scarce. The way he handed you the best parts of the military rations. How he seemed to know when the weight of the barn still lingered in your mind, distracting you with his terrible jokes or a question just long enough to pull you out of it. Or how he’d ask if you’d slept okay, like it mattered in a world where nothing really did.

And that smile he gives you—so easy, so genuine, even when there was no reason for it. Like he just couldn’t help himself. But now, it was ending. It had to end. You have to end it.

You tightened your grip on the wheel, staring hard at the road ahead. This was the right thing to do, the smart thing. You’d get him to safety, to people who could take care of him better than you ever could.

He didn’t belong out here with you, and you didn’t belong anywhere.

Survival.

There's nothing more that terrified you.

You spot the camp—Jeonju. It’s much bigger, with sturdy railings circling the perimeter to keep the infected out. The car rolls closer, the guards stationed on top of the walls notice you. A blinding floodlight clicks on. You know what that means: get out and identify yourselves.

“Beomgyu,” you say, shaking him awake. “We’re here. Wake up, dumbass.”

“Huh? Oh,” he mutters, the light strike his face. “Got it.”

“We’ll leave our stuff in the car for now. We just need to head up there and check in.” He nods, following your lead as you climb out. You raise both hands in the air, palms open. Beomgyu mimics you.

“State your business!” one of the guards calls down from the wall.

Before you can answer, you notice movement out of the corner of your eye. An infected, shambling closer—too close to Beomgyu. You’re already moving, boots hitting the dirt as you drive your foot into its chest and plunge your knife into its skull.

You step back into position, brushing some blood off your sleeve. “Park Y/N!” you shout up at the guard. “I report directly to Captain Joon. I’ve got Choi Beomgyu with me—a rescued civilian.”

You waited for ten minutes, at most.

The gates creak open, the panels sliding apart to reveal three soldiers stepping out, their rifles at the ready. One of them freezes, his eyes going wide. “That’s really Y/N from the Black Berets. Idiot.”

You ignore his outburst, your gaze cool as it shifts to his badge. “Can we go in now, Ji-min?”

The soldiers straighten instantly, snapping salutes in your direction. Two of them move toward the car, offering to grab your supplies. You give them a curt nod before turning to Beomgyu, only to find him already looking at you—his eyes, questioning.

“Is my team here?” you ask the soldier who stayed behind.

“Yes,” You glance back at Beomgyu. His stare now answered. Without another word, you both start to walk toward the gate.

Beomgyu’s eyes widened, his breath unstable after he spotted the four figures waiting inside. They were here. They were really here.

Before he could fully process it, Soobin’s tall frame sprinted toward him, Yeonjun and Taehyun close behind. He barely noticed you stepping aside to give them space, his entire focus locked on his brothers. The first embrace hit him like a floodgate bursting. Strong arms pulled him in, and the dam he’d tried so hard to hold together crumbled. He buried his face into the familiar comfort of Soobin’s shoulder, trying desperately not to sob. He had missed them. They had never left his mind—not once.

“Choi Beomgyu,” Soobin said, pulling back just enough to look at him. “Are you okay?”

Yeonjun’s hand came up to gently ruffle his hair, a comforting gesture that made the lump in Beomgyu’s throat harder to swallow. “You’re not hurt, right?”

Beomgyu shook his head, sniffling as he wiped at his face.

“You took your time,” Taehyun teased with a small smile. “Sorry we couldn't wait for you back there. It's impossible to get to you, but we really tried.”

“It does not matter,” Beomgyu replied quickly, “Wait—where’s Kai?”

“He’s not here yet,” Soobin admitted, voice pained. “But one of the soldiers saw him escaping with someone else—a soldier. They said he made it out.”

“That ambush was insane,” Beomgyu nodded, even his heart ached. He had to hold onto hope. Kai was strong—he’d make it. Maybe tomorrow, or the day after, Kai would walk through those gates too.

A sudden panic shot through him, his head snapping to the side. “What’s wrong?”

Beomgyu eyes scanned the cluster of soldiers nearby. Where are you? He finally spotted you, standing with Captain Joon. The older man looked serious, but there was a warmth in his demeanor as he clapped a hand on your shoulder. You said something to him, your expression calm. Captain Joon’s face softened, and for a moment, it looked like he wanted to pull you into an embrace.

“She’s been with you this whole time?” Yeonjun asked, surprised.

“Since the start,”

Soobin doesn’t wait. He steps forward, taking Beomgyu by the arm as Yeonjun and Taehyun fall in beside them. Together, the four approach you. You don't have time to register what’s happening before Soobin wraps his arms around you in a unexpected hug.

“Thank you,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for bringing him back to us.”

You glance over Soobin’s shoulder, catching Beomgyu’s gaze. He’s watching you, his eyes soft and full of something unspoken—a warmth that makes your chest tighten. You manage a small smile in return, the corners of your lips curving just enough to acknowledge him. He gives back a grin, that makes his dimple appear.

Gently patting Soobin on the back, you step away. “How are you holding up?” you ask,“I heard Kai’s not here yet. But with Ji-ho looking out for him, I know he’ll make it. He’s capable.”

Your words seem to ease the tension in the group. Soobin nods, his shoulders relaxing slightly. Yeonjun offers a faint smile, and even Taehyun pats your shoulder.

“We’re managing,” Soobin says. “Just waiting to hear what Hybe’s next steps are.”

Captain Joon appeared beside you, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “You’ve done enough for today,” he says. “Go wash up. Dinner will be ready soon.”

Beomgyu trails behind the other three, footsteps slower, reluctant. He looks back over his shoulder, at the direction you went—away from him, toward your own assigned space. This camp is massive, lined with rows of tents in all shapes and sizes, yet somehow, even with so many people around, Beomgyu feels unmoored without you nearby.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. You’ll need to change the bandage on your shoulder soon. He knows that, just like he knows you probably won’t bother unless someone reminds you. It’s always him who keeps track, who insists on helping you replace the worn-out wraps.

“Here’s your room,” Taehyun points to the tent ahead. Beomgyu steps inside, placing his things near the bed. It’s small but better—an actual mattress and even a tiny bathroom. He crouches by his bag, pulling out a fresh set of clothes for after his shower.

He tugs off his shirt, fingers brushed against the knife strapped to his belt. Slowly, he unhooks it, focuses on the small engraving on the handle—your name, etched deep into the worn metal. Would you want it back? Probably. The thought makes his pout, because he doesn’t want to let it go. Not yet.

He crosses the room and sets the knife carefully on the small table, almost tenderly, like it's an object meant for something more delicate than killing.

He showers with his heart feeling impossibly heavy.

Your hair was still damp from the shower, clinging to your neck as you ran a towel through it. Tugging a fresh pair of cargo pants up your hips, you reached for your shirt.

“You should always keep it wrapped as long as it’s not healed yet.” His voice echoed in your mind, unbidden.

“Fucking Choi Beomgyu,” you muttered, shaking your head as you grabbed the roll of bandages from the small supply pile nearby. “Always so annoying.”

Your fingers worked quickly, wrapping the fresh bandage around your shoulder. The wound looked much better now. Once you were satisfied it was comfortable, you pulled your shirt over your head and stepped out of your tent.

Your stomach growled in response with the smeel of cooking. A warm meal—finally. “Y/N!”

You turned at the sound of Yeonjun’s voice. He waved you over, seated with their small group near one of the campfires. Several other campfires are on the open space with large pots of food simmered over flames. “Sit down here,” Yeonjun offered, patting the spot on the log beside him.

You took the seat, extending your hands toward the warmth of the fire. Across, your eyes met Beomgyu’s. He was seated opposite you, quiet for once, his gaze flickering away as soon as it met yours.

Yeonjun handed you a steaming bowl of soup, carefully scooped from the pot. “Fill up. It’s good,” he said with a grin.

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking the bowl into your hands. You reached for a spoon, Soobin beat you to it, holding one out.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Let me know if you need seconds.”

You cleared your throat, a little thrown off by the casual care they offered. It wasn’t something you were used to.

The conversation around the fire swirled, voices rising and falling as they swapped stories. You ate in silence, letting the warmth of the meal soothe you. It had been so long since you’d had something like this. But one person wasn’t talking much. Beomgyu.

You coughed—ate a little too fast, the food catching in your throat. It has only been a second when a water bottle was offered.

“Drink up,” Beomgyu said, already twisting the cap off for you. He reached for your bowl, holding it steady so you could take the bottle from his hand. You took a sip, the cool water easing the discomfort. “Thanks,” you muttered.

“That’s right, Beomgyu,” Taehyun teased, smirking. “Take care of her. I’m sure she had to drag your sorry ass out there.”

“She did not!” Beomgyu blurted, his ears turning red.

“Oh, I bet she carried you on her back,” Yeonjun chimed in, clearly enjoying himself. “What? No way!”

“You probably teased her the whole time,” Taehyun added, grinning.

“I didn’t—”

“What a baby,” Soobin finished with a dramatic shake of his head.

Their teasing bounced around the fire, growing louder. Mixed with exaggerated groans as playful shoves sent shoulders bumping on the log seats. Beomgyu, red-faced and clearly at his limit, stomped his foot on the ground in mock frustration.

You couldn’t help it; a laugh escaped you, small at first but growing. You quickly covered your mouth with the back of your hand, your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle it.

Beomgyu's wide eyes locked on you. You laughed. You finally fucking laughed. He feels his heart about to burst at the sweet sound.

“Oh-ho, look at her!” Soobin exclaimed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “The stress must’ve caught up with her. This is your fault, Choi Beomgyu!”

"Choi Soobin, you shi—," Beomgyu sputtered in protest, and more laughter joined with you.

It had been a week since that night by the fire. A week since Beomgyu arrived at the camp with you—and a week since he last saw you laugh like that. He could still picture it—your face by the warm glow of the fire, the soft orange light making you look almost ethereal. Did you know how exquisite you look when your eyes crinkle with joy? “Did you cut the vegetables, Beomgyu?” Yeonjun asked him as he pointed at the makeshift kitchen in the camp. “Yeah, I did,” he replied, tossing the emptied cans into the trash. He’d offered to handle it, trying to distract himself. Hybe still hadn’t contacted the military about their group, so they’d started helping around. The soldiers were reluctant at first, but Soobin had talked them into it. Now, they pitched in with small domestic tasks—delivering freshly laundered clothes from the women who washed them, cutting vegetables for the large communal meals, anything to stay useful. Beomgyu learned there were about forty-five people at the camp: nine civilians like them, eleven workers, and twenty-five soldiers. It had been a week since you’d spoken to him. A week since you’d even looked at him. Beomgyu tried. He really did. He’d tried to reach out. He started waking up early—a feat for him, someone who once detested mornings—he’d wait by the path, knowing it was your routine to jog at first light. But the moment he saw you, stretching with Do-hyun under the rising sun, his courage crumbled. Feet rooted to the spot, unable to move closer. He tried during meals too, sweeping his eyes on the tables, hoping to sit with you—but every time their group arrived, you were already standing, tray in hand, heading somewhere he could not follow. He even lingered around the grounds, pretending to have something to do. Sometimes, he felt a pair of eyes on him—heart leaping at the possibility it was you—but when he looked up, the space was empty. Eventually, he’d retreat to his tent, his shoulders heavy with defeat. It felt like you were avoiding him. Ignoring him. Do you hate him? Did he do something wrong? He lay awake most nights, staring at the canvas ceiling of his tent, replaying your moments together over and over. He could still feel the warmth of your hands. The memory of you in his arms—how perfectly you fit in it. Were you okay? Was your shoulder healing as it should? Were you eating enough? Sleeping well? Had he already become invisible to you? What is he to you anyway? A friend? Do you even consider him as one?

“You’ve been out of it these past days, Beomgyu.” Yeonjun’s voice broke into his thoughts, accompanied by a firm hand on his shoulder. His eyes searched Beomgyu’s face, concern evident. “What’s troubling you?”

“Nothing, I…” Beomgyu’s voice cracked as he tried to answer. He swallowed hard, looking away. “I guess I’m just… more tired than usual.”

“If you need to talk, let me know, okay?”

"When are you going to talk to him?" Do-hyun asked, breathless, as you pulled him to his feet after knocking him down for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. The moon guides your makeshift sparring circle. You hadn’t planned to spar with him; it just happened. Restless, you’d found yourself outside his tent, knocking like a ghost haunting its own grave.

You released his hand abruptly, stepping back at his words. “Let’s go again,” you said, more to yourself than to him.

Without waiting for a reply, you charged, throwing a closed fist at his right side. He dodged it easily, his laughter breaking the tense silence.

“You know, you’re way less terrifying when you’re distracted,” he teased, grinning at the glare you shot him. “Seriously, Y/N? How long are you gonna keep ignoring the boy? The guy’s trying so hard it’s starting to make me feel bad. If it were me, I’d have fumbled already—”

Before he could finish, you grabbed him by the neck, locking him in a chokehold. “I t-tap out! Fuck! You're going to kill me.” he wheezed, coughing as you let him go. He stumbled back, rubbing his neck. “Shit, I forgot how strong your grip is. For real, how are you not a man?” You didn’t respond. Instead, you wiped the sweat from your forehead, glancing at the clock. It was nearing 11 p.m.

“Reject the kid already, will you? Do him a favor so he can move on.” Do-hyun muttered, reaching for his water bottle. “You cold-ass woman.”

“He’s not a kid,” you said finally, your voice low but firm. Grabbing a towel, you wiped the sweat from your face. “He’s almost my age.”

“Sure,” Do-hyun replied, watching you closely as you drank from your water bottle, to the bags under your eyes. “Not sleeping again?”

You shook your head, capping the bottle and tossing it aside. “It’s harder these days.”

“I know,” he said, softer now. “But you’ve gotta try. I need to head out anyway—errands tomorrow. And honestly, I can’t take more knockouts from you. Have mercy.”

“Idiot,” you muttered, smirking despite yourself.

“You’re the idiot for ignoring—” You didn’t let him finish, rolling your eyes as you turned and headed for your tent. A quick shower later, you were lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The camp quiet, your mind was anything but. Frowning, you closed your eyes, waiting for sleep to come.

It never did.

Beomgyu tossed onto his right side again, the thin mattress beneath him groaning in protest. He lost count of how many times he'd shifted since lying down, each movement more restless than the last.

His chest felt tight, like his heart was pounding against some invisible weight. He sat up, running a hand through his messy hair in frustration. His gaze wandered aimlessly, landing on the small table by his bedside. He froze.

Polaroids.

The universe must be mocking him for missing you this much. Did he really need more reminders?

He inhaled deeply, the sound sharp in the quiet of his tent. Standing abruptly, he began pacing, his feet brushing against the worn canvas floor as a single question churned in his mind: Should I see her? His eyes flicked to the clock—11:28 p.m. Were you even awake?

But then, what difference did it make? Another night of lying there, drowning in this ache, wasn’t an option. He just needed something—your face, your voice, anything.

That’s what he told himself as he stopped pacing, turning toward the small mirror propped against the tent’s corner. His reflection stared back, dishevelled and vulnerable in a way he hadn’t let himself feel in years. He raked his hands through his hair, trying to smooth it out, What the hell are you doing? he thought bitterly. You’re an idol for god’s sake.

But then again, you were… a goddess. And right now, none of the titles, pressure, his previous job or self-doubt mattered. It doesn't matter if you'll kick him out as soon as you see him.

What mattered was seeing you.

He stopped just short of your tent, staring at the outline of it. His breath hitched, and his body betrayed him as he turned away, a cowardly retreat already forming in his mind. But he only made it three steps before he falter, his fists clenching at his sides. No. Not tonight.

He turned back, counting the seconds in his head. He rehearsed the words he’d been forming for days now, words that felt too small for what he really wanted to say but would have to do. This had to count. It had to—

“I can see you out there, you know. What do you want?” The sound of your voice sent a panic through him. You sounded tired, a little annoyed. The shadows must have given him away—his pacing back and forth casting restless shapes against the thin fabric of your tent. “Do-hyun?”

“It’s… Beomgyu,” He countered quickly, the way you said another man’s name at this hour unsettling him more than it should. Silence. He braced himself for rejection, for the possibility that you’d tell him to go, that he's insane to be here at this hour, or that you didn’t want to see him.

But the truth is, your eyes are wide inside. He’s insane. What is he doing here? Why now? You stand up slowly, your fingers brushing the edge of your blanket. You can’t turn him away now. It’s too obvious. “Come in.”

Beomgyu that stood outside your tent, hand unstable when he finally pushed the flap aside. The sudden rush of light revealed you, standing there, your eyes locking onto his. For a minute, he forgot how to breathe. His eyes on your face like he was trying to memorize every line, every shadow. “Hi,” he said, it wasn’t how he had planned to start, but it was all he could manage.

You instinctively stepped behind, folding your arms across your chest as a barrier. “What is it?” You looked away, unable to meet his eyes. They were too much—too deep, too brown.

"Are you mad at me?" Beomgyu's voice wavers, cracking slightly as the words spill out. All those rehearsed lines, the ones he'd turned over in his head a thousand times, crumble into this raw, unpolished question.

"I-I— you’ve been ignoring me, Y/N. Don’t even try to deny it." His voice rises, “I called— I even called you out there twice, and I know you heard me.” He pauses, the lump in his throat refuses to go away. "Did I… do something? Something that made you mad at me?" The words are choked, his voice barely above a whisper now.

His eyes—glassy, rimmed red—look at you—he’s holding back tears; you can tell by the way his lips tremble slightly, the way he bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. But despite it all, he doesn’t look away. He can’t.

Not when he’s missed you this much.

"Beomgyu, whatever you think is between us," you let your arms fall limply to your sides, "it's nothing. This… this is just a mission. Soon, everything will go back to where it belongs." You pause, your words deliberate, heavy. "And we’ll never see each other again."

His eyebrows knit, disbelief etched his face. "Who decides that? Who says that?"

You exhale sharply, the weight of your own words pressing down on your chest. "It’s just how it is. That’s how it’s always been. You should surround yourself with people like you."

"I—" he starts, but you cut him off before he can unravel any further.

"Stop this." Your tone hardens, more defensive than you intend, but it’s the only way to protect yourself. "Don’t talk to me again, Beomgyu. Don’t seek me out. If you’re just… grateful for what happened, fine. I’ll accept that. And if you feel guilty about it?" Your voice cracks slightly, but you push through, "Then maybe… maybe you can pay me back someday. In the future."

Beomgyu’s lips trembled as he fought for his next words, his hands shaking. “Then tell me. Tell me, straight to my face, looking in my eyes, that you didn’t feel anything. That you don’t feel anything for me. That you’ll never like me, no matter what I do. Even if I…” His voice broke, a tear slipping down his cheek. “Even if I die trying.”

Everything you’ve held back finally spill over, and your voice comes out in a shaky whisper. "Dumbass."

“You can’t,” he said softly, eyes tracing the fall of your tears.

“What are—”

"I think I'm in love with you," he says, voice breaking on his confession. "I'm in love with you that I wonder how the hell I lived without you all these years. I’m so glad I met you, did you know that? If I’d known, I’d have counted down the days—even marked my calendar stupidly—just to know you were waiting for me at the end of it. And if I had a choice to go back in time, to stop this apocalypse before it happened, I wouldn’t do a damn thing. Because I’d lose the chance to meet you. Here. As insane as it sounds," His voice shakes, but he pushes on, "I won’t—I won’t force you…. to like me. That’s not what I want. But would it be selfish of me to ask you to stop acting like I'm not here? Like you don’t know me? I can’t…" He hiccups, shoulders shaking. "I just want to be part of your life, Y/N."

His words made you take a step forward, your hands trembling as you cup his tear-streaked face. He flinches at first, but then he melts into your touch, his breathing uneven. “I’m afraid,” you admitted, your voice breaking, freckles on his face evident with his face bare. “I’ll ruin you. I’ll ruin your life. I'm a fucking ruined person. Can’t you see that?”

"I see you more than you see yourself," His hands come up to cover yours, gripping them tightly as though letting go would mean losing you. "You're a fucking angel."

You sobbed at his words. Angel. The word echoed in your head, a word so unfamiliar. How could someone as shattered as you ever be called that? How could Beomgyu see anything but the cracks, the mess? How could someone this real—this kind—exist? Is he even real? A dream? Or is he just a figment of your imagination, conjured up in your darkest moments to give you false hope?

Your tears fall faster, and Beomgyu panics, own heart breaking at the sight of you crying. Gently, he lets go of your hands and slides his up your arms, his touch featherlight—moves slowly, as though afraid he might hurt you, tracing his way to your shoulders, then your neck, until his fingers cradle your face.

“Who would’ve guessed that you’re a crybaby too?” he whispered, his voice uneven but with affection. He steps closer, wrapping you in his arms, pulling your unstable form against his chest. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, your sobs muffled against his warmth.

You feel it—all the longing, all the sleepless nights spent thinking about him. The ache of holding yourself back every time you see him from afar—waiting for you, searching for you. He holds you.

He holds you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. One hand caresses the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, while the other keeps you pressed against him. He presses soft, baby kisses to the side of your head, whispering. "Y/N,"

You stepped back slightly from his embrace, but Beomgyu’s hands stayed on your face, his thumbs softly brushing against your skin. He smiled—how could a single expression hold so much, and somehow, make everything hurt a little less? You swallowed the lump in your throat. Maybe, just maybe, you could have this. Even if it was only for tonight.

You rose onto your tiptoes, and leaned in. Closing your eyes, you pressed your lips to his—a fleeting, tentative kiss that barely lasted a second. It was quick, and when you pulled back, you were met with his wide eyes staring down at you, stunned. He hadn’t even had time to close them.

For a moment, neither of you moved. His eyes half-closed, his hands tightened slightly on your face, and before you could say anything, he leaned down, pulling you back in.

This time, he kissed you. He tilted his head just enough to fit against you perfectly, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that made your knees weak. His grip on your face was firm, his tounge grazing your lips—a soft plea—asking for entrance. You let him in, letting him taste you as you tasted him.

Both of you pull back, breaths heavy. A delicate string of saliva still connects your lips, breaking as Beomgyu takes a step forward more, his eyes locked on yours, "I want you."

You nod, reaching for him, your fingers curling around his arm to pull him back into you. "We have to be quiet."

His hands find your waist, fingers dip beneath the hem of your shirt. He lifts it, the fabric brushing over your skin, exposing the softness and heat of your bare waist to his touch. His palms glide over your skin.

You found yourself on your back, on the softness of your mattress, his weight settled on top of you. Delicate and warm. His hand grasps your thigh and he hoist it up his waist. “Please kiss me.” He murmurs into your mouth.

Your tongue brushes his, and he squeezes your thigh. He returns it, seeking your bottom lip to lightly suck on it. Your hands are up his shirt and he starts tugging down your loose pants. He shakily runs a finger between your legs and you inhale sharply. He rubs you, the feel of you soft, so good. He spreads you apart and gently caresses your clit. And you’re so fucking wet. He can't help but give a light sensual pinch. "Beomgyu," you moan on his lips. Made his heart flutter.

Your breathing is harsher and he looks at your pretty face as he shoves his middle finger in you—touching you is enough for him. He looks at you—wanting to see every expression you make. He’s going to fuck you until you cum all over his dick and then he’ll do it again. Until you don't doubt whatever this is. Until you won't be able to think about leaving him anymore.

He fumbles with your remaining clothes, taking his time as if savouring every second. It’s slower than you expected—partly because he keeps grabbing your face, pulling you into deep, heated kisses that leave you breathless.

Your hands help him get out of his shirt, pulls it over his head—hair falling over his forehead prettily. He leans down and kisses you—hands grab your hair and roam your body, his mouth does the same. Your face, your neck, your shoulder blades. "You're beautiful,"

He kisses down your chest and you run your fingers through his now much longer hair. He licks your nipple and your breath hitched. He bites gently, then bites harder and your back arches—he suckles, then lick. He does it again and again, to your left and right, giving them enough attention. He hears you moan—smirks at your skin—and he keeps wanting to hear it.

He goes down further—kisses down and the smell of you is divine. His face hovers and with his fingers he spreads you apart. He swallows—salivating. He sticks his tongue out, lightly licking your clit. He buries his face in, tongue inside, hands on your hips. "Shit, you taste so sweet, could eat this all day," He groans, lapping up, sucks the arousal out of you. He moves up, nose bumping on your clit then he suckles. His dick is throbbing at the way you taste. Your hands pull his hair, and he feels you down on his chin. He was leaving no parts untouched by his warm mouth.

Going back to you, looking at your face, he bows his head. “Kiss me.”

You pull his head down and kiss him, he slides right in and you cry out. "Fuck, you're so tight," He kisses you while he trusts in and out, your moans muffled on his mouth. "You feel so good," Your nails on his back scrape and he thrusts, hard, and keeps himself all the way in and you squirm under him, feeling you coming close.

"More, gyu." You whine out, legs gripping his warm waist as you pull him closer. He did, trust becoming faster, hitting the spot that made you moan out his name. He repositions himself deeper inside you, pressing you into the mattress, his free hand reaching for your clit, rubs lightly. "M'close," Then you felt it, the warm fuzzy feeling—the rush, almost blinding—the warmth of his arms and the softness of his whispered name on your lips that brought tears to your eyes. His own cum mixing with yours.

He smiled down at you, his lips quirking in a soft, almost shy grin as he took in your fucked-out expression. “I love you,” he whispered. He can't help himself.

The faint sound of running water filled the room as he disappeared for a second, and you assumed he was cleaning himself up. When he returned, his pants sit low on his hips, his chest still bare, and in his hand, he holds a warm, damp cloth.

Your eyes follow him as he approaches, his eyes filled with so much love it made your chest ache. He kneels beside you, his touch was careful as he ran the cloth over your skin, wiping away, cleaning you up. He worked slowly, keeping one of his hand holding your own, focus entirely on you.

When he was done, he looked up at you with that same soft smile, his eyes searching yours. You feel your own lips curve in response, reaching out to touch his flushed cheeks, your fingers brushing against his warm skin. The simple touch makes his smile widen into a boyish grin. His grin burned into the back of your mind. He holds you. He holds your heart too.

I love you too.

The warm rays of the morning sun seeped through the thin walls of the tent, casting a golden glow over the room. Dust motes floated in the light, drifting toward the tangled mess of blankets wrapped around your body.

It was the best sleep you’d had in a long time. You didn’t even remember falling asleep. A yawn slipped past your lips as you stretched your arms, rolling over to the other side.

You weren't alone.

Beomgyu.

He looked so peaceful when he slept, his features soft and unguarded. The sunlight kissed his skin, giving it a honeyed glow, and his hair fell messily over his forehead, looking impossibly touchable. The blanket on his side was pushed low, revealing that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. His pale chest and neck were scattered with faint love bites—marks you had left there. His lips were slightly parted, and he looked so utterly…. serene, it made your chest swell.

You reached out, your fingers gently comb his hair. “Beomgyu,” you murmured softly.

"Hm?" He hummed.

You smiled, and he returned it—his smile lazy, but somehow brighter than the sunlight spilling into the room. “Hi, baby,” he greeted,

"It's morning,"

He groaned lightly, shifting closer to you. “I think… we should stay here,” he mumbled, his voice raspy and slow, as though speaking was too much effort. He moved until he was pressed against you, his head resting on your bare chest as he planted soft, sleepy kisses against your skin.

“I have things to do, you know,” you protested lightly, though you made no move to stop him. Instead, you let your arms encircle him, cradling his head. His hand slid beneath the blanket, settling on the small of your back, familiar against your bare skin.

“Wake up,” you poked his cheek with your finger.

He parted his lips and let out an exaggerated, snore that startled a laugh out of you. “Idiot,” you said, shaking your head, though the fondness in your tone betrayed you. “I’ll give you an hour. After that, Captain Joon is going to start looking for me.”

"Let him look," Beomgyu groaned, burying his face deeper into your chest like a stubborn child. “But why is he always looking for you?”

“Because he’s my captain, you twat,” you replied, pinching his cheeks. “And, oh yeah, he’s my father.”

“What!?” Beomgyu shot up, his eyes now wide open and his sleepiness completely forgotten.

“Well, my adoptive father," Beomgyu’s eyes softened instantly at the word adoptive. He didn’t press, but his silence, the slight tilt of his head, was an invitation to continue if you were ready.

“Yeah, so, uh…” You swallowed hard, your fingers fidgeting slightly. “My parents were both special forces soldiers. When they were on a mission—a spy operation—they… they didn’t make it back. I was five.”Hi hand found yours, his fingers squeezing gently.

“I was sent to an orphanage after that,” you continued, your voice steadier now. "I was there for a few years. Then, when I was ten, Captain Joon showed up out of nowhere. Turns out, he was my dad’s best friend. He adopted me. Took me in like I was his own.”

Beomgyu nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “How did you end up being a soldier?” he asked softly.

A bittersweet smile tugged at your lips. “I guess it was always in me,” you admitted. “Even as a kid. Captain Joon saw that too. I was… kind of wild. Always getting into trouble at school—detentions, fights. I couldn’t stand bullies, even when they weren’t targeting me. I’d step in, no matter the cost.” You paused, letting out a quiet laugh. “It got worse when I got older. One time, I was walking home, and this group of older boys jumped me. They were bigger, stronger… I didn’t stand a chance. Captain Joon saw what happened, and after that, he decided to put me somewhere I couldn’t get hurt like that anymore. He took me with him—in a military camp.”

Your fingers brushed the hem of the blanket, your voice growing quieter. “I officially became a soldier when I was seventeen. Got into the Black Berets a year later.”

Beomgyu traced the line of your jaw with his fingers, his gentle touch made the words come easier.

“The time you asked me how old I was when I started…” You hesitated, but his intertwined hands with yours encouraged you to continue. “I got rude because… that question was asked of me once before. By someone. He was bitten by the infected, and I—” Your voice cracked, “I ended up killing him.”

You couldn’t meet his eyes, couldn’t bear the thought of seeing judgment—or worse, pity—staring back at you, but Beomgyu didn’t let you hide. His hands cupped your face, tilting it up until your eyes met his.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said, “He’s not suffering anymore.”

Your eyes shimmered with unshed tears as you nodded. He wrapped his arms around you, guiding your head to rest against his chest. No words were spoken. For minutes, you stayed like that, listening to the thump of his heart against yours, a language of its own.

"I should probably be more careful around Captain Joon,” Beomgyu said out of nowhere, trying to lighten the mood.

You laughed, arms around you holding you closer. When he noticed you staring at him, he tilted his head slightly, his expression playful. “What? Too handsome?”

“Pfft,” you snorted. “Androgynous.” He whined dramatically, leaning in to pepper your face with kisses. You tried to push him away, laughing as he chased your retreating lips.

“Who would’ve thought,” he murmured, “that I’d fall in love with the prettiest girl at the end of the world?”

The words brought heat to your cheeks, and you turned your face away to hide the blush. “Okay, that’s enough,” you said, slipping out of his hold and reaching for the first shirt you could find—it was his.

He sat up too, watching you pull his shirt over your body. The hem brushed your thighs, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He gathers your hair that had gotten caught under the shirt, his fingers brushing against your neck. "I need to shower, Beomgyu."

"Can I join you? You know, to save water," He immediately quips. You smirk, your eyes meeting his before you give him a subtle nod. That tiny gesture is all it takes for his heart to race, he’s sure you can hear it.

In fact, there was barely any washing done.

Beomgyu finally steps out of your tent, though it took more convincing from you than it probably should have.

You’re still inside, safe from the prying eyes. The sun is higher now, casting everything in a harsh light. He squints, adjusting to the brightness, and immediately spots a few soldiers milling about nearby.

His stomach drops. If any of them so much as glance his way, they’ll know exactly where he just came from. Your tent. The only woman’s tent in a unit of 25 soldiers.

He keeps his head down, heat creeping up his neck and to his ears as he feels the unseen stares. The scenario playing out like an idol dating scandal—and dispatch is about to break the story of his life.

Choi Beomgyu, caught sneaking out of her tent at sunrise, he imagines the headline, biting back a groan. He quickens his pace, muttering to himself, "I’m so dead."

"Hold up."

A firm hand clamped down on Beomgyu's shoulder, halting his little walk of shame. His eyes widened as he turned, meeting the sharp gaze of Do-hyun. The older soldier’s eyes flicked back toward your tent—just six steps behind him—then back to Beomgyu’s freshly washed hair.

"And here I was, starting to feel sorry for you," Do-hyun said with a smirk. Beomgyu barely had time to stammer out a response before the tent flap rustled, and you stepped out.

"Do-hyun," Beomgyu glanced at you briefly, but you didn't meet his eyes, locked on Do-hyun instead. "Let’s go, yeah?" you asked, a pointed glare following the words.

Do-hyun chuckled, lifting his hands in mock surrender as he stepped back, releasing Beomgyu. "Sure, sure," he said, his smirk softening into something less smug.

The two of you walked off, leaving Beomgyu standing there, you glance back at him, catching a glimpse of his warm, flustered expression. Do-hyun caught it, muttering, "You’ve got him wrapped around your… finger,"

You didn’t even break stride, your foot shot out, connecting with his shin. Do-hyun yelped, doubling over, he clutched his leg. "Ow! Damn it, I was kidding!"

Beomgyu finally exhales when his tent comes into view, relief flooding his chest. He thought he was in the clear—until he steps inside and sees his three brothers waiting for him.

"Where the fuck were you?" Beomgyu knows he’s not getting out of this easily. This is going to be a long talk.

Beomgyu tells them. Everything. He leaves out the more private details—of course, he does. Some things are just for him to know. He starts from the beginning, telling them, that he just… fell in love with you.

The room goes quiet for a beat before Soobin steps forward, wrapping him in a hug, his voice soft. "Our little Beomgyu’s growing up," he says, sniffing dramatically.

Taehyun follows with a few firms pats on Beomgyu’s back, his smile warm. Yeonjun, leaning casually against the tent post, grins and shakes his head. "You lucky bastard," he teases, but there’s nothing but happiness in his voice.

The four of them embrace, there's a gap in their circle—a place reserved for someone who isn’t there yet but will be soon.

The day passed with a warmth in your chest, fueled by stealing stares and fleeting touches from Beomgyu.

Lunch was a lively affair, shared with Do-hyun, Eun-woo, Beom-seok, Yeonjun, Soobin, and Taehyun. The meal was filled with teasing banter, laughter cutting through the usual hum of camp life. Eun-woo’s soft pats on Beomgyu’s back and Beom-seok’s subtle nods didn’t go unnoticed—they were quiet acknowledgments.

Now, you walk toward the largest tent with your three teammates by your side. Beomgyu’s heated kiss still burns on your lips, the warmth of it fresh, even though it happened only an hour ago. — Captain Joon has called an unexpected night meeting, one that made Beomgyu pout as he agrees to wait at your tent.

The four of you step inside and salute, standing at attention until the captain’s familiar command: "Sit down."

The scene is one you’ve known many times before. Yet, there are absences that can't be ignored. Ji-ho, reporting in via radio, assures that he’ll be here soon with Huening Kai. — And Seo-jun.

“A brand-new mission for us,” Captain Joon announces, his eyes with a glimmer of hope rarely seen these days. “Word is there’s a doctor working on the possibility of a cure. And since Jeonju camp is the most stable for now, he’ll need assistance. This is the most critical priority, and we’ll be the ones handling it.”

Murmurs ripple through the group, surprised with cautious optimism. A cure—it sounds almost too good to be true. You let out a slow breath of relief, the faintest ember of hope flickering in your chest. Maybe, just maybe, humanity has a chance this time.

“We’re leaving in a few,” Captain Joon continues, his voice firm. “No time to waste.”

When you reach your tent, Beomgyu is already seated, and waiting. The moment he sees you, he stands, and you stride toward him without wasting any second, pressing your lips to his in a kiss he immediately melts into, “Are you okay?” he asks softly when you pull away, hands finding your waist.

“Hmm.” You nod, leaning into his embrace, arms wrapping around him. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “We’re leaving now. Mission came in.”

Beomgyu stiffens. “Right now?"

“Yes.”

“O-okay.” His voice falters, and he swallows hard.

“It might take a while,” you admit, your hands sliding up to cup his face as you look into his wide, searching eyes. “It’s pretty far out, and I—”

“Come back to me safely,” he interrupts, his hands cradle your face. His thumbs gently brush your cheeks. “You don’t have a choice.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. You nod, "I promise.” Reaching up, you unclasp your dog tag, holding it carefully in your hands before slipping it around his neck. His eyes never leave yours, he watches you secure the chain.

“I’ll see you soon,”

He holds you.

It’s been two days since you left, and Beomgyu sits at the table, pushing his food around more than eating it. His mind keeps drifting back to you. The weight of your necklace around his neck is comforting—but it reminds him you’re not here. He sighs.

“There's a car coming!” someone shouts from the outer courtyard. Beomgyu’s head snaps up, his heart skipping a beat. He’s out of his chair in an instant, sprinting toward the commotion, the rest of his members right on his heels. His breath comes fast, uneven, as he skids to a stop outside. His eyes widen, and for the first time in days, relief crashes over him.

“KAI!”

The four of them swarm the youngest member, nearly knocking him off his feet in their excitement. Kai’s laughter echoes through the courtyard as Soobin immediately bursts into tears, clinging to him like a lifeline. Beomgyu hugs him tightly, burying his face in his shoulder, while Yeonjun ruffles his hair affectionately. Taehyun, ever practical, starts inspecting Kai’s arms and legs for injuries.

Everything feels right. They’re together, whole. Now, he just needs you to get back here.

They fussed over Kai like he was the most fragile thing in the world, each of them trying to make up for lost time. Kai explained what happened—they had been trapped, which was why it took weeks to get here. But Ji-ho, just as you’d assured them before, had been capable. He’d taken care of Kai and somehow managed to get him back to them safely.

Later that night, Beomgyu was shuffling on his bed while Kai lounged comfortably nearby. It wasn’t long before the others would join them; Kai had pleaded for a sleepover with his brothers, saying he missed them too much to sleep alone. Of course, none of them could resist.

“Woah.” Kai says, and Beomgyu turned, pillow in hand, to see what had caught his attention. The younger was staring at the two Polaroids on Beomgyu’s bedside table, face lit with curiosity. “Is this real?”

“What, you think I Photoshopped them or something?” Beomgyu laughed, a little sheepishly. He paused, before adding, “I took those with her… on the way here.”

Kai’s eyes flicked back to him, curious. “You’re together?”

“Yeah.” Beomgyu’s lips tugged into a shy smile. “She’s my girlfriend now.”

Kai’s grin was blinding, his low ponytail framed his face as he leaned closer to get another look at the photos. “She’s pretty. I’m really happy for you, Beomgyu.”

You step through the gates of Jeonju camp, your body aching. It’s been a month since you last saw this place—since you last saw him.

Your clothes are filthy, smeared with dirt and the blood of infected, but none of that matters now. The Doctor is alive, the cure is nearly complete, and your mission is done. You made it.

And then you see him.

Beomgyu is already running toward you, his eyes wide and filled with something that looks like disbelief, like awe, love. You can’t stop the smile that breaks across your face, even as your legs wobble beneath you. You start running too, stumbling at first, but your body pushes through the pain, the rest of the world blurring into nothing.

When you reach him, he doesn’t hesitate. His arms wrap around you tightly, lifting you off the ground. He holds you close. You cling to him, shaking from exhaustion and adrenaline and the overwhelming relief of being home—of being with him.

Everyone stops to watch. In a world so cruel, so damned, there’s something warm in the way two lovers find each other again.

A reminder to believe there’s still something worth fighting for.

"See you soon, and take care of yourself," Soobin leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. You nod, offering a small smile. "You too."

His lips curve into that familiar, reassuring smile as he hoists his backpack over his shoulder. "Y/N, stay safe," Taehyun says, stepping in to wrap you in a firm hug. You nod on his shoulders.

"Let’s have ramyeon soon, yeah?" Yeonjun chimes in, his usual playful grin lighting up his face. Without waiting for a reply, he grabs your face in his hands and plants a kiss on your forehead, mirroring Soobin. "I’ll cook for you," he adds confidently, pulling back but keeping his hands on your cheeks.

You can’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes. "Okay, Mr. Married to Ramyeon." He laughs too, giving your cheeks a playful pat before turning to follow Soobin and Taehyun onto the bus.

For a moment, you just stand there, watching the three of them board.

You turn to see Kai looking down at you, his expression shy. He pulls you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you with surprising strength. "I’ll miss you," he sings softly.

It’s been three months since the doctor arrived at Jeonju camp with you. A month later he was in, and the cure was complete. Those who received the shot stopped being targeted by the infected—it was as if the vaccine turned them invisible. No more running, no more hiding.

After countless tests and trial runs, the results were undeniable: 100% effective. The world is still far from healed. There’s so much to rebuild, so much left to do. But this vaccine—it’s a start.

And now, Hybe is taking them back. Back to the world they belong to. Back to the life they’d almost forgotten was possible.

A warm hand slips into yours, and you glance up to meet Beomgyu’s glassy stare. Your eyes flicker to his neck—your dog tags still hang there, glinting in the light. He holds your hands and lifts them to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to your palms without breaking eye contact.

“I promise to come back to you as soon as I can, okay?” he whispers, "I promise."

You know the truth. You’ll never see him again. This is it.

You already have your orders—a mission overseas to distribute the cure, to spread it where it’s needed most. You don’t know when you’ll be back. Or if you’ll be back. The world finally has a chance, but your worlds were never meant to stay intertwined.

“Okay,” you say softly, forcing a small smile onto your lips. You’ll never wake up to the sound of his soft breaths against your skin again. You’ll never walk through the Daegu home he often described with so much warmth, never see the place where his happiest memories were made. A place he wants to go with you.

He’s an idol—a star shining too brightly for someone like you. A celebrity adored by millions. And you’re a soldier, bound by duty to serve your country. He deserves someone gentle, maybe an idol like him, or someone who fits seamlessly into his world. Someone who isn’t constantly called away to fight battles in far-off places.

It made you happy while it lasted.

This dream—this borrowed time you had.

“I love you,” he says suddenly,, and then he’s kissing you. Once, twice—then a third time, slower. He kisses the tip of your nose, and you smile through the tears that blur your vision. You stare at him, taking in everything—the curve of his lips, the softness in his eyes, the way his hair falls... across his forehead. You try to commit it all to memory. “I love you so much,” he says, voice trembling as he cups your face.

“I love you too,”

YEAR 2030

You find yourself in the kitchen, humming softly as the news plays in the background. The aroma of spices and fresh herbs fills the space. You chop vegetables for tonight’s dinner, the rhythm of the task bringing you peace. You always find yourself great with knives, you suppose.

A smile spreads across your face as you feel it—a pair of hands, warm, gently caressing your stomach. A body presses against your back, and a soft breath grazes the curve of your neck. The scent of him surrounds you, and you don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

When you do turn, you’re met with his smile—the one that lights up his entire face, even as exhaustion lingers in his eyes. He looks like he just got home, probably rushing straight from practice, his hair still slightly damp from the shower. Without a word, he drops to one knee, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his cheek against your growing belly.

“I missed the both of you,” he whispers, voice soft and full of love.

You laugh, your hand moving to his hair, your fingers combing through the soft freshly bleached blonde strands. “I don’t think they can hear you yet, Gyu,” you tease gently, your smile tender. “I’m only five months along.”

He tilts his head up to look at you, his lips forming a playful pout that makes you giggle like you’re both still teenagers. Standing, he cups your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks, wedding band catches the light, whispering of the life you’ve built together. The life you thought was impossible. But he made it—he made it possible.

If he wanted to—he would.

“I don’t care,” he says softly, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. Then your nose. And finally, your lips. His scent, his warmth, the way his heart beats against yours—he's home.

He holds you.

The only sound is the exchanged kisses and the faint murmur of the news on the television.

Following the record-breaking success of TOMORROW X TOGETHER’s latest comeback, member Beomgyu has surprised fans worldwide by releasing his first solo album, The Last Safe Place. The album, deeply supported by MOAs, has already sparked widespread buzz—not only for its musical brilliance but also for the heartfelt inspiration behind it: Beomgyu’s recent marriage.

“This album is a love letter, a reflection of the most meaningful chapter in my life,” Beomgyu shared. “It’s inspired by the warmth, comfort, and love I’ve found in my marriage. I wanted to capture the feeling of having someone to come home to—a place where your heart feels at peace, no matter what chaos the world throws at you.”

THE END.

[kiyof]

oh this was crazy i almost klled myself

zombie!beomgyu, who you never let go of. You were both caught in a mob of walkers, but only one of you made it out human.

contains!! angst, overly attatched y/n, zombies (duh)

not proofread!! soz

Nevertheless, you kept your warm fingers interlinked with his cold ones. He was slow, he had no thought process, just instinct. If you didn't constantly keep a watch on him, he would end up biting you. He was a zombie, after all, but you couldn't let him go.

He didn't speak, only grunting and growling. He stumbled instead of walking. His face never showed emotion, only his half lidded, slow blinking eyes and grey pupils staring into nothing. But he kept his hand in yours. You would reach out, weaving your fingers inbetween his as he returned it. His long, rotten nails digging into your skin. In that moment, your heart would flutter like it was the first time he's ever touched you.

However, this would always end up with you trying to pull him off you. You tightly gripping his wrists as you tried to pry his hands off of your face, the tips of his nails already piercing your skin, trying to get to your brain.

Yes, you did look insane. Sitting at the table for three meals a day, with a rotting body across from you, slumped against the old wooden chair as it barely kept itself up straight.

He was still in there, you had convinced yourself. Studying him for any sort of movement, trying to decipher words from his growls and groans, seeking his body for any sort of warmth during the cold nights, and finding something small. "He blinked more than he usually did" "I swear, he just said y/n!" you convinced yourself, but in the end, you would realize it. Watching the rotting corpse sit across from you, staring at a random spot on the floor as it grumbled lowly, your heart would slowly sink to your stomach, ending up with your crying into his cold chest, forcing his arms to loosely hang around you, craving any sort of his comfort, but in the end, he was only drawn to your organs inside.

So you took it. Maybe this was his way of love, maybe you would finally understand him if you lived like that, too. Maybe there was a way of saying "i love you," and "i' missed you" through different croaks and growls, that you could hear from him again, finally.

You were both eventually shot down. bulletholes through your empty heads as suriviours raided your home, taking food and water, blankets and clothes, leaving you both as worm food, hand in hand.

-----------------------------------------

I LOVE apocalypse au's so BAD oh my god....literally ever since love wins all by iu came out, this concept has had a CHOKEHOLD on me.

I hopr u guys enjoy!!! heh this is my longest post so far and it kind of sucks but CHARACTER DEVELOPEMTN OKAY my writinf WILL improve just let me cook

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT ON MY PREVIOUS POSTS AND THERE IS MORE TO COME!!!!!!!! love u mwah

[kiyof]

i dont even know where to begin. reblogged this particular chapter bc it made me cry btw

obv if you ask who id choose between beomgyu and taehyun, id choose taehyun 100%. who id choose for mc, though? neither. i wish she ended up alone and away from both men.

yn was just sooooooo 😅 just the messiest girl ive ever encountered both in fiction and real life. every single chapter id be laughing nervously going what is she doingg omgg haha LIKEEEE id think i cant defend her anymore and instead of proving me otherwise, she just keeps giving me reasons why i cant defend her anymore!! but yk what im still standing. standing where? right behind her. i may not be able to defend this bitch…but ill watch over her 😁😁😁

yes shes a bit annoying, indecisive, and has no backbone…but im right behind her like i cant help but sympathise bc she grew up with literally nobody on her side (id say the closest she had to someone like that was wy) and yes she might kinda suck but i wanna see her get better i wanna see her be a better person bc i think she truly deserves a chance to grow idt anyone has ever given her that—a chance to actually do anything.

anw yes dont get it twisted like i dont hate her at all, shes my little pookie bear, i wish i could step into the story and tell her to get behind me

You Are My Queen Now | Part 8

Word Count: 22k

Genre: Smut, angst, fluff

Summary: Growing up as a child of a minor lord, you had it instilled in you since a young age that you needed to find yourself a rich and affluent husband that would not only provide a comfortable life for you, but would also help further your family’s position in the court. So it was of the utmost importance that you remain a virgin in order to land such a coveted husband.

The problem lies when the man you secretly love, Prince Beomgyu, suddenly and unabashedly propositions you.

Warnings: extremely unhealthy relationship dynamics, mentions of past noncon and justifications of it, really fucked up characters, rough sex, edging again, fingering, GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF CHARACTER DEATH, mentions of fucked up family trauma

A/N: Check out the playlist for the fic as well as the wonderful pinterest boards my lovely ♡ anon made for the fic. They’ll really help put you in the mood. 

For this particular chapter, the theme songs are Lover, Please Stay by Nothing But Thieves for tyun and Forgiven by Within Temptation

You spend hours thinking it over, approaching it from every possible angle you can think of, but you can’t seem to get any closer to the truth.

If Taehyun is right and you go back to Beomgyu, then you’d just make it all the more easier for him to attack Taehyun, claiming that he rescued you and you corroborated the killers’ stories.

If Taehyun is right and you stay, then Beomgyu will either attack anyway or he’d figure out another way to get you. Like Wonyoung said, he has already crossed the line. He’s not going to back down now.

If Kai and Wonyoung are right and you go back to Beomgyu then you would prevent a war from breaking out, but you will have undone everything you’ve built for yourself here. You’ll go back to being Beomgyu’s whore and he will probably be even more controlling than ever because of your successful escape attempt. He’d never let you go anywhere or do anything. He’d be open about his obsessive ways now that his father is gone–something that you had always wished for but never realized how detrimental it would be to you. You’d be leaving Taehyun behind to hate and despise you. Or even worse, knowing him, he might just launch a war against Beomgyu because you’re his wife and he can’t let the fact that Beomgyu is committing such a huge crime go.

Would that be the only reason he would go after you?

Keep reading

[kiyof]

chemistry was On Point!! lighthearted and easy read, but of course it did not read like a 7th grade creative writing homework submission. it was fun all the way and id say this is a good example of a common theme/plot(?) with stellar execution. i think its p hard to write how two people can grow to be best friends (since they were technically genuinely best friends first before becoming lovers), but i was able to genuinely believe the process in which they became friends first then became lovers!!! CONCLUSION: I LIKE THIS STORY!

HOW TO GET THE GIRL

lee chaeryeong is the most sought after girl in your school. everyone has fallen victim to her charms, including choi beomgyu and it is no surprise that he wants to try and win her over. what is a surprise is that he came to you for help considering that one: you have never spoken to him in your life, and two: you have no connection to chaeryeong at all. well, except for your beginners music composition class.

PAIRING. choi beomgyu x fem reader

GENRE. college au, strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, light angst

WARNINGS. swearing, lots of food mentions, y/n is a grump lol, two small mention of a creepy teacher, making out/kissing, drinking, social anxiety but it’s not presented that way?

FEATURING. chaeryeong + yeji (itzy), taehyun + hueningkai (txt), rina (weki meki), keeho + theo (p1harmony), jay (enhypen) mentioned

WORD COUNT. 21k (it was never supposed to be like this...)

AN. here she is! finally! i have been working on this for a while now and its done! this fic was beating my ass but look who came out on top. ty to my stink stink @hyukaas for her help. now i am going to go curl into a ball and sleep for 600 years, hope this was worth the wait

TAGLIST. @junniesavidreader @pr0dbeomgyu @rainy-cobbled-streets @laviendove @imyuna-06 @xiaoting999 @hellevatormoa @yyx2 @soobin-choi @xysthe @hyukaas @tsupuffs @yjwfav @ren-chib @mykalon @junityy @iyeonjuni @fairybinie @fallingforhoon @hanlvkes (fill out this form to be added to my permanent taglist)

On days like these you wonder seriously why you would ever choose Music Composition as class. You want to blame it on the fact that you must not have been in your right mind, or that you must have been really drunk when you made that decision, but alas. When you selected the class you were completely aware of your actions.

After dropping out of a Design class you were taking for extra credit due to a creepy professor (who has now been kicked out), you needed another subject to replace it. And Music Composition seemed like the easiest one out of the options. It was not.

Your class had written a test two weeks prior and your teacher was finally giving out the papers for you to check your marks. You watch with dread as one by one students make their way to the front of class to view their tests, waiting for your name to be called. Ms Kwon liked to call everyone up to her desk when giving out tests so she could discuss where you went wrong without the whole class hearing. A small mercy, you think.

You have your arm lying flat on your desk, your head resting on top of it. You find yourself wishing that the fire alarm could go off so you could leave the class before you see just how badly you failed this test. Maybe an earthquake could strike right under your seat and you would be put out of your misery.

Too caught up by the pity party you were having for yourself, you almost didn’t notice the door opening and a boy walking in. He was tall—like tall enough that you would have to crane your neck to look him in the eye. His hair was dark and long, brushing the back of his neck and it looked good, you’ll admit. If only he’d style it instead of letting it lay flat on his head.

The boy walks right up to your teacher’s desk just when she finishes up with a student, grinning cheerfully. He wasn’t in your class, you observe. You don’t know most of your classmates very well but you think you would at least remember him.

He stays by Ms Kwon’s side making casual conversation about whatever and that gets you curious. Who is this guy? When he is not talking with your teacher, he is staring off somewhere in the class and you can’t find it in you to find out what he’s looking at.

“Y/N.” Your head snaps up at the sound of your teacher calling you, eyes wide. It was your turn already?

Taking a breath, you slowly stand up from your seat. You try your hardest to calm your racing heart. Even though you know the mark you are going to see (a big fat fail), you still hated the look you knew would be on Ms Kwon’s face.

Once at her desk, she looks up at you with a slight frown on her face and disappointment pools in your chest. She shows you your paper and you have to swallow a lump in your throat. This was probably the worst you had ever done.

“Thanks, Miss,” you mumble. You lift your head up to find the boy regarding you with a calculating look. Great. Now someone you don’t even know knew how badly you were doing in this dumb class.

You shoot him a glare before turning back to go sit down. The rest of the lesson is spent contemplating whether you should just drop the class and save yourself the suffering. The boy never leaves your teacher’s side.

When the bell rings you waste no time in rushing out of the class, ending up being one of the first ones to leave despite sitting near the back. You had plans to continue wallowing in your dorm and hopefully your roommate Rina would still be in class so you can have the space to yourself.

Your plans are unfortunately interrupted by someone yelling from behind you.

“Hey! Wait up!”

It takes a moment for you to realise that they were talking to you and that was only because they appeared right next to you. And it’s the boy from the class. Absolutely not.

You pick up your pace.

The boy keeps walking alongside you. “Y/N, right?” he asks even though you both know he knows that’s your name.

“No,” you say anyway.

He is undeterred. “I’m Choi Beomgyu.”

“So what?”

“I have an offer for you.” It’s then that you accept the fact that no matter how much faster you try to walk, you will never lose him. Stupid boys with stupid long legs.

Slowing down to walk at your normal pace, you let out an exasperated sigh. “We don’t even know each other.”

“That’s true,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck in a manner that makes him look so boyish. “But I was thinking we could help each other out?”

You quirk an eyebrow. “And how exactly could you help me?”

“I could tutor you. In Music Comp.”

You don’t even bother holding back a scoff. So what, he sees your one bad mark and thinks you need help? “What do you even know about Music Composition?”

He shrugs easily and you feel his shoulder brush against yours. He was really close. You step to side slightly and he doesn’t notice. “It’s my major.”

That makes you stop in your tracks and rethink whatever smart comeback you had. You aren’t sure you believe him but it would explain why he was so comfortable walking into an in session class and just talking to Ms Kwon. If he is telling the truth, maybe he could help you. Despite being terrible at it, you know that you weren’t just going to drop the class. (It was too late to anyways.)

“Say I agree,” you start crossing your arms. “What do I have to help you with?”

For the first time since you started talking, Beomgyu looks shy. He takes a moment before answering. “Um, help me get Chaeryeong to date me?”

Oh, he cannot be serious.

“You cannot be serious.”

You immediately start walking again and start trying to lose Beomgyu in the crowd, not caring if he’s following you. Which he was, but whatever. Because you don’t care.

It’s not even like you’re surprised that he has a crush on Chaeryeong—literally everybody does. You’d be more surprised if he didn’t. And many people have tried valiantly to get the attention of the most popular girl in school, but to no avail. What was really making you speedwalk your way away from the boy is the fact that he thought that you would be any help in being the one successful guy who manages to steal Chaeryeong’s heart.

It was an impossible ask and what’s worse, it wasn’t even a fair trade. I will help you not fail and in exchange you help snag the most unattainable girl in existence? Yeah, there was no way you were doing that.

But Beomgyu was persistent and remained chasing after you and weaving through students to reach you.

“Y/N—Wait!” when he catches up, he moves to stand in front of you, blocking you from moving. You sigh and roll your eyes “Just hear me out for a second.”

You don’t respond and he takes it as a go ahead. “Look, okay, I know it’s sudden but I really like her okay.”

“Yeah, and so does half of Seoul,” you scoff.

“That’s where you come in! You help me by, I don’t know, making me stand out from the other people trying to get her attention.”

He sounds so earnest it annoys you. His plan had so many holes in it and once again came the issue of why is he bothering with you. “But why do I come in? I don’t even know her!”

Beomgyu shuffles his feet. “Well, you’re in the same Comp class.”

Oh my god, you think. That’s who he was staring at.

Chaeryeong sits in the middle of the class with her one friend Keeho, you think his name is. You have never spoken to her or interacted, save for the times when she hands out worksheets.

In your opinion, in no way does this qualify you to be some kind of wingman for a boy you just met.

“Sorry man, thanks for the offer, but I can’t help you.” You sidestep around him and walk away, and this time, he lets you.

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The next day you are feeling a little better about yourself. You managed to burrow yourself under blankets on your couch, and even though Rina was home, she made a whole bunch of popcorn for the two of you and put on old historical dramas.

Ms Kwon is standing at the front of the desk, arms crossed, when the lesson starts. “So, after showing you all your marks yesterday, I have decided that it would be best for you to have a rewrite next week.”

Your eyes widen in surprise as gasps and cheers erupt in cheers. Even Chaeryeong seems pleased by this news. Rewrites were hardly ever granted in this class, the first and last one being in your first year. The class had to have done really bad on the last test for your teacher to even consider it.

The older woman waves her arms around to get you all to quiet down. You, however, are too stunned to speak.

“Don’t just take this as me being nice, okay? You actually have to use this opportunity to do better. Got it?” A chorus of “yes” went out as you all answered. Even though Ms Kwon was addressing the whole class, it felt like that last part was specifically for you.

In that moment you make up your mind to study harder than you ever have for this makeup test. Even if you didn’t get an A, you at least wanted to raise your mark.

Except.

You had tried all that. That was literally what you had done for the last test. There was just something about this subject that did not make sense to you no matter how much you tried to understand it.

If you wanted to do well on this test, you’d need help. So like, fuck you.

At the end of the lesson you make your way to Ms Kwon’s desk. “Miss?” you ask, and she looks up from her work to regard you with a curious look.

You watch as Chaeryeong laughs leaving the class with Keeho in tow and and let out a long suffering sigh. I can’t believe I’m doing this. “That boy that was here yesterday? Choi Beomgyu? Where can I find him?”

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The answer was in the Music room. There were two main music classrooms at your school—one for where the lessons take place and the other for students’ personal study. You had never been in either class before because despite taking the Composition class, it was the only music related subject you did.

Ms Kwon’s class was the only one you ever went to in the Music block.

The Students Music room is one of the classrooms at the far end of the block. It was the last room on the right and you had to pass a bunch of other small rooms where students were either recording music or just sitting around.

The door to class was open and you caught sight of Beomgyu before you even entered the room. His back was to you, but you would know that long head of hair anywhere.

You don’t bother with knocking. “Choi Beomgyu,” you say as you walk into the class and march right up to him. He turns around, eyes wide, and a guitar hanging around his body. Huh. You didn’t know he played.

He is not alone, you notice belatedly. There is a boy sitting at a drumkit and another standing by the wall. Whatever. You were not going to be deterred.

“Uh, hi?” That boyish look is back as he scratches his neck. Standing right in front of him, you can see just how tall he is. You do, in fact, have to lift your head up slightly to be able to look at him properly and that in and of itself is…an experience, to say the least.

The overhead lighting casts a harsh yellow glow on Beomgyu’s face, and it should make anyone look unappealing but somehow he looks good. It takes everything in you not to stare.

“You have one week.”

He tilts head to the side and furrows his eyebrows. It is such a simple yet endearing action and you have to monetarily cast your gaze somewhere else. “One week for what?”

“To help me get an okay mark on my make-up test that’s next week.”

“Wait. Does that mean youʼll help me?” The way he perks up is reminiscent of a puppy and you have to roll your eyes at his incessant want to get with Chaeryeong.

The other two boys were watching the both of you intently and trying very badly to be discreet about it. You wonder if these are his friends, if they know about his insane plan. If they tried to talk him out of it. Doesn’t matter, really. Because even if they did, it clearly didn’t work.

“Only if I get a good mark on that paper. Or, at least better than what I would have gotten if I was alone.” You made sure to stress the ‘if’ because the way you saw it, this way you could potentially raise your grade but if that didn’t happen, you wouldn’t have to do anything for this boy.

A fool proof plan.

(Unless, of course, Beomgyu actually does end up being a big help and you have no choice but to fulfill your end of the deal. But, you’ll cross that bridge when you get there.)

Beomgyu grins at you and nods. “Okay, deal. Prepare to get an A.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. We start tomorrow at your place. Send me your address.” With that, you turn on your heel with every intention of going back to your room before your next class.

“I donʼt have your number!” Beomgyu yells after you as you continue on your way.

“I’ll find your Instagram!” you shout back in a dismissive way. Besides, you don’t see a point in giving him your number when there is a chance that after this week is done the two of you will never speak again.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You do, in fact, find his Instagram. It’s something simple—really just his name and a couple couple numbers at the end. All you had to do was sift through the countless Choi Beomgyus on the Internet and narrow it down to all the twenty-somethings with HYBE University in their location.

You felt like a spy by the end of it.

@ ynln: address

@ choibeomgyu01: woah by me dinner first ;)

@ ynln: chaeryeong will never love you

@ choibeomgyu01: WOAAAHH CALM DOWN ILL SEND IT

@ ynln: see you :)

At 8am, you are standing outside Beomgyu’s door with your bag slung across your back and a muffin and coffee in your hands. Before you knock on the door, you roll your shoulders back and try to rid yourself of any doubt.

This has to be some kind of violation of the Girl Code, or something. It is for the greater good, you tell yourself. The greater good of your grades. Chaeryeong was nice, she’d forgive you, right? In fact, if you do successfully help get them together, she would have to thank you, really.

With that, you raise your free hand and rap your knuckles against the door. A moment passes and you think that Beomgyu isn’t even awake. You roll your eyes before you hear the lock click.

There in front of you is Beomgyu, looking like he just rolled out of bed. His long hair sits ruffled on his head, sleep shirt slipping off his shoulder revealing the soft looking, cream skin that otherwise would have been covered. You force yourself to tear your eyes back to his face. You barely suppress a groan when you see he is still wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“You’re early,” he says around a yawn.

“No, we didn’t agree on a time, so technically, I’m right on time.”

He doesn’t fight you, just yawns again and moves away from the door into his dorm. You follow him wordlessly and he leads you to a table in the living room. He drops his body onto his couch with a loud groan that is muffled by the cushions.

You barely pay him any mind as you give yourself the okay to look around his place. It’s smaller than yours, you notice immediately and you wonder if that’s because he lives here alone. It was clean enough, you supposed. For a house solely lived in by a twenty-something year old college boy, there was a surprising lack of dirty laundry and empty food containers.

There is, however, an abundance of music sheets and guitar picks and photo frames and Polaroids. Pictures of him and who you think are his friends are sitting on the TV stand, on display for anyone to see.

Except you don’t, because your tutor is currently asleep and you want to finish as soon as possible. Putting your breakfast on the table in front of the couch, you kick Beomgyu’s leg to get him to get up. He groans indignantly, but complies anyway. When he catches sight of your food, he sends a pout in your direction.

“Where’s mine?”

Your eyebrow raises on its own accord. “Your what?”

“My food. I think if I’m going to be waking up everyday at 8 in the morning helping you, I deserve breakfast.”

Rolling your eyes you shrug. “I didn’t know what you wanted.”

“Literally anything. I can eat anything.”

“I will keep that in mind.” You suppose it’s the least you can do. An extra muffin from the dining hall wouldn’t kill you. He makes no move to get started and you have never been tutored before so you don’t know what the procedure is. “Are we going to start, or…?”

That seems to spur him into action. “Oh, right. You can put your books on the table, I’ll grab my notes.”

You nod and watch as he disappears into his room. Your eyes stray back to the photos and before you know it, you have a frame in your hand.

It’s a picture of Beomgyu with those two other boys you saw in the Music room. They were at a beach, the ocean behind them as they smiled at the camera. They look like they were having fun, and glancing at the other photos, it seems like their together often. You wonder belatedly why he doesn’t ask them for help, and instead come to a stranger for this.

There’s a longing in your chest as you continue looking. Your only friend here is your roommate, and you and Rina aren’t close enough to take photos whenever you are together.

You wouldn’t say you were lonely, no, in fact, you loved the time you got to spend by yourself. But this just served as a reminder of what you were missing.

“Oh-kay, let’s go!” You don’t notice Beomgyu coming back into the room until he is yelling from behind you.

You turn away from the pictures with a grimace. “Are you always this loud in the morning?”

He shrugs, putting his books down. “Trying to wake myself up. Where do you want to start?”

You wonder briefly if saying The beginning would be too much for a first session before settling on, “The test we’re writing is on music theory and all that, so there, I guess.”

Beomgyu nods and holds out a cushion for you to take, flipping through pages in his notes. You accept it and place it on the floor before sitting on it and getting out your notes. You notice immediately the difference between you and Beomgyu.

For one, he actually had notes.

Like, they weren’t organised by any means and most of them made no sense to you, but, well. He has stuff written. You, however, have Theory written at the top of the page and probably only ten lines of notes.

A bit embarrassing.

When Beomgyu notices this, you see his whole body physically deflate. “Oh.”

You feel yourself getting sheepish. “Sorry. If it’s too much, or whatever, you don’t have to—”

“No!” He is quick to interrupt and you are starting to think that maybe he really is this loud in the morning. “It’s cool, really, don’t worry.”

Wow, he must really be serious about this Chaeryeong thing if he’s still willing to help you when you know virtually nothing. You nod your head slowly with a tight smile. “Okay. Yeah, okay.”

Pulling his notebook towards you, he goes over definitions and symbols with you from across the table. You think that reading upside down must be hard for him but he expresses no discomfort. He hardly looks down at the book at all, seeming to have all the information in his head anyway.

And you get it. Kind of. It’s a lot to expect to understand everything after only an hour or so, but it’s working. You don’t know what Beomgyu is doing differently to Ms Kwon, but you are not complaining.

“Does that make sense?” Beomgyu looks up at you and you’re struck with how earnest he seems. Like he really wants you to get this. Like he wants to be of help to you.

And maybe it’s just so he can get help with Chaeryeong, but you’re fine with that. At least he cares a lot.

You nod sincerely. “Yeah, it does.” He lets out a sigh of relief that’s oddly endearing and grins. Your phone alarm that you swt reminding you to leave for your first class goes off then and you begin packing your things up.

“Well, I’ve got a class soon so I’ve got to go, but. Thanks.” You stand up from your spot on the floor, and Beomgyu joins you, nodding, as you walk to the front door.

Beomgyu smiles that boyish grin as he opens the door for you. “You’re welcome. Tomorrow?”

Despite your hesitancy, you nod curtly. “Tomorrow.” And you turn around and leave to head to your class.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The rest of the week goes a little like this:

You wake up, go to the dining hall and get a muffin and coffee for yourself, and a coffee and cookie or a muffin or sandwich for Beomgyu. He meant it when he said he could eat everything. Well, almost everything. You had bought him a sandwich that he looked really excited to eat but once he took a bite, his face twisted in disgust. Apparently the only food that he can’t eat is tomato and after rolling your eyes at his dramatics, you swap your muffin for the bacon, cheese and tomato sandwich. He may be a baby, but you're not a monster.

Beomgyu teaches you with his notes and you try to pay attention enough to take down your own. You get caught a couple times doodling faces instead of music notes and he tries to pull a disappointed teacher look, but you can’t really take him seriously when he’s sitting on a Lightning McQueen pillow.

One time, you actually doodled what was supposed to be him and he couldn’t even try to be upset because he thought it looked just like him, he couldn’t stop gushing.

The session ends and you take your new notes back home with you to go over again. It works well.

(Not included, but worth noting, you getting distracted every time Beomgyu answers the door with his shirt slipping off his shoulder. You might not like him, but you’re not stupid.)

You still haven’t exchanged numbers though, because as well as tutoring has been going, you haven’t written the test. And that is, like, the test of time, basically, for if you will be spending more time together.

On the day of the test, Beomgyu walks with you to your class. Next to you, he seems more nervous than you. He’s constantly wringing his hands out and muttering little nothings under his breath.

It’s annoying. Endearing, but annoying.

“You know I’m the one writing the test, not you?” you say after you’ve just about had enough.

He gets the hint and lets out a sigh. “I know, it’s just—I have a lot riding on this, too, you know?”

You wave your hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, I will try and do my best so we can see if you will end up with my help. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna, like, flunk on purpose.” Which, honestly, you had thought of doing. Multiple times.

It seems to put him at ease, though. He takes a breath and when the two of you stop in front of your class, he pulls you into a hug. You can’t help the grunt you let out at the sudden contact.

“What are you doing?” you ask, arms hanging limply at your sides. As confused as you are, you can’t help the heat that rushes to your face.

“Wishing you good luck. This is a good luck hug,” he informs you speaking into your hair.

“Right…” you drawl. You can’t help but think about how weird this is. “You can let me go now.”

He finally does and pats your shoulder once for good measure as well. Beomgyu shoots you what is supposed to be an encouraging smile before walking away with two thumbs up shooted at you. You opt for just nodding, before walking into the class in a half confused daze.

Whatever that was, you think, when you get to your desk. Beomgyu, you decide, is a very strange boy.

Ms Kwon enters the class not shortly after. She greets everyone then gets right down to business by giving out the tests.

When she tells you can start, you push all thoughts of stupid boys and stupid hugs out of your mind and focus only on the test in front of you and what you covered the past week. And, well. It goes well. You have the answers to most of the questions and while you know you don’t get everything right, you at least know why and what you forgot.

The next hour and a half passes by in a flash, and the next thing you know you are handing in your test. Leaving the music block, you feel like skipping. You have never felt this confident after a Music Comp test before, you could sing. Like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

Chaeryeong comes out, too, just a moment later and shoots you a smile. You politely return it then make your way back to your dorm as fast as you can. If you really did as good as you think you did, then you would be seeing lot of the other girl—seeing a lot of Beomgyu—which is something you are going to have to get used to.

Maybe failing wouldn’t be so bad?

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Well. You passed.

Like, you got a D. The highest mark you have ever gotten in the class. Ms Kwon even smiled at you when she showed you your paper (“I don’t know what you did, but keep doing it”). And, well, not like you have a choice.

Beomgyu is waiting for you outside the class, rocking on the heels of his feet, when your class lets out. You are surprised to see him there. And you let that be known. “What are you doing here?” you ask, stopping in front of him with a deadpan expression.

The boy just shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant even though you can tell he is waiting for you to tell him how it went. “I wanted to know how you did.” There it is.

You hum noncommittally, turning to make your way out of the Music block and Beomgyu follows. “And what if I did terribly; you would have come all this way for nothing.”

He blanches. “Did you?”

You shrug. “I got a D.” You turn to see Beomgyu’s reaction only to find that he’s stopped in his tracks. “What?” you ask, turning to face him fully.

“Oh.” He looks crestfallen, and that doesn’t make sense to you. “So I guess I didn’t help much, then, huh?” Beomgyu scratches the back of his neck

You fix him with a deadpan stare. “What are you talking about? I did good. You should be, like, jumping for joy right now.”

“A D is…good?” You figure that since he is so good at the subject, he probably can’t wrap his head around you being happy about your grade.

“For me, at least. So stop looking like I kicked your dog, or something.” Turning on your heel, you continue your way across the quad. You don’t look to see, but you can tell Beomgyu is chasing after you.

“Parrot, actually. I have a pet parrot,” he says, falling into step with you. It takes you a moment to realise what he’s talking about.

“The phrase doesn’t go like that.”

“Just letting you know,” he says with a cheeky grin. You roll your eyes. “So,” Beomgyu starts, with a mischievous glint in his eye, “what I’m hearing is you are officially a part of Operation: Woo Chaeryeong.” He holds his arms out at his sides and proceeds to do obnoxious jazz hands.

You barely suppress a groan at his dramatics. God, you hope you don’t regret this. “We need a new name. And a plan.”

Which is how you found yourself here:

“Okay, first things first, new plan name,” you say, putting a piece of paper on the table between the two of you. The two of you are at the on campus café that you have never actually visited before. It was Beomgyu’s idea, apparently they have the best coffee at HYBE.

Beomgyu ordered for you—your standard coffee and muffin, and a slice of cake you didn’t ask for but just trust me on this—because the reason you don’t visit new café’s all that often is because you don’t like ordering for yourself. You find it awkward and anxiety inducing, and oh god what if you don’t like it? Of course you don’t tell Beomgyu this. Instead you tell him it would make sense because he’s been here before so he’d know what’s good.

He cracks his knuckles and nods. “Right, right. So I’ve been thinking and how about ‘Make Chaeryeong Fall in Love With Me’?” Beomgyu actually looks pleased with himself, like that isn’t the worst name for, well, anything. You stare. “Think about it! It’s simple and straight to the point!”

“Yeah, and sucks,” you deadpan. You bring the page closer to you with a sigh, realising that you are going to have to do everything yourself. Grabbing one of the pens Beomgyu brought, you write something at the top of the page. You take a moment to admire your work before you show the boy.

How to Get the Girl: A 5 Step, Foolproof Plan by Y/N

Beomgyu pouts. “Why is your name the only one written?”

“Because, if it was a plan by you, it wouldn’t be foolproof,” you say easily and he scowls.

“It’s boring but I suppose it’ll do.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, step one should be—”

“Here you guys go.” You are interrupted by your waiter bringing you your food.

You mumble out a “thanks” through pursed lips, awkward as ever, while the boy across from you smiles brightly as he accepts the food.

You waiter grins back at Beomgyu but shoots you a glare when she turns to you, that you have no problem returning.

When she walks away, you turn back to your page. “You’re a grouch,” Beomgyu says matter-of-factly.

“Am not.”

“Are to,” he shoots back childishly. “Would it have killed you to be nice?”

“That was me being nice,” you say, a little indignant. It’s not your fault that girl thought you were rude. You were saying thank you!

He levels you with a stare, before raising his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, fine Little Miss Sunshine—” you feel like throwing your spoon at him— “what’s your master plan.”

“The first step—Get her to notice you.”

Beomgyu hums, sipping his own coffee. “I can manage that.”

“Uh-huh, because I’m here for fun?” He opens his mouth to retort, before seemingly remembering why he asked for your help in the first place and he deflates in his seat. “Thought so,” you say with a smirk. He sticks his tongue out at you.

“We need to come up with a list of things about you that can get her attention. What you got?”

He ponders this for a moment. “Well, for starters, I’m tall.”

“Uh-huh,” you drawl, writing it down. It’s not like he’s wrong.

“I’m good looking.”

“Right.”

“And I’m charming,” he adds with a wink. Your pen stills and he notices. “Why aren’t you writing that down?”

“Ooh, I just donʼt know how true it is.”

“Oh, you don’t know how true that is,” he repeats, twisting his face and putting on a high pitched voice, supposed to be resembling you.

“I don’t sound like that.” Beomgyu just responds with an angry bite of your muffin. Ignoring him, you continue. “Second, enter her space. Eat where she eats, find mutual friends, stuff like that.”

“Sounds stalkerish.”

“You’re stalkerish.”

“What are you even saying?”

You sigh. “Okay, so it needs a little rewording, whatever. You just have to show her that you’re, you know, available. That you have stuff in common. Get her to want to hang out with you personally. Which brings us to step three. Hang out with her.”

“Like dates?” he asks with a tilt of the head.

“Yeah, but don’t call them that. You’re just two new friends getting to know each other.”

“Like us,” he teases, with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

You don’t even crack a smile. “As if,” you scoff. Beomgyu just grins. “The fourth step is asking her on a real date. And then, step five, ask her to be your girlfriend. That is, if you get that far.”

“Hey!” he yells indignantly. “Have some faith in me!”

You snatch your muffin back from him and take your first bite. “We’ll see how well you do on the first two steps and I might change my mind.”

“I can live with that.” He brings the plate of cake closer to him. “We should, like, ask each other questions,” Beomgyu says around his piece of cake.

You barely hold back a long suffering sigh. “Why?”

He just shrugs, a trait you have grown to find increasingly annoying. Does he not have any other way to express himself? “To get to know each other.”

“I already know plenty about you; you are tall, good-looking and not as charming as you think you are.”

“How sweet,” he deadpans and you give him a tight smile. “Come on, it’ll be fun! Look—I’ll go first.” You raise a single eyebrow at that. You can tell he pretends to think about his question for a moment because not even five seconds later, “Okay, why are you doing Music Comp anyways?”

At first, you pretend not to hear him, taking your first sip of your coffee. And it’s really good. Like, you probably can’t drink from the dining hall anymore. But Beomgyu just stares at you, waiting for you to answer. You sigh, realising that there’s no getting out of this. “Do you know Mr Seo? From last year?”

“The creepy, predator design teacher that got caught trying to get with a freshman?” Huh. His reputation precedes you. You nod your confirmation and Beomgyu hums. “It was hot gossip for, like, a good two weeks.”

“Yeah, well, he was my design teacher.”

Beomgyu’s eyes widen. “No way. He didn’t, like, you know?”

“Oh no, not me,” you’re quick to clarify. Beomgyu looks relieved to hear that. “I just didn’t want to be there anymore and Music Composition sounded easy enough. I was sorely mistaken, though.”

“Huh. Well, it’s your turn.”

You sip your coffee. “To do what?”

“Ask me a question.”

You bite back the snarky What makes you think I want to know anything else about you? that’s threatening to fall from your lips, because you do have something you want to know. “Why did you hug me? When I was writing my test?”

You weren’t used to people hugging you, and certainly not people you had known for only a week. It was unnerving how quick it took for Beomgyu to initiate that contact. You didn’t even think you were that agreeable of a person—that barista certainly didn’t even though that’s just your face.

Beomgyu doesn’t seem to understand your turmoil or confusion. He just shrugs and replies easily, “For good luck.”

“Yeah, but why.”

“I donʼt know, I hug a lot of people. I’m a tactile person, Y/N.”

“And that’s why you’re trying to play footsie with me right now?” He had been knocking his foot against your leg since the moment you sat down.

Beomgyu has the decency to blush, even though he doesn’t stop. The tips of his ears turn red but he tries to play it off with a shrug. He’s so annoying. “It’s an instinct.” You hum. You suppose it is, the same way frowning and grumbling about everything is yours. (Maybe you are a grouch.) “I can stop if you want. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

“It’s whatever,” you say, waving him off. “Your turn.” Beomgyu seems to be able to tell that your nonchalance is a front, that it’s not that you don’t care what he does, you don’t mind. And that you are giving him permission for if he ever wants to do it again.

He doesn’t mention it though. Just smiles knowingly and nods. “Eat the cake.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s not a question,” you note.

He just shrugs. “I’m saving it. For later. Right now, I want you to taste the cake I spent my hard earned money on buying for you.” He throws in a pout for good measure and you roll your eyes.

Whatever, you think, one bite of cake won’t kill you. And so far the coffee and the muffin had both been good, so who’s to say this won’t be too? Except, you don’t have one bite. You finish the whole thing without even stopping to look up from the plate. It shouldn’t be possible but every single thing you’ve tried from this place has been incredible. You hate to admit it—really, really hate to admit it—but Beomgyu was right.

Beomgyu is smirking at you, as though he can read your mind. “Was it good?” he teases.

“Shut up,” you say with no real bite to it.

He just laughs good-naturedly. “So, how do we start step one?”

You think for a moment. Interlocking your fingers and resting your chin on them, you study Beomgyu closely. He shifts under your gaze, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck nervously. Then it hits you.

“We need to fix your hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” He furrows his eyebrows, clearly confused.

“It’s plain, it’s boring and while it is a cool cut, it doesn’t look good because you don’t style it. So. We have to fix it.”

Beomgyu sighs, giving in. “Fix it how?” It surprises you how easily he’s going along with what you’re suggesting. You expected more fights, more disagreements, but so far, Beomgyu has just been oddly compliant.

“How do you feel about hair dye?”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

STEP 1: GET HER TO NOTICE YOU

STEP 1B: CHANGE YOUR HAIR

BG’S NOTE: BLONDE PREFERABLY!!

Y/N’S NOTE: SHUT UP, YOU WILL DO WHATEVER COLOUR I GET

The hair dye is not blonde. You aren’t a monster, of course you tried to look for some, but apparently everyone on campus had the same idea as you and it was sold out at the store. So you settled for the next best thing—white.

Beomgyu was not amused.

“No.”

Standing in the middle of his living room, you are showing off the hair dye you just bought with pride. “Oh come on, think of it as, like, platinum blonde. It’s the same thing!”

He looks affronted. “No, it’s not! My one clause was that it had to be blonde!”

“And mine was that you would suck it up! I tried getting blonde but there wasn’t any. So, you know, this is the best we’ve got.” You cross your arms across your chest with finality.

You kind of feel bad, because if someone had walked into your house and demanded to dye your hair white, you would have kicked them out immediately. You can understand his apprehension, and honestly, you’re a bit nervous, too. You can’t show it though, obviously. If you look confident, it might ease Beomgyu.

You expect him to put up more of a fight, to tell you that there is no way he is letting you dye his hair white. But…he just sighs, walks into his bathroom and sits on the chair he placed in there, levelling you with a stare.

“Do not ruin my hair.”

Beomgyu had everything you would need for the hair dying process ready for you in the bathroom. A pair of gloves on the counter, a chair in front of the bath and a towel draped over the back of it. You enter the bathroom after him, placing the hair dye next to the gloves and get out your phone. You take your place behind him, him finally being shorter than you making you more excited than it should.

“Okay,” you say, rubbing your hands together, “let’s do this.”

Beomgyu’s hair, you learn, is really soft. You haven’t started doing anything, the gloves still on the counter behind you, but you were curious. Wanted to know what it felt like. Carding your fingers through the strands, you enjoy the feeling of the silky locks slipping through your fingers, a bit ticklish. Beomgyu sits still in his chair. He doesn’t say anything, barely even moves. The only indication you have that he hasn’t somehow passed out is the steady rise and fall of his chest. When you tug a little too hard, the boy lets out a sound from below you.

“Sorry,” you say, face flushing, even though he can’t see you.

“It’s fine.” His voice sounds strangely hoarse. “Didn’t hurt.”

You nod. “Okay.” It takes a lot to remove your hands from his hair, but you do and grab the gloves from behind you and put them on.

He clears his throat. “You have done this before, right?”

Well.

The short answer is no. You have never dyed anyone’s hair before, not even your own. You have no idea how this is going to turn out.

The long answer is well, technically. Your conditioner was nearing empty and needed to be replaced. Now, you hadn’t known that what you thought was a refill packet of the conditioner was actually blue hair dye until Rina came out of the bathroom looking murderous, but. That had to count for something, right?

The answer you settle on is, “Yeah. Sort of.”

Beomgyu whirls his head around to face you. “What do you mean ‘sort of’?” he questions, eyes blown wide.

You wave off his concern with a dismissive hand. “Relax, would you? I have a tutorial so if it goes wrong you can blame jaydoesstuff on YouTube. He calls this look ‘Rock Chic’.”

“Oh my god.”

“What happened to having faith, huh?” you ask, barely paying attention to him anymore as you press play on the tutorial. Jay welcomes you to his channel and you fast forward through the sponsorship bit (which takes almost two minutes, god) until he actually starts with the tutorial.

“You are probably the most cynical person I know.”

You let out a snort involuntarily. “That’s fair.” You shake the dye bottle over his head, watching as it drips over his hair. Google says you should mix the dye in a bowl but jaydoesstuff only has the bottle, a brush and hope.

The rest of the process passes by without incident. You let it set for ten minutes and in that time you and Beomgyu watch other YouTube videos from the Jay guy and find out that he goes to your school. What a small world. When the timer goes off, you rinse out the dye in the sink while Beomgyu whines from under the tap that water is getting into his eyes.

You let him dry his hair with the towel on his own, and take to throwing your dirty gloves away and cleaning up any mess on the counter.

“How does it look?” Beomgyu asks when his hair is mostly dry. He’s staring at you with wide eyes, wringing the towel nervously.

You can’t help teasing. “Well. I want to give a zero, but that is not possible. So I give you a one.”

He just stares at you. For a moment you think he didn’t get your reference, then, “Okay, Tyra,” he says with a scoff.

Your mouth quirks upwards. “You watch America’s Next Top Model?”

He shrugs. “I’ve seen clips.”

“It’s fun. Trashy reality TV is a good stress reliever.”

“Maybe. But seriously….Does it look okay?”

This time, you take your time looking at him. Again, you’re astounded by how he can continue to look so good under the crappy light of the bathroom. The harsh yellow casts an almost golden glow across his face. You trail your eyes up to his hair, to take in his whole face with his new look and, well. You did a good job. It’s not professional by any means, but it’s not awful and the white highlights actually suit him.

Your eyes find his only to realise that he’s been looking at you this entire time. That he could have looked in a mirror and come to his own conclusion, but he hasn’t.

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “It looks good.”

To test if the first phase of step one works, Beomgyu is going to pick you up from your Music Comp class. Hopefully, Chaeryeong sees him and is so wowed by his beauty, she falls instantly in love with him and kisses him in the middle of the hallway. Which, of course, is not your expectation, but Beomgyu has been talking about it for days and it has kind of bled into your subconscious.

You take your time packing up when Ms Kwon dismisses the class, trying to time your leaving with Chaeryeong who's messing around with Keeho.

When you see that she’s about to leave, you head out before her. Beomgyu is there waiting like you knew he would be, and when he sees you, he walks towards you.

“Is she coming?” he stage-whispers and you resist the urge to roll your eyes, which is something you find yourself doing a lot around him.

“Give her a second,” you say, adjusting the straps on your bag.

And as though you summoned her, Keeho and Chaeryeong come walking out of the class right then. You catch her eye and return the small smile she gives you as she passes. You watch as she notices Beomgyu, her eyes travelling up to his face and an unreadable expression flashes through her face.

She nods at him in acknowledgement. “Cool hair,” is all she says before walking away completely.

Next to you, Beomgyu lets out a squeak. A blush has spread all the way from the tips of his ears and disappears down into his shirt.

You turn to face him. “Well?” He is standing frozen in place, mouth hanging slightly open. You are sure that a tornado could hit and he wouldn’t move a muscle. His face is still bright red.

“Oh my god,” he breathes out when he finally regains the power of speech. “She’s never spoken to me before.” His eyes trail after her as she disappears out onto the quad.

“Yeah, well, you’re wel—”

You don’t get to finish chastising him, because the next thing you know his arms are wrapped around your shoulders and his head is resting on your head. “Thank you,” he says with such sincerity, it makes you rethink teasing him in the first place.

You pat his back gingerly, still awkward about the contact, but you suppose you should come to expect it now. “Um…. You’re welcome.”

He pulls away from you, grinning widely and you can only offer a more strained one in return, but Beomgyu doesn’t seem to mind. “We should celebrate.”

You scoff lightly, no weight behind it. “Celebrate what?” You turn to walk out onto the quad, expecting Beomgyu to follow you. Which he does. He falls into step with you almost immediately.

“The plan working, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“Come on,” he whines dramatically. “I’ll buy you cake.” He has managed to pass you and is standing in front of you, lifting his shoulders in what is supposed to be a tempting manner.

In all honesty, you were kind of planning to go do something with Beomgyu today, anyway. You didn’t know whether or not changing his hair would actually get Chaeryeong’s attention but you figured Beomgyu would drag you away somewhere regardless. And clearly you were right.

He is looking at you with a smirk as if he’s cornered you and there’s just no way you can say no to him now. He doesn’t need to know that you would have agreed without the bribery, because free cake is free cake and who can say no to that?

Humouring him, you sigh in defeat. “Fine, I guess this is worth celebrating.”

Grinning proudly, Beomgyu easily loops his arm with yours and leads you across the quad to the café. He orders for the two of you again, sitting across from you at the table and starts talking about how he was so nervous about today that he could hardly answer questions in his classes all day.

You kill two hours like that, just talking in the café. By the time you make it back to your dorm, Rina is home and asks if you were out with a friend. You pause for a moment before answering.

“Yeah,” you say before entering your room. You suppose you were.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Beomgyu shows up to pick you up from class more often than not. He is always there before Ms Kwon let’s you out and it makes you seriously wonder if he ever attends class himself.

It’s a smart move, you acknowledge, because Chaeryeong gives him a nod in greeting whenever she passes by him on her way out of class. You tell him as much and he grins cheekily gushing about how smart you find him, so you make it a point to never praise him again.

You spend a lot of time with Beomgyu. Not necessarily by choice, he just always happens to be around you and you can’t find it in you to tell him to go away. (You find that you don’t want to.) Between him tutoring you and walking you from class, it’s like you see him everywhere now. Even now, the two of you were walking into the café for no reason other than you were both hungry and, according to Beomgyu, what better way to eat than together?

The café was packed today, students and teachers alike rushing in and out of the restaurant, the bell above the door constantly ringing. You don’t know what the occasion could be for there to be so many people here now, but you find you don’t really want to stick around to find out.

You turn to Beomgyu to tell him as much, that you guys can just go somewhere else but he looks almost offended. “We can’t just go somewhere else! This is our place now. We can’t betray it by eating at a basic Mcdonalds.”

You cross your arms and fix him with a deadpan stare. “What’s wrong with Mcdonalds?”

“There’s no charm. No memories attached. We have to eat here.” Staring up at him, you realise that he’s not going to let up. You sigh in defeat and Beomgyu smirks in satisfaction. “Okay, you order, I’ll go find us a table.”

You grab his arm, stopping him before he can walk away. “Uh, you order.”

“Why?” Beomgyu questions.

“Because you know what’s good,” you explain shrugging.

He narrows his eyes at you. “You’ve been here at least twenty times now, I think you know what you like.”

“Can’t hear you, I’m already getting a table!”

You effectively bypass him, weaving your way through the throng of students and teachers alike. If you were to look back, you would probably find Beomgyu staring at you with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

On another day, you might have been able to push past the anxiety and place an order for the two of you. But today there are just too many people, too many orders the workers have to fill. And maybe it’s the crowd or the waning patience of the workers, but you really can’t bring yourself to talk to anyone here, especially when Beomgyu can do it for you.

“Do you have, like, a fear of ordering in public?” Beomgyu asks when he joins you at the booth you managed to secure. He opts to sit next to you instead of across the table, making you slide closer to the wall.

You scowl. “No.”

He continues like he doesn’t hear you. “Because it’s totally okay if you do. I know I’m more—out-going? Sociable? Charismatic?—out of the two of us, so I don’t mind being used like that.”

“Oh, you’re so annoying.” You punch his arm and he laughs goodnaturedly. “It’s just—It’s weird. And makes me feel awkward, so I don’t do it.”

Beomgyu hums in consideration, like he can tell you are holding back, but doesn’t push. “Well I meant it, you know. I don’t mind.” He nudges your shoulder for good measure and you roll your eyes.

“Like I was giving you a choice?”

He contemplates this for a moment. “Suppose you’re right. Choice or not, though, I don’t mind doing stuff for you.” He says it so easily. So earnestly. Almost too earnestly. There’s a weight behind his eyes when he looks at you and you can’t figure out what it means. He seems to notice his staring and averts his gaze. Clearing his throat, he jokes, “Like paying for your lunch.”

You hit his arm again. “I never asked you to do that.”

“Stop punching me, this is a very small booth!”

“Then move to the other side.”

“Don’t wanna.” And just like that, whatever happened before was gone, replaced with the natural light atmosphere you always have around Beomgyu.

A waiter comes by, then. He leaves your food on the table, and the both of you thank him simultaneously. He nods in response, goes to walk away but does a double take looking at Beomgyu. He regards him for a moment before nodding. “Nice,” he says pointing to Beomgyu’s hair then goes on his way.

Beomgyu smirks in response, claery satisfied with the attention his new hair is giving him. You don’t indulge him and turn your attention to the sandwich and chips Beomgyu ordered for you.

“You know,” he drawls out, nudging your side, “it’s not just Chaeryeong. Bunch of people in class keep telling me how cool they think my hair is.” You raise an eyebrow and Beomgyu nods seriously. “If you ask me, you should drop out of school and do this professionally.”

That makes you snort. “I dyed your hair once, I don’t think that qualifies me for a job.”

He hums thoughtfully, then shrugs. “It’s for the best. I’d miss you too much.”

“Sure.”

“I mean it! You’d be so busy doing everybody else’s hair because you’re so high in demand that you won’t have any time to spend with me. I don’t know how people can go through life without your quick wit and sunny disposition.”

“Most people don’t put up with me long enough to get past the ‘she’s mean and glares a lot’ thing so I don’t think they’re missing out.” You snort involuntarily at your own joke, expecting him to laugh a little, too. But he doesn’t. He frowns.

“Do you think I’m putting up with you?”

Beomgyu stares at you intently and you wonder how the mood was able to change so quickly again. You want to get back to teasing, not whatever this is. “I was kidding,” you clarify, shifting in your seat awkwardly.

“But do you?” When you don’t say anything, he takes your silence as an answer. “Y/N, I’m not hanging out with you because I feel like I have to.”

“I never said that.” You didn’t. It’s not even what you were thinking, not really. It’s more a proximity thing. You’re helping him, he’s helping you, and for either of those things to happen, being together makes sense. There isn’t much more to it. There doesn’t need to be. (You want there to be.)

You hang out with Rina because she’s your roommate. The two of you aren’t friends, but you’re friendly enough. It helps that the two of you live together, so, naturally, you spend time together, but it’s always because you’re there.

So, no, you don’t think he’s fulfilling an obligation by being around you. Just. He probably doesn’t enjoy these outings as much as you do. And that’s fine. It’s not a big deal. Except—

Beomgyu is the closest thing you’ve had to a friend in a long time. The thought of that feeling being one-sided sucked. The thought of it being reciprocated, though? Too good to be true.

Beomgyu turns so that his upper half is facing you. Stares at you right in your eyes and holds your gaze for so long you start squirming in your seat. He opens his mouth, hesitates, closes it again. Then, eyes and voice full of conviction, “Y/N, you’re, like, my best friend, you know that, right?” You wonder what he wanted to say, if that’s it.

Your mouth drops. You blink owlishly at him, not believing what he just said. “Oh, now you’re pushing it,” you finally say, shoving a couple fries in your mouth.

“I’m being serious! I spend way more time with you than I do anyone else, I’m pretty sure we’ve been hanging out everyday. My leg is literally hooked over yours right now!” Looking down at your lap, you realise that it is. You don’t know how you didn’t notice the weight on your leg.

“You’re a tactile person,” you say, repeating his words.

“Y/N,” he looks at you like he can’t believe you don’t believe him. Like he’s explaining such a simple concept and doesn’t know how you can’t get it. Grass is green, the sky is blue and you are his best friend. “I wouldn’t be around you this much if I didn’t want to. I’m not tutoring you, and we’re not discussing the plan. There is no reason for me to be here with you right now other than I want to be. I like being with you.”

The only explanation you had to Beomgyu’s clingy nature towards you was the one he gave you first. That he was touchy because he was just like that, and you just happened to be there. Not because he liked you. But here he was telling you that that’s not true.

You flounder for a bit, struggling to find the words, any words. He’s still staring, head tilted slightly with a grin on his face. This, you think probably way to excitedly, is your best friend.

“God, you’re so cheesy,” you say, fighting back a blush, pushing his smiling face away from you. And he laughs goodnaturedly, steals fries from your plate and does not move his leg.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

STEP 2: HANG OUT WHERE SHE HANGS OUT

BG’S NOTE: NOT IN A STALKER WAY

Y/N’S NOTE: IT WAS NEVER IN A STALKER WAY!

The success of Step One has Beomgyu itching to begin Step Two immediately. Obviously, patience is a virtue and timing is everything, so you say no. You reason that it would be weird for him to just show up wherever she is after she acknowledged his existence one time (“We want her to think you’re interesting, not creepy”).

The both of you are on your way to Beomgyu’s dorm for no particular reason. You ran into each other on campus after class and started walking together without caring about where you were going, only realising belatedly the familiar route you were taking.

Beomgyu is talking your ear off animatedly about one thing or another, arms waving around him, clearly very into whatever has caught his attention. He’s so distracted that he doesn’t realise you’ve arrived, so it’s up to you to unlock the door and let you both in.

There are two boys sitting on his couch. They both have their feet kicked up on the coffee table, messing with their phones. You wonder who they are to be sitting so comfortably in here when Beomgyu’s gone.

You nudge Beomgyu’s side, making him look up and take notice of the two might-be intruders. He doesn’t seem fazed. “What’re you guys doing here?” Dropping his bag by the door, he moves into the house, leaving you standing in the doorway awkwardly. The boys shrug, looking up from their phones.

“Oh, well, Y/N, this is Kai and Taehyun. Taehyun and Kai, this is Y/N.” Beomgyu points out each boy individually and it’s then that you recognise them as the guys from his pictures. The ones who were in the Music room with him. The ones in his pictures. He waves you over with a slight jerk of his head and you follow him inside.

“Hi!” The one named Kai greets cheerily. Taehyun nods at you with a “Hey” and you wave back awkwardly, a tight smile on your lips.

“Don’t be upset, this is her being polite,” Beomgyu stage whispers to the boys, as if he’s letting the other two in on a secret and you hit his shoulder.

You clear your throat, straightening up your back. “Nice to meet you,” you say. Beomgyu grins brightly at you.

Taehyun speaks up first. “He told us about the plan. Have to say, I’m surprised you agreed to help him.”

“He’s helping me with Music Comp,” you say easily. And he really was. Your grades have never been better and the proud smiles Ms Kwon had been sending you when showing the marks for tests were something you could get used to. Honestly, you never thought Beomgyu would be such a help to you, but here you were.

Kai nods. “And how’s that going?”

“She said my hair is cool,” Beomgyu gushes, like he has been every time you’ve seen him since that day. You didn’t think it was possible, but he actually looks like the definition of heart eyes.

Taehyun studies his friend’s hair for a moment. “I guess it is.”

Pride blooms in your chest and you stand up a little straighter. “Thanks. I did it.”

Kai perks up at that. “Ooh, do you think you could do mine? I’ve been wanting to dye my hair red for a while.”

“Sure,” you say easily, shrugging in agreement, at the same time Beomgyu blurts out, “No!”

You all turn to stare at him. You’re surprised at the outburst, considering he was the one suggesting you open a salon. “Sorry, but I can’t risk Y/N’s magic hands also making Chaeryeong fall in love with you at first sight.”

“She’s not in love with you,” The rest of you say in unison.

Beomgyu stares at the three of you with wide eyes. “This was a mistake.” He sighs heavily and sits on an open armchair while you and Kai snicker.

“We’ve been trying to find out ways for him to bump into her but aside from my Music Comp class, we don’t know where else to find her,” you explain, dropping your bag at your feet. Beomgyu tugs on the sleeve of your shirt, pulling you closer to him until your trying to get comfortable on the arm of the chair he’s sitting on.

“We’ve been stumped for a week,” he says when you’ve settled on the arm of the chair, your own arm resting on his shoulder.

It should be weird how quickly you were able to get used to Beomgyu’s constant touch. How quickly you were to oblige to it. To let him hug you or play footsie with you whenever he wanted. Especially after last week’s revelation that he actually liked being around you. That he thought of you as his friend. It made you closer, somehow.

It should be. But it isn’t. Just easy.

Taehyun eyes the two of you from his spot on the couch and when you catch his eye, he just quirks an eyebrow before looking away. Weird.

“I see Chaeryeong every Thursday,” Kai says. You are surprised Beomgyu’s head doesn’t snap off from how fast he whipped it around to stare at his friend. “Her dance class is before mine.”

Silence. Then. “And you mention this now?”

Kai shrugs, unperturbed by his friend’s outburst. “It never came up.” The way he is smirking, though, makes you think that he was withholding this information on purpose.

Thursday comes around and between you, Beomgyu and his friends, you came up with the next move for Step Two. Beomgyu would go with Kai to his dance class to drop him off and “bump” into Chaeryeong, thus starting his first conversation with her.

He had begged you to go with him. Moral support, he said. But you have a class. You can’t tag along with Beomgyu to make sure he doesn’t make a fool of himself, a fact that had him begging you to skip. You said no, obviously, because even if you didn’t have a class, what are you supposed to do while Beomgyu tries to flirt for five minutes?

Halfway through your lesson, your phone vibrates from inside your pocket. Pulling it out discreetly, you find seven texts from Beomgyu. Mainly incoherent key smashes and an excessive amount of exclamation points.

As discreetly as you can, you text back telling him to meet you at the café when your class is over. As soon as the bell rings, you speed walk your way over to where Beomgyu is already waiting for you, booth secured, food waiting to be touched.

You slide into the seat next to him and stare him down. “Okay, talk.”

And, essentially, this is how it went:

CHAERYEONG’S AND BEOMGYU’S FIRST CONVO, ACCORDING TO CHOI BEOMGYU

To say that Beomgyu was nervous would be an understatement. There was a difference between waiting outside Ms Kwon’s class with the intention of exchanging polite, but curt, nods and going to her dance class to (hopefully) talk to her. He was freaking. Out.

“Dude, chill out,” Kai tells him for the fourth time in a row since they started walking to his dance class together. “You’re literally going to scare her off with how much you’re sweating right now.”

Beomgyu knows he’s exaggerating, that it’s a part of his friendly duties to tease and make fun of him. He’s not actually sweating, obviously. But. What if he is? He does a quick and inconspicuous pit-check, and, yeah, he’s not sweating. Kai’s just a dick.

Beomgyu tells him as much and he just laughs obnoxiously loud.

When they arrive at Kai’s class, the students from the lesson before are packing up their things. The students including Chaeryeong.

When she notices him, she looks a little shocked, like this is the last place she would have expected to see him. She gets over it quickly, though, and makes her way over to him. “Cool Hair Guy?”

His mouth hangs open stupidly, tongue dried up. She was talking to him. Chaeryeong was talking to him! He doesn’t know how long he stands there gaping like an idiot, but the voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like you gets fed up. Say something, idiot! Yeah, definitely you. “Uh, it’s Beomgyu, actually. Choi Beomgyu,” he manages out.

“Nice to meet you, Choi Beomgyu,” she says smiling, something she does a lot. It’s so pretty. She doesn’t introduce herself, probably knows that she doesn’t have to. “I didn’t know you did dance?”

Beomgyu can’t really believe this is happening. That he’s here, talking to Lee Chaeryeong. That she’s talking to him. “No, I’m just here dropping off my friend.” He waves his arm around noncommittally in the general direction he last saw Kai.

She seems to contemplate this for a moment. “Well, I’ll see you around, Cool Hair Guy Beomgyu.” Chaeryeong smiles at him and gives his arm a squeeze before leaving with her friends. Beomgyu is frozen in place, mouth hanging open as he wonders seriously if this is real life.

Kai’s wolf whistles from wherever he is tell him that it is. Oh my god. He has to tell you.

When he finishes recounting everything, you have a few questions about the legitimacy of everything. You sincerely doubt Chaeryeong was trying to feel up his muscles but you digress. You won’t ruin his fun.

You nudge his shoulder slightly. “See, you didn’t even need me there.”

“Still would have been nice.” You try not to show how much the comment affects you, how it tugs at the corners of your lips, a smile threatening to break out. “So, what now?”

You shrug, keeping your face neutral. “Keep dropping Kai off, I guess. She knows your name now, so it’s basically open season. Anything can happen, really.”

“Open Season,” he deadpans and you regard him with a quizzical look. “That bear movie with the deer?”

“No, Beomgyu, open season the expression.”

He doesn’t look like he believes you, but doesn’t push it. Clearing his throat, he says, “I could keep picking you up, too. From your Comp class.”

“I guess. It would maximise the amount of time you see Chaeryeong, or whatever.”

“Well, yeah, but no.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I want to hang out with you. Seeing Chaeryeong would just be a bonus.”

He doesn’t say anything more and gives no indication that he wants to. He busies himself with his food and you take advantage of the fact that his attention is no longer on you and try to will the heat rising to your cheeks to stop.

When you are sure that the temperature in your face is back to normal, you clear your throat. “I have a question.”

Beomgyu glances from his plate. “It’s not your turn,” he says. “I haven’t used my second question.”

“Well, do you have one?”

“No,” Beomgyu says cheekily. “But I suppose I can let you skip.” Bringing his sandwich to his mouth, he nods his head slightly, giving you the go ahead.

“Why do you like Chaeryeong?”

He swallows. “Everybody likes Chaeryeong.”

“Well, yeah, but not everyone would ask a random stranger to be their wingman.”

“You got me there.” You continue to stare, waiting for an answer, and after a moment Beomgyu sighs. “I don’t know. It’s gonna sound stupid.”

“Well it’s great that I already don’t think that highly of you,” you tease. (You do.) It makes Beomgyu laugh, though, just a little. He exhales dramatically before leaning back in his seat.

“I transferred here in the middle of the year. I missed freshman orientation, I got stuck with a single room because everybody else had a roommate meaning I missed out on the quick and easy way people made friends. Or enemies, depending on who you were stuck with.” You laugh a little at that last bit when he turns his head to give you a wry smile.

He continues. “The first month kind of sucked. And then one day I’m rushing to class twenty minutes late because I still haven’t figured out where everything is and Chaeryeong is running, too, in the opposite direction and when she notices me—this is where it sounds stupid—she smiles.”

“She so clearly had somewhere to be and yet she took the time to do that. To comfort me, or just to say ‘Hey, we’re in the same boat!’ or something, I don’t know. It just made me feel better. I’ve had a crush on her since.”

When he finishes, he drops his gaze to the table, practically burning holes into the metal.

“Hmm,” is all you say.

“I told you it was stupid,” he says looking up at you, chuckling half-heartedly.

You look affronted. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“You have that look on your face. You’re thinking it’s stupid.”

“I was actually thinking that I found it sweet.”

Because of course one act of kindness is all it takes for Beomgyu to all but fall in love with someone. He is the kindest and most earnest person you know, it makes sense, really. You wouldn’t have expected anything else.

It makes you think back to your own first meeting with him, how you thought he was crazy and probably said so out loud, too. The farthest from kind or sweet. Not that it should matter. You don’t want him to have a crush on you, obviously.

“Yeah?” he asks uncertain.

“Yeah. Chaeryeong seems sweet. Your crush is sweet—if not a little obsessive at times.”

He chuckles. “Thank you. You’re sweet, too.”

The comment catches you off guard. “Meaning?”

“That you’re a lot nicer than you give yourself credit for.”

Beomgyu has this uncanny ability to seemingly read your mind. To tell when you’re in your head too much and knows exactly what to say to make you feel better.

You can’t believe that he’s managed to render you speechless and flustered twice in one conversation. You kick him under the table, biting back a smile. “Eat your food.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

STEP 3: ASK HER TO HANGOUT

BG’S NOTE: NOT AS A DATE, RIGHT?

Y/N’S NOTE: NOT AS A DATE! IT’S A FRIEND THING!

This, you think, is the perfect time for Beomgyu to take the plunge and ask Chaeryeong to hangout. She knows his name, greets him whenever she passes him on her way out of the Music block, there really is no better moment.

You don’t know what he’s waiting for.

Whenever he gets close, he gets nervous, changes his mind and speedwalks in the opposite direction. He keeps saying he’ll get to it, but at this rate you’re not holding your breath.

You’ve almost given up entirely but Beomgyu surprises you by strolling into your Music Comp class casually heading straight for Ms Kwon’s desk. You sit up in your chair, shocked to see him, and your eyes blow wide when, as he’s talking with your teacher, he points to you.

Ms Kwon eyes you suspiciously and looks wary to give Beomgyu permission to do, well, whatever it is that he wants to do, but gives in eventually. Your friend bounds up the steps two at a time to get to your desk, falling into a crouch when he reaches you.

“Hey,” he whispers, head reaching just above your table.

“What are you doing here?” you whisper back leaning forward to his face, entirely confused by his sudden appearance.

“I’m going to ask You-Know-Who to hang out.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Voldemort?”

“What? No! Chaeryeong,” he whispers, looking around to make sure no one can hear. Your mouth makes an ‘O’ shape in realisation. The girl in question is sitting at her desk, diligently doing her work.

Then what he said hits you. “Wait—Right now?”

He shrugs. “I had a surge of adrenaline. If I don’t do it now I’ll probably chicken out and never talk to her again.”

It makes sense and well, better now than never, right? But— “So you’re just gonna, what? Go up to her in the middle of class and ask her?”

“’Course not. I’m going to wait for class to end.”

He makes no move to leave.

Your eyes blow impossibly wide. “You mean here?”

“Told Ms Kwon that you’re giving me help in Calculus,” he says standing up and moving until he’s right next to you.

“I don’t take Calculus.”

“Neither do I. Scoot over.”

You sigh. The sounds of you moving out of your seat and into the next one draws the attention of the class to the two of you. Even Chaeryeong looks back curiously and Beomgyu blushes before waving shyly.

“This is so stupid,” you groan once you’ve both settled and everyone has turned their attention back to their own work.

“Hush. Now, how do you calculate the slope of a curve?”

The lesson passes with Beomgyu nudging you every so often to make it look like you’re helping. Quick, pretend to explain something to me. It makes you wonder what it would be like to actually share a class with him. Fun, probably. You wouldn’t get any work done, though.

When the bell rings and Ms Kwon dismisses you, Beomgyu stands up, determination written all over his features, staring at Chaeryeong’s back.

He rolls his shoulders back. “Okay, I’m going in.”

“Oh, god,” you groan.

He ignores you. “Wish me luck?” Beomgyu turns to you, cheeky smile on his face and you sigh before wrapping your arms around his torso. He squeezes you back once then pulls away. “Okay,” he breathes out, straightening his back, “I got this.”

You watch as he makes his way to Chaeryeong’s desk and how she brightens up when she sees him. She waves Keeho off and he complies with a perplexed look on his face. Huh. It seems Beomgyu didn’t need the good luck anyway.

You don’t stick around and choose to leave the class, saying goodbye to Ms Kwon. However, once outside, you don’t leave. You linger in the hallway watching the door as students rush to their next classes. Probably because you are invested in the outcome and want to know what happened immediately. More definitely because you want to see Beomgyu again as soon as possible.

Chaeryeong comes out first. Her face gives no indication that she just rejected someone or accepted their offer so you guess you’re just going to have to wait for Beomgyu.

He emerges a moment later, walks with his head low, somehow already spotting where you are. He looks…Well, dejected. You feel your body deflate just watching him.

“Well,” he exhales when he reaches you. You frown. “Guess who’s going to a movie with Chaeryeong.”

“Oh my god, no way!” you gasp, hands flying to cover your mouth. When the initial excitement dies down, you punch Beomgyu’s shoulder and he yelps. “That’s for making me think she turned you down.”

Beomgyu laughs nervously, shaking his arm out. “Yeah. We’re gonna have so much fun.”

You feel your face fall. “We? As in you, Chaeryeong and whoever else you’re going with? Not you and me?” You have a sneaking suspicion that you already know the answer and you’re not going to like it.

He remains silent. You punch his arm again.

“I got nervous, okay!” he exclaims when you continue your assault on his limb but you don’t let up. You couldn’t hangout with Chaeryeong. The great part about the plan was that you handled the logistics and Beomgyu did the heavy lifting. You haven’t even talked to the girl.

“It hit me how weird it would be to just go up and ask her out when she only realised I existed, like, last week, so I turned it into a group thing. A couple of her friends are coming and, well, you—Stop hitting me!”

You stop punching him. “Why couldn’t you bring Taehyun or Kai with you?”

“Because Chaeryeong knows you, kinda. Same class and all. Also they would just make fun of me the whole time.”

“And I won’t?”

“Well, you will, but once you’ve had your fun you’ll help me.”

The worst part is that you know he’s right. Instead of responding, you turn on your heel and stomp your way to the quad.

“Where are you going!” Beomgyu yells.

“You owe me so much cake!” You flip him off over your shoulder, not bothering to look back. But, of course, he was following you anyway.

The movie everyone decides to see is the new Scream. By everyone you mean Chaeryeong, her friends and Beomgyu. He came to you with the suggestions and out of protest you refused to give your opinion. But it seems you spend too much time with Beomgyu because he chooses the exact movie you wanted to see anyway.

Saturday afternoon finds you and Beomgyu on the bus on your way to the mall where you will meet up with Chaeryeong and her friends.

The boy in question nudges your side for the fifth time in ten minutes. As part of your act of protest you had been sitting silently next to him, not engaging in any conversation with him. Which is effective because it seems all you do with him is talk.

“Y/N,” he sing-songs, jutting his finger in your stomach, “you can’t stay mad at me forever. It’s free snacks and a movie, which, by the way, I know you’ve been wanting to see.”

“I’m not mad at you, Beomgyu,” you sigh, slapping his finger away from you, bringing an end to your silent treatment. You can’t have him thinking this is a bigger deal than it is. Or worse: have him feeling bad. “It’s more the principle of the thing.”

“The principle,” he repeats, clearly not following.

You nod. “I have never had to interact with Chaeryeong before and now I’m being thrown into the proverbial deep end.”

It takes him a moment to fully understand what you’re saying. Then, “Oh, I get it—you’re nervous!”

Scowling, you clarify, “I never said that.”

“You have nothing to worry about! You just have to go there and charm everyone with your dry humour and worrying, yet endearing, pessimism and they’ll fall in love with you in no time.”

You don’t fail to notice the implications of his words. But you can’t afford to think about it so you don’t. You don’t say anything and let Beomgyu give you advice on how to not be nervous and just be yourself. Which is rich coming from him, because the moment you meet up with Chaeryeong, he freezes completely.

You sigh.

“Hey, guys!” she greets brightly, waving the two of you over when she catches sight of you. There are three other people with her, one being Keeho. You don’t know who the others are.

“Hi,” you say back. Beomgyu is still stock still next to you so you send an elbow to his stomach.

“Hi!” he finally squeaks out.

If Chaeryeong is confused she doesn’t show it. She turns to her friends. “Guys, this is Beomgyu and Y/N. Beomgyu and Y/N these are my friends, Keeho, Yeji and Theo.”

You all wave at each other before moving to buy snacks. You shoot Beomgyu a look that you hope reads Get it together, loser! but judging from the confused head tilt he sends your way, he doesn’t get the message.

The six of you move as a group into the cinema playing your movie and start looking around for the perfect place to sit. Settling on a row in the middle, all that’s left to do is sort out the seating arrangements.

“Y/N, where do you want to sit?” Chaeryeong asks politely.

“Uh…” It hits you again that you are here for Beomgyu. Choosing to sit next to him would limit or hinder him from sitting with Chaeryeong but you don’t really want to sit next to people you just met. Making up your mind with an internal groan, you lie, “Actually I forgot to buy skittles. So. I’m going to go get them. I’ll sit wherever when I get back.”

“You sure? We can always just save you a seat.” God, she was so nice. Why did she have to be so nice?

You shake your head. “Don’t worry about it, it’s okay.” You start making your way up the steps to the door.

“Oh, I’ll come with you,” Beomgyu states, following you up the stairs and you freeze.

“What are you doing?” you question when he reaches you.

He regards you with a funny look. “You don’t like ordering? I can go with you.”

Warmth erupts in your chest. “I don’t actually want skittles, I just said that so you could get a seat with Chaeryeong.”

“Now, how would that work?”

“Oh, shut up, go sit with her!”

He bites his lip. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll just stand by the door for two minutes or whatever.”

Beomgyu hesitates for a moment longer before nodding. “Okay. Okay, yeah, sure. Thanks.”

You don’t linger to see if he manages to snag a seat next to Chaeryeong, and just exit the cinema. True to your word, you only stand outside for a moment before you walk right back inside. Sitting in the aisle is Chaeryeong and right next to her… is Beomgyu. You don’t know how he pulled it off, but you feel a swell of pride in your chest.

There is a seat for you in between Yeji and Theo with Keeho at the end and you almost turn back on your heel to sit by yourself at the back. Squaring your shoulders, you walk to your seat and once you pass Beomgyu, he shoots you a secretive thumbs up that you return with your own, equally secretive and equally impressed.

“What happened to your skittles?” The boy named Theo whispers to you once you settle down and the lights dim.

“Oh, they ran out,” you lie easily, waving him off.

“Here,” Yeji says from your opposite side, holding out her own packet of sweets, “we can share.”

You smile gratefully and only after a split second of hesitation, you reach into the bag and pull out a sweet.

You sneak a few glances at Beomgyu throughout the duration of the movie to see how it’s going for him only to find him already grinning at you. Yeji whispers her thoughts to you and while you would usually be annoyed by that, you find that you don’t mind, because in the short time you’ve spoken, you find that she’s pretty cool.

By the time the movie ends and you all exit the mall, the sun has set and everyone is making plans to head back to campus. You and Beomgyu politely turn down Chaeryeong’s offer to drive you both back, insisting that you’ll be fine on the bus. As much as you enjoyed yourself, you can feel yourself getting drowsy and you don’t think you could handle spending more time with them without falling asleep.

“This was fun, we should do this again sometime!” As apprehensive as you were about it, you have to agree with Chaeryeong.

When you part ways, Yeji gives you a quick hug with a promise that you should text her and waves goodbye to you. You can’t help the smile that spreads on your face as you wave back. Beomgyu doesn’t comment on it but he just gives you a knowing grin. You merely flip him off and board the bus.

It’s late enough that there aren’t many people on the bus, so you get two seats next to each other with no problem.

“Well that wasn’t so bad,” Beomgyu says plopping down on the seat next to you. “Chaeryeong was basically talking to me the whole time.”

You nod half listening, eyelids heavy. “The movie was really good. And I guess the company wasn’t too bad.”

A cheeky grin spreads across Beomgyu’s face. “What I’m hearing is you had fun.”

You groan dramatically. “Hush, please, I’m way way too tired to engage in clever banter.”

Beomgyu laughs, but doesn’t say anything else after that.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but you must have, because when you reach your stop, Beomgyu is nudging you gently to wake you up. You groggily raise your head from where it was resting on his shoulder and look around trying to figure out where you were.

“Come on, Sleeping Beauty,” he says, helping you stand up and leading you out the bus.

The cool air of the night helps wake you up. You walk the rest of the way to campus in comfortable silence with Beomgyu.

“You’re going to be fine getting to your dorm?” he asks when you reach the point where you both part ways.

“Yes, dad.”

“Hey!” You snicker childishly. He rolls his eyes goodnaturedly before sobering. “Thanks for coming today,” he says seriously.

“You’re welcome. I…had fun.”

You’re not sure if it matters or what it even means if anything, but when Beomgyu hugs you goodbye, his lips brush against the top of your head for the briefest of moments, you can’t tell if it’s intentional or not.

It stuns you all the same.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Hanging out with Chaeryeong and her friends becomes such a common thing, you start reminiscing on the times when the only person who asked you to go out was Rina and it was your turn to take out the trash.

Chaeryeong likes going out. You have an invite to a new event almost every week. You have been out watching movies or eating or doing karaoke so much that one time Rina even asks if you’re in a cult. You say no, obviously, but sometimes it really feels like it.

Just yesterday, one of her friends suggested going to an amusement park for the day and Beomgyu was beyond nervous. Am I supposed to win her a prize? Would she want one from me? You have to come, Y/N, I can’t do this. You had fun, sure, none of these hangouts had been boring (Theo won the biggest and ugliest plush for you after you joked that you wanted it. You kept it on your bedside) but it’s the principle of the thing. You are pretty sure that being outside this often is not good for anyone.

And it is not good for you. After the third consecutive week of following Beomgyu around while he becomes friends with Chaeryeong, your battery for these social events has been tapped and you need time to yourself. So when Chaeryeong tells you that they’re going bowling that weekend, you lie and say you’re sick. That your roommate has the flu and you caught it from her, but you’re so sorry you can’t join. Chaeryeong tells you that it won’t be as fun without you and to get well soon and while you don’t buy the first bit, it warms you to know she cares. You almost feel bad for lying.

Almost.

It’s the first Saturday you are spending on your own, in your dorm in almost three weeks, and oh how you missed your couch. Rina comments on this too, wondering why you aren’t with your “group” today. You just tell her that you wanted the day to yourself and so you asked for permission to skip the meeting.

Sometime during your rerun binge of Basketball Wives, there is a knock at the door. You hardly pay attention to it, far too caught up in the fabricated drama on your screen and leave it to Rina to go see who’s there. Probably one of your neighbours asking for eggs or something.

Rina leaves her spot in the kitchen and opens the door. “Uh, is Y/N here?” you hear whoever it is ask cautiously. That gets you curious. You pause your show and try leaning back on the couch to see who’s asking about you, but from your vantage point you can’t.

Rina does it for you. “Uh, who are you?”

“Oh, I’m Beomgyu. Choi Beomgyu?” Your eyes blow wide and you practically jump up from your spot on the couch. What was he doing here?

Rina doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “Oh, so you’re the boy Y/N—”

“—Okay! Enough of that!” You say jumping in before your roommate could embarrass you any further. Rina just smirks knowingly and moves out the way of the door. You take her place, staring up at the boy who is supposed to be bowling right now. He’s looking down at you, a slight smile playing on his lips.

“You’re sick?” He asks, tilting his head to the side, concern lacing his voice.

Your eyes furrow. “What? No. How do you know where I live?”

“You told me. When we were doing homework you got a text saying that the water pipes in the showers burst and you were all like ‘Fucking Kings Building fucking sucks! Fuck!’ Or something like that.” He shrugs, grinning.

You remember that day like it was yesterday. The building your dorm is located in is one of the oldest on campus. The only things about it that’s been updated are the furniture and accent pieces to make it look more modern, even though everything else about it is ancient. Including the plumbing.

The text came from the group chat your floor has. One of the girls was taking a shower when water started spraying everywhere. It took two weeks to fix. You had to walk all the way to the neighbouring building to wash. But it wasn’t yesterday.

“That was a month ago,” you inform.

He points to his temple. “I have a good memory.”

“Okay, but how did you find my dorm?”

“Lucky guess,” he says easily, although he looks shifty. Can’t look at you directly.

Your eyes widen in realisation. “Did you go knocking on people’s doors until you found me?” His silence and sheepish expression is answer enough for you. Your face threatens to break out in a grin but you hold it back. “Come in,” you say instead, opening the door wider for him to enter.

“What are you doing here?” you ask as he follows you inside.

“I thought you were sick and came to check on you. Turns out you’re just a liar.”

“But you’re supposed to be bowling.”

“So are you.”

“Didn’t feel like it. You don’t have to stay. As you can see I’m fine. You could probably still make it if you left now.” You hope he can’t tell that you don’t want him to.

“Nah,” he brushes you off shrugging. “Looks way more fun here.”

You try not to look too excited, and return to your seat. “Whatever.”

Beomgyu joins you on the couch, kicks his feet up like he’s been here before, immediately getting comfortable.

“What’re we watching?” he asks, pulling your laptop onto his lap.

“The lives of the wives of basketball players from Atlanta.”

“...Cool?”

“You can leave.”

“No, no, no,” he exclaims, backpedaling. His insistence to stay is cute. “I’m sure it’s super fun and interesting and—what was it you said about reality TV?—a great stress reliever. Well, I am just full of stress that needs to be released so press play.”

He stays over well into the evening, Rina migrates to join you in the living room and you switch to watching some drama that they both were looking forward to. Beomgyu gets along well with Rina and it shouldn’t be a big deal but it is. It feels like bridging a gap in your life you didn’t even realise there was.

Beomgyu almost falls asleep on your couch, too, but you kick him out telling him to go to his own room.

(“But I’m already here and your couch is way more comfortable than mine.” “Sleep on your bed, stupid.”)

The fact Beomgyu chose to be here, with you, instead of out wooing Chaeryeong, has you blushing all over again.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Yeji is the one to text you about the party. Someone’s parents are out for the weekend meaning they have the house to themselves and of course throwing a party is the best way to celebrate the fact. Honestly, you’re more surprised that a college student still lives with their parents but whatever.

This party is significant, Beomgyu tells you, because Chaeryeong invited him personally. As far as he knows, the usual suspects are going, too, but Chaeryeong asked him to meet her there, save her a dance, which basically puts them at Step Four. You’re his good luck charm, he tells you.

Rina eyes you suspiciously when she sees you getting ready to head out. “Where are you going all dressed up?” she asks from your bedroom door.

You look down at your outfit of black jeans and a crop top and think you don’t look that different. Or spectacularly good. “A party,” you say.

She narrows her eyes at you. “Is Beomgyu going with you?” You sigh.

Ever since Beomgyu showed up at your dorm, Rina has not stopped badgering you with questions about him. What he’s like, what he studies, if you’re dating. (That last one landed her a cushion to the head.) You indulge her anyway and find that all those teen dramas might have been on to something when it comes to boy talk. It’s fun.

You spent most of your time complaining about him and find that the things that used to annoy you think are more endearing than anything. When you talk about him, Rina always gives you a funny look, the same one Taehyun gave you all those weeks ago, like she knows something you don’t.

“Yes, he is, and he’s coming to pick me up, too, so behave.”

Rina raises her hands in mock surrender “I will make myself scarce.” Then, seriously, “Have fun.”

Not ten minutes later, there is a knock on the door. You smooth out your clothes, checking yourself in the mirror, once, twice then finally exiting your room.

“Hey,” Beomgyu greets, when you open the door.

“Hi.” You don’t know how long you stay staring at each in your doorway, but it must be long enough for someone to clear their throats from behind you. “Let’s go,” you say, when you finally snap out of your daze, “I’m pretty sure Rina is watching us from the kitchen.” He laughs, nodding his consent and you follow out, closing the door behind you.

The two of you make your way to the bus stop together in comfortable silence. You’re always comfortable with Beomgyu, you find.

He’s the one to break it. He clears his throat awkwardly, turns to look at you, changes his mind and looks away, before looking again and averting his gaze. His nervousness is cute, you observe, although you don’t know what could make him nervous. It’s just you. He settles his gaze on a lamppost. “Uh, you look nice.”

You scoff lightly, endeared all the same. “I’m pretty sure I’ve worn this exact outfit in front of you before. I look the same.”

Beomgyu rounds on you suddenly. “Maybe you always look nice.” Where his newfound confidence comes from, you don’t know, but it makes something burn in your stomach. He is staring down at you, using his height to his full advantage. The light from the lamppost is all you have under the night sky and you are thrown for a loop at how gorgeous he was.

Part of you is grateful for the bus arriving just then, the screeching signaling it’s arrival taking you out of the spell you were under.

“The bus is here,” you inform, not sure why you’re whispering, even though Beomgyu probably knows. He hasn’t stopped looking at you, though.

Eventually he nods and moves away from you in a way that makes it look like it physically pains him too.

You don’t find any seats next to each other; there are a couple singles spread out here and there, but Beomgyu wants to be next to you. He grabs your hand with his own, pulling you close to his side as you stand, using your other hand to hold onto the bar above your head.

Your mind is still reeling from what happened outside, even though you don’t really know what happened. One moment, you were teasing him like you normally do and the next—

You think he might’ve—

You wanted him to—

“This is our stop.” Beomgyu’s voice shakes you out of your thoughts. You let him lead off the bus and you don’t have to walk far before you reach the house.

Music is blaring from the house, so loud you can hear it from the street. It only gets worse as you enter, the noise seemingly coming from inside your head.

You turn to Beomgyu. “You should go find Chaeryeong!” He doesn’t look like he hears you.

“I’m going to go find Chaeryeong!” he yells over the music and you nod. He pushes his way through the bodies and you remain in your spot. You look around the crowd, watching people dance to the music and find that if you’re to get through this, you’re going to need a drink.

It’s only been ten minutes since you’ve arrived, you nursing the same bottle of beer, when Beomgyu is emerging from the throng of people. He’s saying something. To you, you realise belatedly. The music is too loud to hear anything.

“What?” you yell back.

“Chaeryeong!” he starts, louder this time, “she’s not here!”

Your eyes go wide. The whole reason you were here is because you were banking on her being here. Now that she’s not, well. “What now?” you ask and Beomgyu can’t hear you. You lean closer to his ear and repeat your question.

It seems what you’re saying still doesn’t register and you’re about to ask for the third time when he grabs hold of your wrist and leads you through the crowd, deeper in the house. You want to ask what he’s doing but figure he won’t hear you anyway. There are less people here, though not by much.

It’s still impossibly loud, and Beomgyu seems to realise this at the same time as you, because before you can comment, he spies something by the wall—a door, you realise belatedly—and pushes you inside. He follows closely, shutting the door behind him, but underestimates the size of the room you are in and ends up chest to chest with you.

It must be a closet, you think. Far too small to be anything else. Beomgyu doesn’t step back.

“What were you saying?” His question makes you realise that it is significantly quieter in here, the music a soft thump muffled by the walls.

“Oh. Uh, I was just asking what now. Since Chaeryeong isn’t here.” Your words come out breathless, despite the fact that you have been standing still this whole time.

Beomgyu’s eyes search your face, for what, you don’t know. Your heart is pounding under his stare. Nervous, you realise. Beomgyu is making you nervous.

His eyes flick down your face for the briefest of moments and you think he might have been looking at your lips. But it happens too fast and the lighting is too dim to be able to tell.

A beat.

Then, “Do you want to dance?”

Dancing with Beomgyu consists primarily of swaying inappropriately to bass heavy music and standing stock still when people jump around too close to you. He smiles at you the entire time, face lighting up so bright it rivals the LEDs stuck on the wall. Yours is probably matching.

You’re in a limbo, it feels like. This moment is a liminal space and the only thing that exists is you, and Beomgyu, dancing together, while he stares at you like you are the only person in the world. The space in between something ending and something starting.

An almost.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

STEP 4: ASK HER ON A DATE

BG’S NOTE: I CAN’T DO THIS

Y/N’S NOTE: u’ll be fine

You have a problem.

A serious, life threatening problem caused by one long legged, pretty faced, chronically annoying yet eternally endearing boy. This problem has your stomach turning over and your chest erupting in warmth whenever you are in contact with said long legged, pretty faced, chronically annoying yet eternally endearing boy.

Rina says it’s a crush. Says that you like him, have for a long time but just didn’t realise. She also says I told you so, like she ever brought it up before so what exactly does she know?

You suppose, though, it makes sense. Suppose that you have been leaning into his touch more, lingering in his hold during hugs. Catching yourself smiling at him stupidly when he’s not looking.

God, you feel like Beomgyu when you first met him. Obsessed with the object of your affection. Except, obviously, you aren’t going to extreme measures to win them over. No, you plan on just letting it run its course until you eventually get over it.

(Although, according to Rina, you’re in too deep. There is no “getting over it”. It’s been too long and your feelings are probably much stronger than you realise. In simple terms: you’re fucked.)

((But she doesn’t know what she’s talking about, remember.))

Though, as of late, you suppose Beomgyu has been following your footsteps.

He hasn’t seen Chaeryeong, or talked to her as far as you’re concerned.

You figure he’s just nervous and you know you should give him some pep talk to inspire him and get him back on track with the plan, because doing otherwise and taking advantage of this would be selfish. Allowing your own personal feelings to affect how you help him wouldn’t be fair. But, as it stands, you are selfish. If only a little bit.

You don’t give him a pep talk, you don’t encourage him, in fact, you don’t even bring up the plan. Don’t even bring up Chaeryeong. And neither does he. So if Beomgyu wants to spend every waking moment with you, you can’t find it in you to deny him.

loser gyu: come over

ynie: hmmm no

loser gyu: PLEASE IM BEGGING

ynie: uh huh

loser: DON'T BE LIKE THAT loser: i bought you cake

ynie: oh so u RLLY want me there huh? what's going on

loser: i need ur help w smth

ynie: do i have to get my hands dirty?

loser gyu: um loser gyu: not if u do it properly?

ynie: well my curiosity is piqued ynie: give me ten minutes

Arriving at his dorm, you don’t bother knocking and just let yourself in. “Beom?” you call out when you don’t see him immediately.

“Bathroom!” he shouts back.

You leave your things on the coffee table and locate your friend, stopping short when you see the state the bathroom is in. “What is happening?”

There are bottles and brushes on the counter, plastic bags and a bowl, too. A towel is laying across the floor, another draped over the back of a chair, and in the centre of this mess is Beomgyu.

Beomgyu has the decency to blush. “My highlights are fading.”

It is then that you notice that the bottles are hair dye and the plastic bags are actually gloves and it hits you what you’re here for.

You stare. “Did you make me come over here to redo your hair?”

“Depends on how you will react if I say yes.”

God, he was so stupid. You like him so much.

This time, you didn’t even need to watch a tutorial, going off memory from the first time. The colour comes out good, better, even, than the first time around. More yellow, too, something you know he’ll be happy about.

“Looks like you finally got to do that blonde,” you joke, dropping down onto his couch once you finished cleaning up the bathroom.

Beomgyu huffs out a laugh and sits down next to you. Right next to you. Which is normal for him but now that you are aware of your feelings (stupid parties and stupid roommates), you are keenly aware of all the points of contact between the two of you. His thigh against your thigh, his arm pressed up against yours.

You try to keep still, to limit your movements, lest he somehow figure out how much this simple contact is affecting you.

Throughout your inner turmoil, Beomgyu is oddly silent next to you. Gaze straight ahead at his collection of pictures. Pictures that now include you.

The two of you at the café, one of you when you fell asleep on the bus. Another of you two on this very couch where you had a marathon of old dramas and woke up with uncomfortable pains in your necks.

Beomgyu speaks up suddenly. “Do you think this plan is stupid?”

You look over at him curiously. “The Chaeryeong thing?” He nods. “Oh, yeah, terribly stupid. I’m pretty sure I’ve said so, too, when we were making it. Or maybe I just thought about it.”

He laughs. “I can vividly hear you saying it. Like, it’s exactly the kind of thing you would say.”

“Then I stand by my initial thought. It’s so stupid. But, it’s working. Who’d’ve thought?”

“You, of course.”

“Of course. I believed in this plan from the get go.”

“Just a ray of optimism.”

“That’s me. Optimism and positivity.” The two of you are a giggling mess on the couch by the end of your little bit. You wait until your laughter dies down to ask, “Why?”

He shrugs. “Just thinking. We started here, you know?”

“And how far we’ve come,” you muse, chuckling to yourself. You never would have expected to get this close to Beomgyu when you started this whole thing, let alone develop feelings for him. But, looking back on it, you guess it was bound to happen anyways.

“Do you think we should stop?”

Beomgyu’s sudden question brings you out of your musings. You shift on the couch so you’re facing him dead on. “What? Why?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment. He wrings his fingers, eyes flitting between his hands and your face. Then, “I saw Chaeryeong earlier.”

Your breath hitches. “Yeah?”

“She apologised. For missing the party. She had a lot of work to get done and forgot to text that she wouldn’t make it.”

“And?”

“And nothing. I was like ‘Oh, it’s fine, don’t worry’. And she was ‘Cool’ and asked if we could go out later to make up for it and I said I’ll let her know. Then we stood there for a moment and then I just…left. Impulsively felt the need to dye my hair. Texted you.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.” Beomgyu leans back into the couch, releasing a breath.

You’re quiet for a moment, processing everything he’s told you. You scoff lightly, rolling your eyes. “Well, that was stupid.”

He snaps his head to you. “What?”

“She obviously wants to go out with you!” you explain. Beomgyu just stares at you. “You were supposed to agree and then go on a date—a real date—and then ask her out like ‘Oh, Chaeryeong, I’ve been obsessed with you since I came out the womb, will you be mine, rah rah rah’.”

The boy scoffs. “I do not sound like that. And also, that is a terrible way to ask someone out.”

“Well, what would you say, then?” you challenge, crossing your arms. This is dangerous territory you’re entering, but it’s too late to turn back now.

Beomgyu stares at you like you’ve grown two heads. “Are you serious?”

You shrug. “Yeah, since you know so much about romance. Pretend I’m Chaeryeong.”

And maybe there’s something to be said about you being selfish as well as a masochist. Because why else would you subject yourself to hearing the boy you like use you as a placeholder to confess to someone else? You get to pretend that he is talking to you, that his words are directed to you. But on the other hand? You know he isn’t.

Retribution, maybe, you think. For keeping him to yourself for so long.

Making up his mind, Beomgyu sits up straighter, mirroring your position to face you. “If you had told me three months ago you and I would be friends, I would have stared at you like you just told me you were from the future and walked away. But here we are, three months later, and you are probably the most important person to me in my life.”

He is not talking about you. You know. But he looks at you like he is.

“I don’t know how you became such a staple in my life but I’m so glad you did because I can’t imagine not knowing you. I’ve liked you for a while now, Y/N. Will you go out with me?”

Your breath hitches. It feels like all the air in the room has been sucked out. He’s staring at you intently. Like he is actually waiting for a response. Like he meant it.

“Chaeryeong,” you whisper. Beomgyu’s mouth falls open slightly, as if only now realising his slip up. “You mean Chaeryeong.”

“Y/N—”

“Other than that, that was good, yeah. You should, like, call her now. See if she’s still interested.” Standing up from the couch, you begin to collect your things, getting ready to leave.

You can make up for your selfishness like this. All he needs is a push.

Beomgyu stands up after you, following you to the door. “Y/N—”

You don’t look back. “Text me how it goes, yeah?”

“Y/N, wait—”

But you’ve already shut the door behind you.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

This, you think, is the longest you’ve gone without seeing Beomgyu. Five hours of time to yourself watching your favourite bad TV shows with Rina out studying with some people from her class. You are by yourself in your dorm with nothing to do and no one to see for the whole day, just like old times.

It sucked.

You never realised how much you actually hated being alone until you weren’t anymore.

The day passes in a blur and you think about Beomgyu on his date with the girl of his dreams, then immediately try to think of something else. It doesn’t work very well. Because even before you started liking him, he was a staple in your thoughts.

Rina tries to distract you when she comes home. You don’t tell her what’s wrong but it doesn’t matter because apparently she can spot “boy problems” a mile away. She goes to bed, eventually, leaving you on the couch with only the company of your laptop and Tyra Banks.

You don’t know what you’re staying up for. Nobody’s coming, you’re expecting anyone to. It’s more hope than anything. But it’s late and he can text you in the morning and—

There is a knock at your door.

It can’t be. It isn’t.

It is.

Beomgyu is at your door, still dressed in his date outfit, slightly wrinkled button down paired with black jeans. “Hi.” He looks surprised to see you. “I didn’t think you’d be up.”

“You still came,” you point out.

“Hoped you were.”

Heart in your throat, you step aside to let him in. He’s nervous, you observe, playing with his fingers as he moves into your dorm.

You swallow. “How did it go?”

“She kissed me,” he blurts out and time seems to slow.

You become acutely aware of the space between you. Him standing by the door and you near the couch. You want to be closer. Don’t think you could handle it. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Clearing your throat, you try plaster an encouraging smile on your face. “Well, there you have it. She likes you. Only thing left is for you to ask her to be your girlfriend.”

There is a moment where he doesn’t say anything. Just stands there. Then, “Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

Beomgyu pulls his bottom lip between his teeth nervously. “Do you want me to go?” he asks cautiously, eyes boring into yours. It looks like he’s about to take a step to you, body tilted in your direction, but he’s waiting. For your answer, you realise.

You think back to the party, from the bus stop to the party where the two of you danced together. How you wished that moment would last forever. How it felt like it would. But it didn’t. And the party came to an end and you were hit with the reality that was supposed to be Chaeryeong.

It was always supposed to be Chaeryeong.

“Yes,” you say. No. “You’ve got to finish the plan.” Please stay.

Beomgyu looks stunned. Opens and closes his mouth like he doesn’t know what to say. “The plan,” he says breathlessly, dazed. “Right,” this time with more conviction. “Okay, yeah. I’ll, uh, see you around.”

You give him a small smile, something you hope says You’ve got this! and not I don’t know what to do when you’re not around, please don’t go. You open the door for him, leading him out. He gives you one last glance before stepping out into the hallway.

He doesn’t say goodnight. Neither do you.

Turns out Rina was right. You were in too deep. And there was nothing you could do about it.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

STEP 5: ASK HER TO BE YOUR GIRLFRIEND (CONGRATULATIONS FOR MAKING IT THIS FAR, LOSER)

BG’S NOTE: uh thanks

Y/N’S NOTE: ur welcome

“I’m surprised, really,” Yeji starts, from her place on your couch. “I could have sworn you guys were dating when we met.”

You nearly spill the coffee you were drinking all over yourself. “What?”

Yeji had invited herself over that morning, under the guise of catching up, then bombarded you with questions about why she hasn’t seen you around with your shadow (Beomgyu) lately. You don’t know why, but it led to spilling your guts to her about everything—the plan, your not planned feelings, pushing Beomgyu to Chaeryeong.

Yeji shrugs noncommittally. “Yeah, you guys are, like, all over each other, all the time, I just figured.” You’re sure you must look like she just told you she believes the Earth is flat with the way you are staring at her mouth agape but she pays you no mind. “And then we started hanging out more and Chaeryeong just wouldn’t stop talking about Beomgyu and I was stunned because, you know, I like you and think you’re cool and Girl Code and all that so I’m like ‘Dude, back off, don’t be a homewrecker’—”

This time you do spill your coffee. “You said what?”

“—and she was like ‘Oh, no they aren’t dating, don’t worry’. Now you can imagine how confused I was. But, I let it go because I know Chaer and she wouldn’t do that, but, I don’t know. Had this feeling in my gut. And now here you are telling me that I was, in fact, wrong and that this whole thing was planned. Crazy.”

At your silence and most definitely frazzled expression, Yeji winces sympathetically. “Too much at once?”

“A lot at once—You told Chaeryeong we were dating?”

“You guys sure act like it! Like, the amount of heart eyes that boy sends your way? Anybody could see he liked you.”

You cross your arms, frowning as you lean back into your seat. “Well, you got your facts wrong, clearly. Those were for Chaeryeong.”

Yeji sighs. “Remember when we went to that amusement park? And the guys were trying to win all those prizes?”

“Yeah, and Beomgyu was trying to win some for Chaeryeong.”

She waves you off with an eye roll. “He was and he did, and she appreciated it, by the way.” You scowl. She is undeterred. “Anyways, you and me were looking at, like, the big ones, the ones that need, like, a bajillion points, right? And you point at this giant, ugly as shit sloth as a joke and tell me that that’s what you want?”

You nod, confused as to what this has to do with anything. “And Theo won it for me.”

Yeji shakes her head. Your eyebrows furrow further. “I asked and he didn’t. Beomgyu did.”

You throw a cushion at her head. “Shut up.”

“I’m being serious!” she exclaims, dodging successfully. “He heard you say that you wanted and stayed back for twenty minutes trying to win that thing for you. Told Theo to pretend it was from him.”

You think back to the plushie in question, resting on your bedside table and try to imagine Beomgyu trying to win it for you. Try to imagine him hearing your offhanded comment, taking it seriously and spending all that time and shake your head to rid the thoughts. “Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s in love with you and is too stupid to see it? And you’re just as stupid for not seeing it either.”

You sputter to defend yourself. To defend Beomgyu. “That’s not-The plan-He can’t—”

“You can’t plan for feelings, Y/N. You shouldn’t try to.”

You go to argue again but decide against it. Instead you slide down the couch and hide your face in your hands. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Well, for one, get out of your head.” At that, the cushion you threw comes launching back and hits you square in the face. You release a string of curses that Yeji ignores. “Stop refusing the idea that Beomgyu might like you like you like him. After that? I don’t know. It’s kind of up to you.”

Yeji leaves soon after that, having a lesson that’s starting soon and you figure it’s time for you to head to your own, too.

Seeing Chaeryeong in class feels like a punch in the gut. She smiles when she sees you, waves you over to her table to talk but you can’t find it in you to do so.

You give a small wave in return but make a beeline for your desk. You ignore the frown she sends your way. The truth is, you’re not mad at Chaeryeong. You can’t be. It’s not her fault and she didn’t do anything except be super welcoming and nice. But, you can’t sit with her, not when your feelings are practically eating you up inside. Not when you don’t know if Beomgyu’s asked her yet.

If she said yes.

After nearly another hour feeling sorry for yourself, Ms Kwon lets the class out. You sling your bag over one shoulder and exit, barely looking up from the ground.

“Hey,” Beomgyu breathes out, standing right outside your class, like he always does.

You gssp softly, surprised to see him here. For you. “Hey,” greet back, adjusting the strap of your bag.

“How was class?”

“Fine,” you blurt out. You find that you can’t do the small talk. That you just want to know. “Did you talk to Chaeryeong?”

Beomgyu blinks. “Uh, yeah. I did.”

“Well what did she say?”

A breath. “That she likes me—which, I figured—and that, if it’s okay with me, she wants to keep hanging out as friends.”

It feels like the whole world has tilted on it’s axis. “What?”

“Gave me a hug for good luck, too.”

“For what?”

He shrugs, stepping closer. “Getting the girl.”

Your chest tightens. “Did you?” You hold your breath, afraid of the answer but needing to hear it anyway.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Another step. “You told me to go to Chaeryeong.”

You scan his face, hoping to find answers to the one question playing on loop in your head: What is going on? “I thought it was what you wanted. Still do, kinda. I’m confused.”

“I wanted you to tell me not to. To stay. With you.”

“Oh.”

He chuckles softly, “Yeah.”

Talking to Beomgyu always came easy, too easy sometimes. You could talk for hours on end and never get bored. But now it feels like there aren’t any words in the world. Nothing you could say.

He does it for you. “If you don’t mind, I would like to cash in my question now.”

“Go ahead.”

“If this isn’t completely out of left field and I’m not reading this the wrong way, Y/N, would you like to go out with me? And then, I don’t know, if you don’t end up having a horrible time with me, go on another one? And another—a dozen preferably. And, hopefully, if after all that, you’re not absolutely sick of me, would you say yes to being my girlfriend?”

You blink once. Twice. Gasp. Then, “Oh my god.”

“You can be incredibly slow, you know that?” Beomgyu teases, smirking until you punch his shoulder, making him wince.

“I thought you were being friendly, you jerk!”

“Stop hitting me!”

You bring your arm back. You avert your gaze to somewhere over his shoulder, uncertainty and nerves washing over. “I haven’t had any in a while. Didn’t want to mess it up.”

His face softens almost impossibly so. “You couldn’t mess up anything with me. So…about that question?” That boyish nervousness is the only confidence boost you need to remember that this is Beomgyu. Your best friend. The boy you were in love with. (Maybe. It might be too soon to tell. It doesn’t matter.)

“Well,” you drawl and Beomgyu groans at your dramatics, “do I really have to wait till the twelfth date before I can be your girlfriend?”

Beomgyu pretends to think, smile beaming so bright it’s almost blinding. “I suppose we could knock it down to at least six. Minimum four.”

You hum in consideration, taking a step forward. “How about, one and a kiss?”

“Wha—?”

Before he can finish his question, you grab a fistful of his shirt and pull his lips onto yours, bag slipping off your shoulder. He’s stock still for a moment, stunned by the sudden movement, but quickly melts into the kiss.

His hands find your sides, running up and down your arms, pulling you closer. Your hold on his shirt releases as your body practically turns into a puddle. It’s all too much. Too much and not enough all at once. You want him closer, think anymore would make you combust.

Breathing, you remember belatedly, is a necessary thing. Reluctantly, you pull away from Beomgyu, resting your forehead against. He chases your lips once, twice and you giggle.

“No dates.” Beomgyu’s breath comes out ragged. “Let’s just kiss some more and I can be your boyfriend right now.”

You laugh loudly, attracting the attention of a few students. Beomgyu beams. He kisses you again, slower this time, softer. The urgency from the first one is gone, replaced with a gentleness that has you sighing into his mouth.

“You were right,” he says suddenly when you have to stop to breathe again. You tilt your head slightly confused. “Pretty fool proof plan.” Beomgyu grins at you wide and silly and you try your hardest to hold back from kissing it off his face.

(You do, anyways.)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

BONUS STEP!!

REMEMBER: NOTHING REALLY CHANGES

BG’S NOTE: ONLY THERE’S A LOT MORE KISSING

Y/N’S NOTE: CAN CONFIRM, KISSING AS WE WRITE THIS

“So, I guess you fell for my charms after all, huh?”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

[kiyof]

LOVEDDDD the personalities here!!! everyones so Vibrant and Alive and Charismatic, it was just such a joy to be able to read this. not to mention a solid story overall, everything was tight—the humour, plot, dialogue, etc etc. overall an extremely satisfying read that left me w the olivia wilde nod.

read all of the stories from them and i noticed they always gave yn personality which i really really appreciate because ofc i understand that self-insertion is one reason why fanfiction is so fun (especiall yn fics), but idk yn is a character too!! i need her to serve!!! idgaf how you need to go ab it, she can serve cunt, serve bitch, serve girl next door, serve pathetic—i jsut need her to be human!!! anw yes random long rant my bad my bad

love fool ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

♫: Seven, Jungkook // Lovefool, The Cardigans // I only want to be with you, Tommy february6

“In which Yeonjun is more than willing to show you the lengths he’ll go for you.”

yeonjun x fem!reader

Genre: established relationship, inspired by “Seven” mv, fluff, angst, smut

Word count: 10.6K

warnings: don’t take this story seriously pls. it’s ridiculous. yj is clingy. and emotional. and a bit pathetic. the mc is avoidant… and a bit of a bitch ! Lack of communication smh, a bit toxic if u squint ur eyes but it’s supposed to be cute idk (seven mv type toxic skdjdj) yj is a frat boy & a himbo (pick a struggle, pls), arguing, mc has acrylic nails, use of the phrase “boyfriend-girlfriend” bc i’m obsessed w it

smut warnings: mean dom!mc, sub!yj, (mentions of dom!yj) service top!yj, unprotected sex, manhandling (m. rec), hairpulling, name calling, (bitch, stupid, slut, etc) pet names (baby, good boy), dry humping, biting, marking, scent kink (?), scratching, dumbification, dacryphilia, forced orgasm (kinda), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, yj rambles. a lot. breast play, handjob, humiliation, creampie, subspace, implied oral (f. rec) (lemme know if i should add anything!)

Notes: fucking hate arguing with men w/ pretty puppy eyes like i will fuck the shit outta y-

Yeonjun hates when you’re mad at him. It makes him feel guilty and leaves him with a gross feeling in his stomach, pouty and annoying as his friends are always left to deal with the mess. 

It doesn’t happen often— he tries his hardest not to make you mad, always saying yes and going above and beyond with you— he loves to please you and make you happy, which is exactly why it hits harder when you look at him like you never want to see him again. 

“I don’t want to see you around, don’t talk to me!”

But sometimes, he just can’t help it. 

He seriously doesn’t know what he did wrong— there were no anniversaries forgotten, no plans he stood you up on, no petty arguments— and yet, here he sits, sinking into his couch and burrowed in blankets as his friends try to get him to come out of his cocoon, all with no success.

“Is she mad at you again?” Beomgyu asks, his voice muffled despite sitting on top of Yeonjun— literally, he couldn’t feel his legs— and he hears him groan at the sight of Yeonjun nodding under the mass of blankets, cursing quietly to himself and undoubtedly rolling his eyes, “dude, what did you do?”

“I don’t knowww,” Yeonjun cries out, throwing the blankets off him and onto Beomgyu as he whines— he watches as Beomgyu flails about for a second, running his hands through his hair as he continues to stress about you, “she— she said she didn’t wanna see me again, but I miss her…”

“Fuck, she’s probably just saying that because she wants space— dude, are you crying?”

“What if she was breaking up with me?” Yeonjun asks, and Beomgyu is amazed to see the way his wide eyes are welling up with tears; god, he’s actually crying now, the sight childish and unhinged as he watches his (older) friend sniffle and hiccup through his sentences, “what if— what if she— she, she, she really meant it— god, I don’t wanna break up, I don’t even know what I did wronggg!”

“Okay, okay,” Beomgyu grimaces, watching the way his friend breaks down before his eyes; his hand is stiff and awkward as it pats Yeonjun’s back, trying his best to comfort him, wincing at the way Yeonjun only cries harder, “It’s… probably nothing, I’m sure she’ll talk to you again tomorrow, or once she’s calmed down.”

“You think?” Yeonjun asks, peeking through his hands and up at Beomgyu with sparkling eyes, full of hope as Beomgyu can only crack a nervous smile.

“Yeah,” he says, patting Yeonjun’s back again in reassurance, “Yeah— just, be patient, okay?”

Patient is the last word one would use to describe Yeonjun. 

-ˏˋ♡ˊˎ-

MONDAY

This is it. 

Yeonjun has been waiting all weekend for this moment (Or just Sunday, to be more accurate), restless on his feet as he finds himself pacing back and forth— he’s nibbling at his lip nervously, arms sore and tired from the weight of the gift he holds in his hands; a bouquet of your favorite flowers, pristine and in full bloom— it’s large and quite heavy as it practically covers his face, but Yeonjun knew that a small bouquet would do nothing to show his love for you. 

He would try to talk to you as soon as your class ended. He needed to know what he did wrong, and he sure as hell would not do it again. You didn’t text him after the argument, and it only left him uneasy at the thought of you really wanting to end things.

He didn’t want to lose you. Not like this. 

Admittedly, he got a bit ahead of himself— he’s been waiting outside for the past half hour, arriving much too early as he stood out in the hall awkwardly— at some point, he tried peeking into the small, rectangular window next to the door, hunched over slightly and pouting as he scanned the room for you. 

When he spotted you, he was delighted to see you had already been looking at him. 

He couldn’t contain the wide smile that stretched across his face, waving at you excitedly in hopes you’d do the same— unable to realize that the whole class was now looking at him, he was confused to watch the way your face screwed up into an expression of sheer embarrassment, shielding your face with your hand and looking away as some students began following his line of sight. 

Why did you do that? You were ignoring him, and it hurt like a bitch as Yeonjun frowned. His mind was racing as he began wondering what he might’ve done wrong— he was so focused, in fact, that he failed to notice the professor blocking his view, his reaction time much too slow as his eyes flickered up to meet the man’s gaze. Flustered, he backed away quickly, his face heating up as he bowed in apology— he hugged the bouquet close to his chest as he did, mumbling out a soft sorry the man probably couldn’t even hear. 

You, on the other hand, could hear the way your professor laughed at Yeonjun’s actions, absolutely mortified by the way he turned around and began to joke to the class, saying that “It looks like someone here has an admirer,” whilst looking in your direction, your classmates laughing along before he went back to his lecture.

Shit, this was so embarrassing. 

Yeonjun is so fucking stupid, you cry to yourself, peeking over at the doorway in hopes that he took the hint and left— but no, he definitely didn’t, because you could still see his figure through the window, leaning against the wall and holding an item the size of his whole upper body close to his chest. 

The last thing you wanted to do was go outside and see him— but that’s exactly what happened anyway, even if you lingered behind once class ended in hopes that Yeonjun would get impatient and wait— patience was never his strongest virtue, after all. 

But for you, anything could change. 

This is exactly why you find him outside the door, face hidden with what is, to your surprise, a large bouquet of your favorite flowers. 

Fuck, you seriously don’t want to talk to him right now. Gritting your teeth, you use this moment to sneak past him, a slight guilt tugging at you as you look back, spotting the way he seems oblivious to the fact that you’ve left already. 

Looking back was your first mistake.

Because Yeonjun, in a truly creepy fashion, is almost able to sense it, whipping his head to you and perking up at the way you only walk faster— then begin sprinting, refusing to look back again once he starts chasing after you. 

“Baby,” you hear him call out to you, the ridiculous rustling of his bouquet slightly muffling his words as his footsteps thud against the tiles; for an athlete, you’d expect him to catch up to you already, but you quietly pat yourself on the back for the slight head start you gave yourself. 

“Baby, wait!” he continues to yell, ignoring the strange stares from those passing by, “Please, let me talk to you!” 

“I don’t wanna talk!” you growl out, your emotions taking over as you remember why you’re mad at him, “leave me alone!”

You’re outside now; you’re a huffing and sweaty mess, but you refuse to slow down for even a second, the threat of Yeonjun hot on your heels fueling your stamina. 

“Can you please tell me what I did wrong?” He yells, exasperated as he watches you run off the sidewalk— you’re attempting to lose him, but countless running drills and morning runs have prepared him for this moment— without a second thought, he’s following you, attempting to peek over his— inconveniently large, he must admit— bouquet, watching the way you simply continue to run, glancing back every once in a while to see if he’s still there. 

“Please, can we be civil and talk about this?!” his words have you turning around to send him a glare— instead, you stumble to a stop as you watch Yeonjun trip, eyes widening at the dramatic sight before you. 

He’s fallen flat on his face, a puff of petals blowing up around him as you wince— he’s face-first into whatever’s left of the flowers, the rest of the petals fluttering in the air around him and falling delicately on his figure as you stare, the place eerily silent save for the chirping birds and rustling leaves.

He doesn’t say anything— he doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t even attempt to get up, left splattered all over the grass as you stare at him in slight concern. 

“Yeonjun?” you call out uncertainly, shifting on your feet as you pause. He doesn’t respond— he’s left frozen on the ground, and you’re frowning at the sight as you slowly make your way to him; you approach him slowly, as though you were approaching a wild animal, tense in your movements as you lean in to observe him. 

“Did you die?” you ask quietly, taking in the way he still hasn’t moved. Not an inch. You feel more concerned than you want to admit, crouching down in front of him as you bite your lip in worry. 

“Do you hate me.” the sudden words have you flinching, staring down at Yeonjun, who’s still eating dirt and flowers. You frown, scoffing at the way he weakly reaches out for you— swiftly, you slap his hand, watching the way it flops back onto the ground. 

“No— yes— a little,” you stutter out, angry at the way you bounce between responses just from the mere pathetic sight of him. 

“Can you forgive me?” he asks, the words muffled as it takes you a minute to decipher what he may be saying— you can’t help but roll your eyes at his antics.  

“For what?” you ask, picking a petal off his back absentmindedly as you wait— if he could answer properly, you might consider giving in. 

“For existing.” 

God, Yeonjun was such a sap. It has you biting back a smile as you resist the urge to stroke his hair, mused and riddled with petals from his grand gesture— but his answer was not the one you were looking for, and you’re standing back up and readjusting your clothes without another word. 

“pleaaaaseee,” you hear him whine, watching the way he shrivels up into a ball— then, he’s sitting back on his legs, whipping his head up and looking at you with wide, teary eyes. 

“Please take the flowers with you at least,” he pouts, thrusting the bouquet— or, whatever was left of it— up at you with pleading eyes.

Pressing your lips together, you sigh; a moment passes before you’re taking the gift from him begrudgingly, ignoring the way he perks up happily at your action. 

“I’m still mad at you,” you hiss, and he immediately deflates at your words, “Don’t visit my class like that again. Please.” 

He says nothing, left to watch as you turn your back to him and walk away; he has yet to get up, his heart pounding against his chest as he watches the way you hug the flowers close to you, shaking your head at the state of them. 

This was… progress. 

But you’re still mad at him. 

-ˏˋ♡ˊˎ-

TUESDAY

Visiting you in class was a big no. 

Visiting you in general, however, wasn’t off-limits.

You don’t want to talk to him? Fine, he can understand. In fact, he won’t talk to you at all— a feat much greater said than done— but hey, he always loved staring at you anyway. 

Well, it’s a little hard to stare by the way you’ve propped up textbooks around your face like a fort. 

He’s staring. He’s still staring. You can practically feel his puppy-eyed gaze burn into your brain telepathically; no matter how hard you try to focus on your work, it’s become damn near impossible with the way you can feel Yeonjun’s presence, your neck beginning to ache from the way you’ve remained ducked down this whole time. 

It was easy to deal with at first; you chose not to do anything the moment you saw Yeonjun emerge from the staircase and onto the top floor of the library— otherwise known as the quietest level. 

He wouldn’t be able to talk to you without disturbing the peace of others— and potentially being asked to leave— so you decided to not make a scene and go back to studying, even when you felt his eyes lock on your figure and beeline to you. 

He sat across from you first. Though, you were quick to move, pretending as though you were looking for a book as you quickly ran away to the other side of the library. You felt the way his eyes followed you the whole time— he looked like a kicked puppy, and damn did that stupid tactic of his always work, because you even felt yourself pausing for a second, wondering if you should give in and talk to him. 

But, you are a horrendously petty person.

You were holed up in some random corner. You didn’t even know there was a table there until today, the spot so secluded and quiet that you silently celebrated getting him off your trail.

It was peaceful— for like, a good ten minutes. 

You didn’t think much of it when you first heard it; footsteps, slow and calculated as they rounded about the bookshelves. You could hear the sound of books being pulled out clear as day, though you chose to ignore it all and keep focus on your assignments instead. 

After a moment, the footsteps disappeared. 

It was back to being completely silent. And, in your bored state, you began to look around the area you were huddled up in; curiously, you allowed yourself to walk around, reading the spines and pulling out books that seemed to pique your interest even slightly. 

There seemed to be another person here as well— maybe it was the same person as before, or maybe it was someone new— you didn’t pay mind to it nonetheless, continuing your journey as your eyes locked in on a particularly colorful book.

Slowly, you pulled it out— on the other side, you watched the book adjacent to yours slowly get pulled out as well, and a smile tugged at your lips at the odd coincidence. 

Then, your eyes met with Yeonjun’s. 

His gaze filled with admiration was only returned with a mean scowl from you. You were quick to shove the book back into its place, storming off to your table without a moment’s hesitation. 

Yeonjun was quickly able to find your hiding spot— one might think you could cry from the way you buried your face into your hands defeatedly, refusing to look up from your dark refuge as the sounds of a chair scraping against the carpeted floors met your ears. 

That’s how you found yourself here, ignoring what people might think as you hide behind your fortress of textbooks. You didn’t feel good staying in a secluded area with Yeonjun— not because you thought he might try to do anything— but because you were afraid of your own resolve crumbling, especially after you’d spent so much time trying to ignore him. 

You wonder if he’s still here. Who are you kidding, of course he’s still here, though you can’t really bring yourself to check and see for yourself. 

After a while, you hear scribbling sounds. 

You can’t hide the way you jump as a piece of paper hits your head, folded into a perfect heart and landing in front of you with a dull thud. 

Open me :( it says, and though you wish you could say you were strong enough to ignore it, you definitely aren’t.

Can you pls let me look at u at least?

You don’t get much of a moment to process the message. Another paper lands directly in front of you, shaped into a heart and scrawled with the same words as the last— slowly, you open it, dreading what might be written inside this time. 

I miss you so so so so so much. 

You shake your head at his words. Sliding the paper to the side, you ignore his request, choosing to focus on your work instead of giving in to his silly tactics. After a moment, you wonder if you’ll be getting another paper— instead, nothing happens; the sigh of relief you let out is almost comical, your body relaxing a bit as you allow yourself to wonder if he’s finally left. 

That was your second mistake. 

Because after a few minutes, another paper hits you. It’s another heart, and you find that you don’t need to open it this time, the message scrawled on top for easier access. 

I’m sorry. 

Another paper flies over your fortress.

I’m sorry.

Then, another. 

Pls forgive me.

Then another. And another, and another, and another. 

Pls, I hate making you mad. I feel so gross and sad rn. I seriously can’t go a day without you. I miss you sm, pls :(((

You feel like you’re under attack— the way he continues to throw paper after paper is rhythmic and almost impressive, the endless stream of hearts covering your keyboard and forcing you to sweep them to the side after seconds. 

It’s useless to study. How can you, when Yeonjun keeps throwing his apologies at you? It’s stupid and childish and is enough for you to take your textbooks down, your jaw clenched and your eyes pointed in a sharp glare that has Yeonjun pausing in his actions. 

There’s a small pile of hearts next to him. 

Neither of you move— he’s frozen mid-throw, his eyes widening as though he can’t grasp the fact that you’re actually looking at him— even if it’s filled with rage and annoyance. 

Slowly, the corners of his lips curl up— you can’t find it in you to react as he throws the paper in his hands, feeling the way it smacks right onto your forehead before it falls to the table. 

Can I show u how sorry I am??

You don’t seem to think of the consequences as you reach for your bag in the seat next to you— devoid of anything except a few pencils and your hoodie— and throw it at him, watching the way he yelps in surprise, your bag spilling out it’s few contents all over the floor. The sound is enough to have the people around you glancing at your table, curious or angry at the sound of the ruckus. 

You’re worked up and huffing as you watch Yeonjun scramble to gather the spilled contents of your bag, watching as he stutters out whispered apologies between his actions. 

“Excuse me,” the hand on your shoulder is firm as you twist your head to look at the librarian, your expression falling at the realization of what you’ve just done. 

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” 

Whipping your head around, you meet eyes with a sheepish and guilty Yeonjun, gritting your teeth as he holds out your bag for you to take. 

Wordlessly, you snatch it from him, shoving your computer and the rest of your items into it before you’re turning around to face the librarian; you whisper out a soft “I’m so sorry” as you bow in apology, waiting for her to leave before you’re facing Yeonjun again. 

I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, he mouths to you, though you ignore it all as you choose to whack his shoulder with your very-full bag instead; the pained whimper he lets out has you gritting your teeth in irritation, watching the way he pouts up at you as he rubs his arm pathetically. 

“Don’t pull this shit again,” you hiss out, storming off before he can get another word out. 

There goes all his progress. 

-ˏˋ♡ˊˎ-

WEDNESDAY

Today has been an oddly nice day.

It’s nice— too nice, you wonder, pondering what may be different enough to have you walking with a smile on your face, appreciating the beautiful weather in a light mood. 

A guy your age is leaning against a tree up ahead. He holds a bouquet of roses, and you smile at the way he seems to be passing one out to every person that passes him. That’s so sweet, you think to yourself, and you can’t help the way your stomach twists in anticipation the moment his eyes meet yours. 

“Would you like a rose?” he asks you, his blond hair shining under the sunlight as he sends you a bright smile— you don’t hesitate to say yes, taking the flower from him with a cute thank you! 

The flower is in full bloom as you twirl it between your fingers absentmindedly. The smile on your face is seemingly permanent as you make your way to your favorite cafe, though as you think back to the interaction, you can’t help but wonder if you know that man from somewhere.

It isn’t until you stop at a crosswalk that you notice it— there’s a tag on the rose, and though you initially thought it was just a price tag, you realize that it’s something else; pausing before you cross the street, you take a moment to tilt your head and read it, feeling your jaw drop as your brain registers the words in disbelief. 

Yeonjun says he’s sorry.

“What the fuck,” you mutter to yourself, ripping it off without hesitation and shoving it into your pocket— you definietly recognize the man from earlier, you realize— that was Hueningkai!

You roll your eyes at Yeonjun’s weak ploy to talk to you— you can’t help the way it leaves you irritated as you stand in line to order, trying your best to recite your regular order to the barista with a smile on your face, the man before you giving you a dimpled smile before he’s off to make it.

By the time you get your order, you’ve calmed down— you’re quick to exit and make your way back towards campus, using this small break between classes to study again. (without Yeonjun around, hopefully.) 

Your fingers are absentminded as you trace over the printed sticker on the side of the cup that has your order printed on it, glancing down at the text before you take another sip. 

Yeonjun is really sorry.

…What? 

You were more unnerved than anything. The lengths Yeonjun had gone through to communicate almost concerned you, though all you could do at this point was rip the sticker off and shove it in your pocket, ignoring it like the other one. You wracked your mind for answers as you began to wonder if you had seen that barista anywhere else, and after a moment, you settled on the vague conclusion that you think you’ve seen him in Yeonjun’s frat house before. 

He’s so annoying, you sigh to yourself, rubbing at your temples as you fear an upcoming headache. 

You’re startled back to life at the sight of a puppy running up to you— you’re frowning at the sight, unsure of what to do as it stops right at your feet, jumping up on you and barking excitedly— almost like it recognized you— squinting, you observe the dog. 

Oh god, you think to yourself, realizing with dread that you do recognize this damn dog.

“Matcha, who let you out,” you huff, leaning down to scoop the tiny dog into your arms— in the distance, you can see someone running in your direction, though you choose to ignore it as you notice Matcha’s brand new collar. 

Yeonjun misses you more than anything. 

The words are wrapped around his collar, leaving you to throw your head back and groan at the sight; the footsteps are much louder than before, and you’re looking forward again as you spot yet another familiar face. 

“Beomgyu,” you sneer, shoving Matcha into his awaiting hands. All he can do is laugh sheepishly, muttering out what a coincidence! Petting Matcha, he pauses, giving you an expectant look that only leaves you confused.

“Could you forgive him?”

“Go away!” you say in return, weaving out of his way and practically running off to the library; you can hear Matcha barking at you, though you choose to ignore it as Beomgyu’s calls of your name fuel you further. 

You feel out of breath by the time you finally enter the library, finding the nearest help desk and beginning to rummage through your bag for any books you need renewed— the librarian simply smiles at you patiently as he waits, adjusting his glasses before he quickly turns around to get something— by the time he’s back, you’ve laid out your books for him, thanking him quietly as you watch him renew them quickly.

When he slides them back towards you, you frown— there’s a bookmark on top of your small stack of books, laminated and shiny under the lights as you pick it up to get rid of the glare— reading it, you can already feel the need to tear it, though it seems as this cheeky worker is already one step ahead of you. 

Yeonjun just wants to talk to you again.

Three ways to better communication in a relationship:

The glare you send the worker— Taehyun, his name tag reads— is lethal, though he doesn’t seem to be affected by it as he simply sends you an innocent smile. Without another word, you gather your books, shoving them into your bag as you turn to leave.

“Ignoring him won’t solve anything,” he calls out quietly, though you don’t seem to appreciate the advice by the way you don’t even bother to turn back and react. Instead, you walk right back out, storming home as you type on your phone furiously. 

my baby :((

stop using others to relay messages damn it!!!

my baby :((

and don’t use matcha against me you loser!!!!!!

Through his end, Yeonjun is just happy that you’re texting him— though, the mean name is not much appreciated. 

Choi Yeonjun. 

can you pls let me talk to you instead?

You don’t bother opening the notification. 

That was your third mistake.

-ˏˋ♡ˊˎ-

THURSDAY

Today has been relatively peaceful. You have yet to be bothered today— no Yeonjun, no Matcha, and certainly none of his friends. 

Maybe because he was aware of your plans today; you did tell him a while ago about your reunion with one of your friends, always chatting his ear off about how excited you were to finally see her again—it slightly warms your heart to know that he actually listens to you.

Well. Most of the time. 

“You’re fighting right now?” Tzuyu asks, leaning forward in her seat with wide eyes. You didn’t expect this sudden change of topic, but you can only nod grimly in response, watching as she sighs in dismay at your situation. 

“Wow, you guys never fight— at least, not to this level,” she’s deep in thought over your relationship as she frowns, crossing her arms over her chest as she stares down at her empty plate— you both chose to forgo dessert, and now you wait patiently for your check.

“Well, what are you guys even fighting about?” 

“It’s just—“ you’re cut off by your server placing the check in between the two of you, thanking him with a smile on your face before you’re freezing; you’re unsure of what to make of the plate that he places before you, stuttering out unintelligible sentences that you didn’t order… whatever this was. 

“Free of charge,” the man says, before bowing politely and scurrying away; you’re barely able to get a word out before you huff in defeat, looking back at the treat in front of you as you take in Tzuyu’s amused laughter.

“What?” you ask, frowning as you watch her turn the plate towards you— you’re left a bit speechless by what you see, mouth falling open as your brain attempts to comprehend how you should react to this. 

It’s dessert— well, more specifically, three full scoops of ice cream, the caramel drizzle and other toppings decorating it to make it look like a cat; more specifically, a sad cat. All along the plate, more caramel drizzle decorates it to form a sentence. 

I miss you. Please, talk to me. YJ. 

Your head snaps up in the direction the waiter went in; looking out the small window of the kitchen door, you spot none other than Yeonjun, his eyes widening before he’s ducking out of the way like a deer in headlights. 

“How the fuck did he get back there?!” you cry out, running a hand down your face in disbelief— but no, one more glance back in his direction is enough to catch him peeking at you again, flinching in surprise before he’s ducking out of your sight once more. 

“Who let him in there?” you hiss, placing your head in your hands as Tzuyu merely laughs; you ignore the way she begins to dig into the dessert after you express that you won’t touch it, humming happily that it was a sweet gesture. 

A moment’s thought is able to remind you where you are— in Beomgyu’s older brother’s restaurant, of course. 

Defeatedly, you open the checkbook to offer to pay— though the price has your eyes practically bulging out, reading and re-reading the strange excuse of a check this waiter has brought to you. 

Your meal was free. 

The only thing you read on the paper was a poor excuse of Yeonjun replacing the food items with “i miss you”s and “i’m sorry”s, the sight baffling you as Tzuyu turns the check towards her in curiosity. 

“Interesting,” she hums, closing the checkbook before she’s fishing for tip money, “Are you sure you wanna lose a guy like him?”

You take a second to think her question through. 

Yet another mistake on your part. 

-ˏˋ♡ˊˎ-

FRIDAY

Remembering what happened today is enough to have your head hurting— so, you’ll keep it short.

You were working— working, minding your own business, prey to unsuspecting events— when it happened. 

Fridays were always rush days. Maybe that’s why you didn’t think to pay attention to your surroundings, to the blasting music, the yell of your coworkers calling out drinks and names, or to the endless chatter of the customers around you. 

You should have paid attention— maybe, if you did, you would’ve been able to spare yourself the embarrassment— another mistake of yours, if you will. 

The break of music from the radio was not what caught your attention— radio hosts do it all the time, speaking in between songs with useless chatter as they find a song to play next— no, what did catch your attention, however, was the eerily familiar voice, and worse, the eerily familiar message he broadcasted all over your local station. 

“This next song is called Seven,” he spoke, smooth, suave, and relaxing as the track rolled in quietly in the background, “a song about a man more than willing to show how devoted he is to his to his partner— ___, come home, the kids miss you— well, more like Matcha, but still.”

You could feel your coworkers freeze around you. You could feel their gazes slowly drift to you, could feel the way customers got a good look at the decorated name tag you once showed off proudly. 

“Is— is he…?” your coworker whispered beside you, watching the way you caved into yourself in attempts to hide your nametag, “is he that frat boy you were talking about?”

“No.” you say, avoiding everyone’s gaze as you focus on making your drink instead, “No. That’s not him. This isn’t about me, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“___, I’ll keep waiting for you patiently. Have a good shift today.” 

Christ!

Your coworkers could only laugh lightheartedly at his words— they found it cute, which was even worse for you, because all you could wonder was how the fuck he was able to get into the broadcast station— this time, you seriously couldn’t figure out any ties between him and the place. 

“Looks like he won’t give up,” to say you were horrified at the way a customer told you this was an understatement, her eyes alight with amusement as she spoke to you with a tone so genuine you almost thought she was in on it— fuck, maybe she was— “if anything, you should turn him down soon before he goes too far.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you breathed out, tired of these constant antics as you thought over her words, forced to go through the rest of your shift pretending as though Yeonjun hadn’t broadcasted his pleading message to the whole city— well, more like anyone who was listening to the local radio station willingly.

You feel like you’re on The Truman Show, or something.

-ˏˋ♡ˊˎ-

SATURDAY

You were scared to talk to Yeonjun. 

Scared— why were you scared? You don’t know why, but you couldn’t bring yourself to send him a text message, pacing around your room like an idiot instead as you wondered what you would tell him. 

Would you talk? Would you finally break up with him?

The way your stomach sank with dread at the mere thought of the second option was enough of an answer for you— no, you shouldn’t break up with him.

However, it was storming today— there was no way in hell you would be going outside to meet him in such weather, so you opted to psych yourself up to send him a text message asking to meet up instead.

You were pacing around your room again when you noticed it. 

There’s a bright umbrella outside— shit, you recognize that umbrella, you realize with a heavy dread, walking up to your window and pulling your curtains open as you stare out in dismay.

Why the fuck is Yeonjun outside right now?

It’s perfect timing, the way his umbrella raises to show his figure; oh my god, you think to yourself, biting your lip as you take his expression in, he’s crying!

This was not your intention. You never meant to hurt Yeonjun like this, but you also were not ready to see him yet— so, with a slight pang in your heart, you shut the curtains again, leaving just enough of a crack to make sure that he’ll leave.

Instead, he stayed there. In true Yeonjun fashion, squinting up at your window in hopes that you’d at least tell him to go away. Instead, he watched as you peeked through the crack of the curtains, his heart fluttering slightly at the way you thought you were being discreet with your actions. 

Slowly, Yeonjun turns his phone to you; there’s writing flashing by in his phone, though you have to squint your eyes and wait for the whole sentence to roll by to see what he’s trying to tell you now. 

I know you don’t… want to see me… right now but I … seriously just need… to know what I … did wrong. 

God. Fuck. This whole “ghosting” ordeal was harder than it should be when someone like Yeonjun was involved. 

 It’s been like… a week and you… still haven’t talked… to me.

Oh, the guilt is seriously eating you up right now. You weren’t supposed to ignore him for days on end, but each time Yeonjun reached out for you, you couldn’t control the way you ran away in return, still hurt by the things he didn’t even realize he did.

You’ve finally gotten a good grasp of his obliviousness.

I’m sorry… I love you… I love you… I love you…

Only three words are rolling by on his phone now. You think you’ve gotten the gist of what he’s trying to tell you as you sink to the floor, out of sight and exasperated as you reach for your phone to make a call. 

“Hello?”

“Please come get Yeonjun. He’s outside my apartment in the freezing rain.”

“Uhm, let him in then?”

“I— I can’t,” you mutter sheepishly as you feel your face heating up, your stomach sinking as you hear Beomgyu scoffing on the other side of the line, “I don’t want to talk to him right now. Not like this.”

“Then I guess he’ll stay out in the freezing rain.” 

“He’ll get sick!” you say, and it’s only now that you feel stupid for this push and pull you’ve created, “please. I’m begging you.” 

“You need to talk to him.”

“I want to. I will.” you say, placing a hand on your forehead as you sigh, “Tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” 

A pause. Then, you hear rustling, and the sounds of Beomgyu grumbling quietly to himself.

“I’ll go get him,” he says, and you can feel yourself sink further against the wall in relief, “you better not back out on your word, okay?”

“Okay.” 

You hope you’re not making a mistake. 

-ˏˋ♡ˊˎ-

SUNDAY

This is awkward. You feel awkward. You probably look awkward, too. 

Yeonjun, for once, looks just as awkward and tense before you. His whole body is rigid as he sits on your couch, feeling more like a stranger in your home than the man you’ve spent the past few months with, the way his eyes wander around making you feel like it’s his first time here. 

“Yeonjun,” you sigh out, catching his attention as his eyes zero in on you immediately; you feel nervous under his gaze, unsure of what to say as your brain begins to stutter, your mouth opening and closing in hopes that a proper sentence will come out.

“What did I do wrong?” he cries out, snapping you out of your troubled reverie as your eyes meet his— they’re glossy, and you’re afraid he might just start crying again if you look away, “can we start there?”

“You— you seriously don’t know?” you ask, bewildered by his question as you sit back on your couch— Yeonjun simply shakes his head reverently in response, and you’re blinking owlishly at him as you stare at him in disbelief. 

“We didn’t have any arguments before this,” he says, nibbling on his lip as he thinks back to the moment you yelled at him, tearing his arm off you as he attempted to keep you from running away, “You just snapped at me then disappeared— I, I want to know what I did wrong, at least.”

“Yeonjun you—“ you’re dragging a hand down your cheek as you clench your jaw, taking a second to breathe to not snap at him again, “that’s the problem, you’re just so— so oblivious, I seriously thought you’d be able to put two and two together by now!” 

Oh, oh this is embarrassing; you should not be getting worked up right now, your hands immediately coming up to hide your face as you hear Yeonjun cooing out your name softly— he’s next to you at the speed of light, attempting to take your hands away as he quietly tells you to breathe in his stupid, calming voice. 

“You’re always at those stupid parties, you stupid frat boy—“ you’re stuttering through your sentences, the heat in your face humiliating as you feel your emotions finally tumbling down, “and I know I told you I’m okay with it— I am, I really am— but what I’m not okay with is how fucking flirty you are!”

You can feel Yeonjun’s hands stiffen; slowly, his mouth drops in shock, his face beginning to pale as he realizes just why you’re mad at him. 

“I’ve told you— time, and time again— that, that I don’t like when you feed into people like that, that you never reject advances and tell them that you have a fucking girlfriend,” you know he never means it in a harmful way. You know that, nine times out of ten, Yeonjun doesn’t even realize those advances are happening, but it’s always just as painful to watch, knowing that charming attitude and cheeky voice is exactly how he got you, “and it just makes me feel so… so stupid and jealous and unwanted!” 

You feel out of breath by the time you finish. Though you remain silent and try to calm yourself, you instead begin to feel more anger festering inside you as you take in Yeonjun’s face, full of dread and realization as he begins to think back to how he was acting back at the frat party that caused this mess. 

Yeonjun was used to people acting the way they did around him. It never fazed him, and most of the time he simply followed along because he found it fun. No, he never thought of having anyone else but you, you’re his everything— though, he does realize how inconsiderate he’s been of your feelings now. 

“Baby, baby, I’m so sorry,” he says, his words genuine and filled with guilt as he cups your face gently, “I didn’t know.”

“Fuck!” Your response is unprecedented as you shake his hands off you, pushing him back and forcing him to lay across the couch as he looks up at you in surprise. He’s unable to do anything as he watches the way you throw your legs on each side of his waist, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and tugging him up as you sneer at him.

“That’s your problem, you just don’t know—!” pushing him back on the couch, he lets out a soft oof! unable to help the way his stomach swirls in anticipation of your next move, “You’re just too stupid, you don’t know anything unless someone spells it out for you!”

Shit. Yeonjun has never seen you like this, frustrated and restless as you shift above him, your eyes alight with rage as you begin tugging your hoodie over your head; his eyes widen comically at the action, shifting nervously under you as he realizes that oh, you’re not wearing a bra. 

“You’ve seriously left me wondering if you’re even taking this relationship seriously, it’s ridiculous!” Yeonjun feels like he’s been left on autopilot as he lets you tug him up again; he’s sitting up, hands hovering precariously as you glare at him, the sight enough to have him gulping nervously.

“I— I do,” he stutters out, watching as you send him an accusing look, “I do, I do I do, I take you so seriously, and fuck, I haven’t been thinking of anyone but you all week.” 

“Yeah?” you ask him, patronizing and unexpectedly mean as you look down at him, “You never fucking act like it.”

“Yes I do—!” he yells out, though it’s cut off by the way you sit down firmly in his lap, a hand threading into his hair and yanking at the roots as you tug his head back cruelly, “I’ve shown you this whole week just how much I think about you…” 

Yeonjun is hard. Painfully so, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him get turned on so quickly— it’s enough to have you laughing breathily, tugging on his hair again and listening to the way he only lets out a high whine in response.

“What you’ve shown me this week,” you hiss, bringing him close to you, your lips grazing against his as you speak, “is that you’re a desperate bitch that doesn’t know how to be patient.”

“You were ignoring me,” he fights back, letting out a breathy wince at the way your grip tightens on his hair, “you’ve been so mean to me—!”

Yeonjun doesn’t get another word in on the matter. The way you bite his lip ruthlessly and sneak your tongue into his mouth has you feeling the way he practically turns to putty under you, his cheeks just as red as his lips as he gasps against your own, feeling the way you begin to grind against his cock without remorse. 

“Me? I’ve been mean to you?” you wonder out loud, hands running down his chest before you’re tugging his shirt up; you don’t bother taking it off as it rests against his chest, leaning him back and running your hands over his skin as you take in the way his stomach twitches in response. “do you know how many people think they’ve actually got a chance with you, all because you refuse to use common sense and say, oh, I’ve got a girlfriend!” 

Yeonjun shakes his head; there’s no way your words are true, especially when he’s literally obsessed with you. But of course, you’re always right— which is exactly why you’re fueled to rake your nails down his skin, leaving him to hiss and twitch at the feeling of your acrylics digging into his stomach and leaving bright, red scratch marks— acrylics he paid for because he thought they were pretty, the reminder only making his cock twitch pathetically. 

“There’s no one in this world that has a chance with me but you,” Yeonjun insists, pouting at the way you only scoff at his words, “I’ve never done anything to fuel other people’s strange fantasies.”

“God, you’re stupid,” you say, and Yeonjun thinks he must’ve lost his mind from the way he can feel a whine building up in his throat, “and to think I found that endearing.”

“You’re so mean,” he pouts— though he’s quick to regret it, letting out a loud cry as you begin grinding against him, able to feel the warmth of your pussy through the thin shorts you wear, your breast bouncing from the way your body begins to move. 

“You don’t like it?” You ask, tilting your head to watch as he merely shakes his head in response— all you can do is plant yourself to where you can feel his length pressed up against your slit, throbbing against you as you pout at him in false pity, “no you don’t like it, or no you do?”

“I— I…” he doesn’t know how to respond; it seems as though Yeonjun hasn’t figured out the response for himself, but you can feel it from the way his hips buck up into yours, stuttering and without rhythm as he remains defenseless under you. 

“You do like it,” you say, mocking at the way he only whimpers from the feeling of your nails digging into his hips, “Feels nice to be on the receiving end, baby?”

Fuck. Fuck, oh fuck, this was strange and new and Yeonjun was definitely enjoying himself more than he thought he should, a melted pile of remorse and love as he pathetically waited for your next move, doe eyes staring up at you as he felt his mouth part, unable to say anything as he gave in to the mean look you sent him. 

“Been waiting patiently for me, hmm?” you ask him, thinking back to his earlier words as you watch him nod eagerly in confirmation, “So you bothering me every day of the week was you being patient?”

“I just wanted to talk,” Yeonjun whines out, chest heaving at the way you begin rolling your hips against his, your rhythm firm and dangerous as he feels weak moans leaving him like a stream, “but you— you kept avoiding me, I wanted to get some confirmation that you didn’t break up with me that day…!”

“Yeah?” you mock him, your voice just as whiny and breathy as his as you lean down to him; placing your hands on his chest, you tilt your head, grinding your cunt against him in a way that has him panting and looking for someplace to grab onto, “and did you get your answer?”

Yeonjun doesn’t even think he registered what you said. All he knows is that the way you’re sitting on him is genuinely cruel, especially with the way he hasn’t felt your body against his in so long. His mind is muddled and he can feel himself losing control from the way his hips begin to buck up, his brain going blank except for the thought that he hasn’t felt you against him in what seems like ages, his body so pent up with frustration that he can’t help but chase after the slight pleasure you offer him. 

Yeonjun’s mind has blanked out. You can see it in his face, the way it’s twisted with pleasure as he fails to respond to you, body bucking up into you so wildly that you have to steady yourself with two hands pressed firmly against his chest, your balance getting screwed over at his attempts to fuck up into you. 

The feeling of your warm hands is enough to bring Yeonjun back, eyes widening in realization as his eyes meet yours, clouded with so much need that it has Yeonjun slowing his pace immediately.

“Fuck, fuck, wait,” he stutters out, eyes widening at the way your cunt is practically leaking onto him— he can feel it through the layers of clothes, “wait wait wait, I’m so— ah, please— so… sososo close, baby, please…!”

“Wait?” you echo, brows furrowing as he nods frantically in response, “thought you didn’t like waiting?”

“No, please, please,” he whimpers, though his hips don’t stop their mindless rutting into your warm cunt, “please, don’t wanna come like this, wanna be inside you.”

“No?” you repeat, the mocking tone of your voice making his eyes screw shut, “why don’t you stop then? It’s all up to you.”

Oh, of course he can stop— though, that doesn’t mean he will, your hips slowly grinding against his as you watch the way his mouth falls open, not a sound falling past it before his hips buck up into you wildly— slowly, you feel a warmth spread beneath you, Yeonjun’s eyes screwed tightly as tears begin to peek from the corners. 

“Nooooo nonono, no, not like this,” he cried quietly to himself, ever the hypocrite as his hands fly to your waist, riding out his orgasm with loud, shameless moans. 

“Oh, my baby,” you say, pouting at the way he apologizes to you under his breath, “Is that it? Are you done now?”

“No, not done,” he’s quick to respond despite his rattled state of mind, looking up at you through bleary eyes. 

“No?” you hum, taking a moment to watch him carefully. 

“No,” he repeats, breathless as his grip tightens on your hips— even through the sensitivity, you can still feel his hips roll up into yours, quiet whimpers and whines leaving him as he does so— though, he can’t find it in himself to stop, at least not with the way he has yet to feel you around him. 

“God, this is so pitiful,” you say, frowning at the way Yeonjun struggles to sit up underneath you; you’re cupping his face as he looks up at you, teary eyes and flushed face unable to say anything as he simply leans into your touch— the way you coo softly has him pouting, and you can’t resist the urge to hover over his lips, teasing him with a smile as you brush over them, placing chaste kisses that only have him chasing you for more. 

“What a good bitch,” you hiss, feeling the way his hands have wandered up to play with your breasts, obsessed as always as his fingers tug and circle your nipples, eager to feel them harden under his touch, “doesn’t matter how many times you cum, hmm? Just need to make me feel good?”

“Yes, yes yes yes,” he babbles, wincing and moaning at the way your lips have begun to wander along his neck, nipping and sucking and leaving enough marks that a person could spot from far away with ease; the way your teeth sink into his skin practically has him crying, and he can feel his heart pounding against his chest the moment he feels you pause, your nose nuzzling into the spot behind his ear, your breath ticklish on his skin as you laugh. 

“Are you wearing my perfume, junie?” You mumble, hearing the way he can only whine in embarrassment; he doesn’t answer you, and you bite at his earlobe softly as you wait, silently demanding a response as his hands fall to your hips, gripping them pathetically as though his life depended on it. 

“I missed you,” he repeats, the words making you roll your eyes as your hand finds itself in his hair; you’re tugging at it, tilting his head and exposing his neck to you as you begin to nose along the column, closing your eyes to confirm if this is really your scent, “couldn’t smell you on my clothes anymore, love your scent s’much, ah…”

His neck has always been sensitive; that’s exactly why you choose to focus on it so much, not leaving until it’s covered with your marks and his tears have run down them, his soft sniffles making you glance up as you take him in, overstimulated and a mess as he bites his lip in an attempt to quiet himself.

“Too much, baby?” You coo, running a hand through his hair and pushing it back comfortingly, watching as he shakes his head adamantly, his wide eyes shiny and tear-filled as he looks up at you.

“No,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around you and tugging you towards him; his face is buried in your chest, and you can’t hold back the gasp you let out as his mouth immediately attaches itself to your breast, plump lips sucking at it as his tongue runs along it, messy and spit-filled as he looks back up at you, grinding you into him with weak whimpers, “want you to use me, you can do anything you want to me, just wanna please you.”

“Such a good boy for me, junie,” you say, his eyes fluttering close at your fond comment. “Are you gonna listen to me, for once?”

“I always listen to you,” he insists, and you feel irked by his words as you scoff.

“Like hell you do,” you sneer, easily angered as he shrinks down from your cold gaze, “Show me then— strip.”

Yeonjun is eager to listen, eager to please; you don’t think you’ve ever seen him get undressed so quickly, kicking off his pants and throwing his shirt off in some random direction as he looks up at you expectantly, his cock a mess and already beginning to harden as your eyes fall to it.

“Hard already?” You muse, watching the way his cheeks blush red at your comment. Your hand is teasing as you wrap your fingers around his length, your perfect nails shining under the light as you slowly begin to move up and down, the cum from his previous orgasm guiding your movements as he begins to twitch under you, crying softly at the overstimulation. 

“Guess you weren’t lying,” you sigh out, finger swiping over his throbbing tip as you hear him yelp at the feeling, “just a cute body for me to use, hmm? You’re nothing but a dick for me to get myself off on?”

Yeonjun is mindlessly agreeing with you— your words are clearly affecting him, his cock leaking and throbbing in your hand, making a mess of it as his head falls back, throat displaying all the marks you left on him earlier like a trophy.

His head is snapping back up the moment you sink onto him. You’re warm, tight, and so fucking wet, his body jolting at the feeling of you clenching around him, taking him inch by inch as he feels the way your walls stretch to adjust to him.

“Fuck…” you hiss, your arousal practically dripping on him from how good he feels— “Yeonjun, shit.”

“Waiiittt, wait, oh god, no— don’t say my name like that, fuck,” Yeonjun begins moaning, your lips quirking into a smile as you watch his eyes screw shut, already knowing what’s coming from the way he holds onto you tighter, head buried into your chest as he tries to still your hips.

“Hmm? What’s wrong?” You ask, feigning innocence as you roll your hips into him, moaning dramatically as you do, “Oh, Yeonjun, Yeonjun— fuck, junie, you feel so good, feel so full…”

He’s shaking his head hopelessly; you know what you’re doing to him, and he feels pathetic by the way he loses his senses the more you sink onto him, his cock twitching in you uncontrollably as he warns you to stop, stop, stop before I…!

“This is embarrassing, Yeonjunie,” you pout, feeling the way a warmth spreads inside you the moment you sit on his hips snugly, feeling him bottomed out inside you as he attempts to muffle his sounds. His ears are bright red and he refuses to show you his face as he keeps you close to him, his arms still hugging you flush against him as you feel the valley of your breasts become wet with his tears. 

“Why are you crying, hmm?” You ask him, looking down to see the way he still hides his face, “You’ve already come twice, shouldn’t you be happy? You’re so easy, Yeonjunie.”

Your words are degrading, your voice cold as continue to mock him— and though you pretend otherwise, you can feel the way he ruts his hips into you with every mean comment, clearly enjoying himself more than he lets on as he lets out a broken cry against your skin. 

“Fuck, are you seriously getting off to this?” You snap, bored with pretending as though you don’t feel your boyfriend clinging to you tighter as you degrade him, “You’re such a fucking slut— you get off to anything, don’t you?”

The way you pull him away from your skin is sudden and rough, a soft yelp leaving him as he’s finally forced to face you, eyes fluttering open and meeting your own, your face twisted in annoyance as you look down at him.

“Acting like a bitch in heat, already came twice from nothing,” you grit, rolling your hips against his as you watch the way his eyes roll back— your other hand comes up to grip his cheeks, digging into the flesh and squeezing them together as he pouts at you, eyes welling with tears as he feels your nails dig into him.

“Don’t you feel bad? How am I supposed to get myself off if you can barely keep your dick up for more than a minute?” Your eyes darken at the way he simply lets out a pathetic sorry, ‘m so sorry baby, “What? I don’t think I heard you right.”

Your pussy feels so good around him; Yeonjun is barely able to think straight from the way you’ve begun to bounce on his cock ruthlessly, the sight of your breasts bouncing before him hypnotizing as you jerk his head back up to look at you, towering over him and demanding as you slow your hips to a mean grind.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whines out, his words incoherent and mushed together as you keep a hold of his face, listening as you hiss out for what? “‘M sorry for being so impatient— ah, ah, please— ngh, sorry for coming too soon, sorry for…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. He can’t find the ability to, distracted by the way your sounds have picked up, your fingers rubbing circles on your clit as you continue to use his cock like a toy; his cheeks feel sore as he stares at you with wide eyes, watching your face contort with pleasure, your rhythm become sloppy as you feel your legs getting tired. 

You didn’t think Yeonjun would pick up on it; without any warning, you find your back colliding against the couch, your eyes widening as you feel Yeonjun still settled in between your legs, cock still nestled deeply inside you; he’s still a pouty mess above you, hands gripping onto your hips as he begins rutting into you, his thrusts rough and out of control as he takes in your figure hungrily. 

“Sorry for making you feel unwanted,” Yeonjun babbles, feeling you throw your arms around his neck from the sudden confession, bringing him in close as you feel his face hover above your own, “I only want you, want you to use me and mark me so others know who I belong to, I’m all yours baby— please, please please please tell me you’re close, wanna feel you come on my cock, wanna make you feel good, missed you, missed this pussy, fuck, mmh, ugh, feel so good, so good, soso good, please, baby—“

Yeonjun thinks you’re something of an aphrodisiac to him; at least, that must be the explanation if he’s able to cum the moment he feels you unravel around him, unrestrained and addicted to the feeling as he listens to your pretty sounds, practically melting as he hears your voice purring under him— so good, fuck, you’re all mine Yeonjunie, all mine…

You don’t think you’ve ever felt Yeonjun cum this much— his cock continues to twitch and release inside you even after you’ve come down from your high, the man above you burying his head into the crook of your neck as he cries softly at the feeling, unable to help the way his hips buck forward to ride out his orgasm.

This shift in dynamic is new— but it’s addicting, and you find yourself thoroughly enjoying the way Yeonjun clings to you, his head hazy and needy for your comfort as he lays on top of you, uncaring of how heavy he may be as he wraps his strong arms around you. 

Missed you s’much baby, missed you, please don’t do that again, you could hear him mutter into your skin, a bit out of it as he peppered kisses along your collarbones.

“Alright, alright, I won’t,” you breathe out, running your fingers through his hair soothingly as he leans into your touch like a cat, “I’m sorry I kept running away from you.”

“But then again,” you trail off, tightening your grip on his hair teasingly, feeling the way he immediately whines softly, “you should’ve given me space when I asked you to. It was kinda cute, but don’t do that again— okay?”

“Okay. Of course. Whatever you say,” his response is immediate, not an ounce of hesitation as he stares at you with eyes shining with devotion. After a second, his lips part, and he’s hovering over you again as he looks down at you in wonder. 

“Does that mean we’re boyfriend-girlfriend again?”

You laugh.

“You idiot,” you coo, placing a soft kiss on his lips, unable to control your laugh as you do, “We didn’t stop being boyfriend-girlfriend. I was just mad at you.”

“Hmm. Then, can I eat you out?” His words have you freezing, looking at him in bewilderment as he simply smiles at you sheepishly, “To like. Show you how sorry I am.”

A pause. 

“…And, because I really missed eating you out.”

You sigh— and try not to show how eager you are as you nod softly. Yeonjun however, is shameless as he immediately pulls out, hissing softly at the feeling before he’s sinking to his stomach— you’re gulping at the sight. 

“You’re insatiable.” Your comment doesn’t faze him— if anything, it makes him smile, his pretty eyes staring at you with enough adoration and love that you’re squirming slightly under him.

“For you, yeah.”

-ˏˋ♡ˊˎ-

On Monday, the sight of Yeonjun on campus is enough to have you spinning on your heels and running in the opposite direction. He wears nothing but a thin tank top, wondering why you’re yelling at him to cover up the moment he answers your phone call. 

“Why? It’s hot outside— …and, like, I wanna show everyone who I belong to.”

(You refuse to stand by his side until he covers up—though, you can’t ignore the way his words send butterflies through your stomach.)

[kiyof]

such a fun story!! i always appreciate when fanfiction writers explore different settings and really put the 'alternate' in alternate universe (if that makes sense idk im at work rn), so when i read fics about a celebrity or character thats just in a wildly different place than their canon selves IM EATING IT UP!

What The Body Wants

[art is by Herik Aa. Uldalen and Megan Howland]

Summary:

It’s not everyday that you get to single-handedly destroy the relationships you’ve worked so hard to build up. But, after one unexpected solo mission, and a whole lot of mishaps, it seems that you might have opened more doors than you closed. But hey, what the body wants, the body gets. 

Soobin x reader (ft. a whole lot of flirting with others that I will not address !)

Genre: sci-fi, enemies to…. Whatever’s going on, smut, thriller, (maybe?) fluff….(questionable) and a sprinkle of angst maybe!

Word count: 22K

Warnings: Smuggling and many more illegal activities, mentions of food, discrimination against humans, human trafficking, freeze branding, mentions of sex work/ free use workers, brief scene of assault, mentions of needles, drugging, forced/ accidental bond, tentacles, aphrodisiacs, (I can not stress these two enough) possessiveness

Smut warnings: dom!sb, sub!mc, use of pet names, degrading and praise, tentacles……oral (f & m receiving??? Kinda?? You’ll see), mc is tied up, and used as a fucktoy basically, multiple orgasms, dumbification, dacryphilia, breeding kink, possessiveness, Soobin shifts into someone sweeter, exhibitioning, talk of fivesome, aftercare and cuddling because Soobin is a changed man

Notes: I have officially gone insane. This story was supposed to come out for Valentine’s Day— can you believe that?! Please make sure to read all the warnings, as this is a bit of a strange story.

Comments, feedback, and reblogs are very appreciated! I worked so hard for this, anything that lets me know that you enjoyed it is enough! I hope you guys enjoy!! <3

Waking up to heavy pounding on your room door wasn’t the most ideal way to wake up, in your opinion. No, there were many other methods you preferred honestly, such as waking up to the alarms you set on your own, or simply letting your body do it for you. Yet the incessant pounding persisted, setting your body ablaze with anger as you yelled at the culprit to stop.

It was currently five AM—or at least you thought it was, according to the time zone of the planet you just left. 

“Just one successful mission after another, huh,” you muttered, rubbing your eyes tiredly as you slipped on some sweats before opening your room’s door— only to meet face to face with your persistent teammate who chose to wake you in such an abrupt manner. 

“Yeonjun,” you yawned, carelessly stretching your arms, watching the way Yeonjun dodged your limbs as they neared his face, “Goodmorning.”

Hearing your statement, he frowned, giving you a once over before scoffing in amusement. 

“It’s three in the afternoon,” he said, turning around and heading back to the main deck, briefly glancing back your way before adding, “Update your clock.”

Watching him leave, you withdrew from yelling at him for waking you up so rudely for no reason, choosing to gloss over his actions for once in order to process what he said. 

“Three in the afternoon?” You echoed, quickly stalking back to your room as you pulled away the shades from the small window that was provided for your quarters— and sure enough, the boring, endless scenery of the void of space had been replaced by the familiar sight of hidden landing docks that were spread around every planet, the area bustling with people who came and went from inside their ships.

“Are you kidding me?” You groaned, exasperated and exhausted as you trudged back to the meeting deck, already feeling your mood wilt drastically as you pieced together what was happening— another mission. 

“Yeonjun!,” you yelled out, watching the way the said man flinched in his seat, swiveling around in the chair that was reserved for the pilot, crossed arms and pointed glare already directed your way as he prepared for a scolding.

“That is no way to talk to your captain—“

“Yeah. Whatever, scoot,” you muttered, shoving him out of the chair as you made yourself comfortable, ignoring his angry protests as you shifted endlessly on the cushioned seat.

“How many times do I have to tell you guys to leave my chair alone,” the two of you froze as the sound of Taehyun’s voice made you stop your squabbling, looking up to see his cold stare directed at you. 

“To be fair, this is my ship,” you countered, voice uncertain as you wondered if this excuse would even work on him anymore. Watching him carefully, you took in the way his cold stare didn’t even seem to waver, his patience beginning to wear thin as his fingers tapped at his crossed arms. 

“To be fair,” he mocked, watching the way you flinched at the sound of his firm tone, “This ship wouldn’t even be running without me.”

Involuntarily, you raised a questioning brow, unable to hold yourself back as you began to quarrel with him instead. 

“Well I wouldn’t necessarily say that to be true—“

“Get out of my chair.”

“Okay.”

Reluctantly you stood, watching with resentment as Taehyun sat in the pilot's chair, adjusting himself calmly as though he were sitting in the greatest chair in the solar system— which he was. You had stolen it on one of your earlier missions as a smuggler, and not a day went by after that where you didn’t regret giving it to Taehyun as a gift for taking such good care of your ship and your team. 

Okay, maybe you were exaggerating. 

Actually, no you weren’t. You should’ve gotten him a box of chocolates instead. 

Having to sit in the old, worn down couches that your ship came with years ago didn’t help much either. You had never really gotten a chance to get better furniture for your ship, as you were always either getting yourself out of dangerous, life threatening situations, or getting yourself into them. 

Well, you digress. 

“Where’s Hyuka?” You mutter to yourself, picking at the old fabric of the couches to distract yourself from asking about the mission that Yeonjun obviously needed to talk about. 

“Might be in the lab again,” Yeonjun says, eyes slightly peeking at you from where he laid, sprawled casually on one of the couches as though he hadn’t been talking about his image as the captain earlier— not that he actually was one. 

Unsurprised, you scoffed, “that kid’s gonna blow a hole in this place one day, just watch,” you listened to the quiet chuckles of your crewmates before Hueningkai’s familiar whines of protest rang in your ears, the three of you glancing up to watch the youngest of the team walking in, hands endlessly tinkering with a mysterious device as usual. 

“I’m over here fixing your guys’ earpieces and this is how you repay me?” He whined, carelessly falling into the space beside you as you groaned, trying to push the giant off of you as he continued to lean onto you, ignoring your cries and continuing to screw the last piece of the little device he had in his hand, proceeding to casually regard Yeonjun instead.

“What’s on the agenda today?” He said, listening eagerly as he continued to squash you ruthlessly, Yeonjun’s words reluctantly quieting your protests as you forced yourself to listen to the mission that was given to your crew. 

“Tonight’s mission is a bit different than usual,” Yeonjun began, pulling up his tablet to display the assignment given to your team, the hologram lighting up the room. The three of you sat up, his words peaking your interest as you took in the image that was being displayed on the projection from his tablet.

“This time, we’re not smuggling anything— we’re stealing.” He paused to take in the mixed reactions that were pulled from you three, watching as you shared unsure glances and shifted expectantly in your seats. 

“Is that what we’re supposed to be leaving with tonight?” You asked, jutting your chin at the image that caught your eye— a close up of a woman who seemed to be wearing an intricate necklace. 

Yeonjun nodded, pulling up more files as he continued to explain your mission, “The person that reached out claims that the necklace was stolen from them; A prized possession passed down from generation to generation, said to be filled with priceless jewels and whatnot. While we don’t necessarily know if it’s all true,” He looked, a sly glint in his eye as a new projection took over that of the necklace— a projection with many, many zeros. 

“We do know that they mean business.” 

Barely trying to contain your surprise, you felt your eyes widen as a small yelp left you, leaning towards the projection of the transaction, as though taking your eyes off of it for a second would make it disappear. 

“You’re fucking with us, jjun,” you gasped out, eyes only widening more as Yeonjun only shook his head in denial. “This can’t be legit— what if we get in deep trouble for accepting? What if it’s a setup?”

Yeonjun only scoffed at that, acting as though receiving the amount of money you did wasn’t something to be alarmed about at all. 

“You act like what we do on the daily won’t get us in deep trouble.” You frowned at that, silently agreeing as you settled down, leaning back into the couch as you listened to what else he had to say. “Plus, you don’t need to worry about them being legit. I’ve contacted them already and have met with them, and I assure you it’s far from a setup. A petty feud, at most.”

“Great!” You said, clasping your hands together with relief, “So who are they?” 

You watched as Yeonjun avoided your gaze, clearing his throat nervously as he avoided your question. Feeling anxiety beginning to pool into your system as well, you were ready to ask again when he opened his mouth once more.

“Actually, I can’t tell you.” He said, fingers twisting together as he switched to a tab with the mission description. Your eyes skimmed through the text briefly, dread pooling through your stomach as you realized what was going on.

“It would be better if you didn’t know much about this mission, actually.”

“I’m going to retrieve that thing on my own?” You gaped, glancing back at Taehyun and Hueningkai, only to see them frowning with uncertainty as well. Letting yourself read the profiles more carefully, you couldn’t help the way your mouth was left agape the more you read.

“The queen of the planet…” you read out, exasperated as you looked back at the picture.

“The necklace is in her possession, yes.” Yeonjun bit his lips as he took in your response, trying to gauge what you might say in regards to agreeing to the mission. 

“This is ridiculous, Yeonjun,” your attention snapped to your team’s pilot, feeling relief that someone else was also voicing what you were thinking. “She can’t go in there by herself, that’s practically suicide.”

“Yeah,” Hueningkai said, the earpiece set aside long ago as his cheeks blushed with disbelief. “No one here has ever done a mission on our own. What we do is too dangerous for anything like that.”

“Look, I know it sounds insane. I do!” He said, reassuring the three of you as you shot him unsure looks, “But I promise that I wouldn’t agree to this if I didn’t think it would be safe,” Yeonjun shot you a small smile, leaning forward to reach out for your hand, “Or if I didn’t think you would be capable of handling it.”

You gulped, feeling the way Yeonjun clasped your hand tightly, waiting patiently for your answer as the rest of the crew listened expectantly. You looked into his eyes; Yeonjun— your childhood best friend, the one who got into this twisted business with you after finding out how exactly you were able to support your two siblings and still cover your mothers hospital bills with ease; Despite your desperate pleas for him to not join you and instead lead on a better life, he refused, saying that he would rather die than let you continue to risk your life on your own like that.

Nothing about the way he regarded you in this moment seemed to guilt trip or force you to go on the mission— declining a mission offer wasn’t an alien concept to your crew— and it wouldn’t be an exception now. 

“I’ll do it,” you said, feeling the tense air in the room disappear as Yeonjun slumped back with a smile on his face, Hueningkai and Taehyun looking at each other with surprise. 

“Great! I’ll contact the client and we’ll be making our way to the planet tonight— We’ll discuss further details of the plan on our way there.” 

You let out a breathy chuckle at that, laying back on the couch as you began to become unsure of your decision— Solo missions were something that your team has never done. No matter the circumstance, you had always made sure that no one was alone during a mission. But if anyone had to do it, it would be you. You couldn’t begin to imagine sending off one of your teammates to do a solo mission, left aside to watch and hope for the best.

Your thoughts were put to the side as the sound of Yeonjun choking on his drink brought you out your stupor, sitting up in alarm as you looked over to see what was happening, the sight of him hunched over his computer while coughing weakly making you rise up from your seat to see what was happening. 

“It’s— they just sent half of their payment to us, that’s all,” He said, coughs dying down as he cleared his throat, watching the way your eyes widened at the still impressive zeros that were splayed across the screen. 

“That necklace better be worth something,” you breathed out, still in awe as Yeonjun started dictating the coordinates to Taehyun. 

“Planet Nueves,” Taehyun said, double checking the coordinates as he prepared the ship to start up again, “Not as technologically advanced as other planets are these days, but they make up for it with their guards.”

“It’ll take us about fifteen hours from the station if we start now,” He announced, turning in his chair to look at you three, “Is there anything you guys need before we go?” The three of you remained silent for a moment before Hueningkai meekly cleared his throat, shifting in his seat as you all turned to look at him.

“Actually, I could kill for some of that pizza from the restaurant that’s just outside this station,” He flinched from the pointed look you gave him, gaze frantically flitting to his two other teammates to back him up. 

“Hyuka, don’t you think that there are more important things than—“ Just as you were going to begin your little speech, you caught sight of Hueningkai’s pleading eyes; only to be backed up by Yeonjun as he clasped onto your arm, silently pleading you to agree. 

“You’re kidding,” You said, only for Yeonjun to continue his silent plea. You sighed, closing your eyes as you tilted your head to the ceiling, officially defeated. “Taehyun?”

“Their pizza is pretty good,” He said without hesitation, not bothering to meet your gaze as he began to shut the ship back down.

This is what you get for making your teammates be all men— not that you did it on purpose. 

Karma.

❂❂❂

“A maid.” 

“Well don’t say it like that!” Yeonjun said, wiping his hands on a napkin as he reached for his drink, a frown on his face at your disappointed tone, “It’s the only way that we can sneak you in without others noticing. Humans on that planet are basically seen as—“

“Trash, a waste of space, replaceable working tools, yeah yeah,” you interrupted, uninterested in hearing his big speech for the upteenth time. “So what, we just sneak me into their human trafficking ship and call it a day? Hope that I can get access to the queen’s room in time?”

“Okay now you’re making me feel a bit stupid,” Yeonjun said, beginning to pout as he sat back on the soft cushioned back of the booth, “It’s not my fault that you’re always making the plans.”

“Yeah, well, you accepted the mission that put you in this position, so I’ll allow myself some criticism.” As much as you tried to not show it, the idea of going on this mission began to unsettle you, your racing mind constantly coming up with different ways this could all go wrong. Yet it seemed you couldn’t quite keep it in, as your teammates were quick to notice your ongoing nerves. 

“Hey, it’ll be alright, promise,” Yeonjun said, reaching across the table to hold your hand. You gladly accepted it, the warm feeling on his hand on yours grounding you once more. 

“We’ll be talking to you and watching with you the whole time, so you won’t truly be alone,” Taehyun piped up beside you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, the three watching as you sighed, calming yourself down enough to give them a small smile. 

“Yeah, thank you guys.”

❂❂❂

The trip to planet Neuves had felt like nothing— which could partially be attributed to the huge “nap” that you took; a little food coma, if you will. The rest of your time had been spent preparing and restlessly going over the plan with Yeonjun until you could recite it off the top of your head. But with only 30 minutes left between you and a small city to the west of the capital, you couldn’t help but thank yourself that you took a moment to recharge and go over things. (Even if half of it was coming up with what to do in every possible situation you could think of.) 

“Your earpiece works right? How about the camera? Turn to the side, I want to see if it’s noticeable—“

“Hyuka, for the last time, it’s fine,” You laughed, pushing him away as you fiddled with the small pendant necklace that contained the hidden camera. Your eyes caught on the time left before you would need to leave, the number going down once your ship made it through the planet's customs, showing a fake ID that had been provided by your client; which of course, had been triple checked by Hueningkai to be secure. 

“Sorry, I just—“ He runs a hand through his hair, the striking blonde sticking up every which way, “We’re also stressed, you know?” 

One look around the main deck and you would be able to see both Taehyun and Yeonjun feverently discussing all of the details of the plan together, racking their brains of anything that they might have missed. You’re not so sure why this slight change in your everyday missions had set everyone on edge, suddenly acting like it was their first time doing something illegal— you included. 

“I know, Hyuka,” You said softly, reaching up to readjust his hair. The boy leaned into your touch, eyes closing as you began to take in the dark circles under his eyes and the slow slur of his every movement. Patting his head, he looked back up, eyes slowly opening before meeting yours, your reassuring gaze calming him down a bit.

“But I’m a pretty tough cookie,” You said, slapping his arm as you turned away, walking up to Yeonjun and Taehyun before clapping their shoulders, startling them as they turned to you, “I’ll be able to get through this, no worries! I’ll be in and out, and no one will even have a clue that it’s missing.” You squeezed their shoulders in reassurance, sending your teammates a smile as you finally caught sight of your landing deck— time for phase one.

“Beomgyu should be waiting for us down there,” Yeonjun said, grabbing his coat and putting on a mask to hide his face as Taehyun successfully landed your small ship. Human trafficking was already quite illegal, so convincing Beomgyu with a couple hundreds to sneak you on board with the rest had been quite easy; None of the other humans that would be going on board had were stripped from and documented identification, so if anything went wrong, a simple “I had no idea” would suffice for Beomgyu. If anything, Yeonjun told you that he was under the impression that you were just being sold off to him. 

While the very thought gave you chills, you knew that none of this was real— for you, at least. The idea of looking into the human trafficking scene after you came back was suddenly itching at you. 

“You ready?” Yeonjun said, the other two standing behind him as you nodded, bracing yourself for anything you might see— you knew better than to get yourself involved with things that didn’t pertain to you. 

“Yeah,” you tried to not wince at the evident shakiness in your voice, opting to silently raise your wrists out to him.

He proceeded to wordlessly handcuff you; It was better if nothing else was said, the energy much too sentimental for you to open your mouth. Just as you were about to turn to lead the way to the exit, you felt yourself being pulled back and into Yeonjun’s embrace, your surprise being muffled as you went face first into his chest, his arms wrapping around your body tightly. You peeked over his shoulder as he nuzzled into you, sending Hueningkai and Taehyun a confused look, only for them to give you a shrug in return. 

“Oh, fuck it,” Hueningkai sighed, rushing to join the two of you, only to be joined shortly by Taehyun. 

The room was silent.

“Guys, I’m not dying.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you pushed yourself from their embrace, ignoring their protests as you took a step back.

“Guys, it’s alright, really! You’re gonna jinx it if you keep acting like this,” You hoped that your carefree tone would relax them, and you felt triumph at the sight of the tension in their shoulders being released. “They’re waiting for us, come on Yeonjun.”

With a curt nod, he got a hold of your arm, opening the door as he led you through, allowing you a quick shout of goodbye before you were walking down the steps of your ship.

“Remember, you’re a prisoner,” Yeonjun murmured in your ear, his hold on your arm suddenly becoming rougher as his pace quickened, leaving you to stumble behind him at his intense pace. With one last glance at you, he mutters, “Sorry if I hurt you.” Before going completely silent. 

The ground beneath you was pure sand, kicking up under your feet as you took in the desert area around you— a perfect area to transport victims. You finally spotted the ship ahead of you, along with a building that was escorting people out of it; you tried to ignore the nauseating feeling in your stomach that came up at the sight.

You were more than happy for a distraction as you heard a soft click, followed by a few seconds of static, before it finally broke off to reveal Hueningkai’s voice. 

“Hello? Yeonjun? ___? Can you hear me?” You were caught off guard at the clearness of his voice, softly nodding your head before realizing stupidly that he couldn’t see you. 

“Yeah, perfectly, actually,” you said, not bothering to hide the awe from your voice, recalling his message, you glanced at the boy in front of you. “Yeonjun has one on too?” To answer your question, he glanced back at that, managing to hear you despite the raging winds that were native to the planet, the strong gusts paired with the flying sand making it impossible for you to keep up with him— perfect for the act, actually. 

“Just while he’s outside with you, after that he’ll be listening to a speaker with us. Can you say something as softly as possible? We want to see how much your mic will pick up.” 

Humming in thought, you decided to just say something basic to test things out. “Hello?” The sound could barely be heard, even to yourself. And yet, Hueningkai’s triumphant cheer could be heard in your ear, causing you to wince at the loud sound invading your ear drum.

“I hear you just fine! Oh, this is perfect, I’m such a genius,” You rolled your eyes at his continuous self praise, shaking your head in amusement as the boy continued to ramble off in your ear.

“She just rolled her eyes at you,” Your head snapped up to meet Yeonjun’s eyes, growling with annoyance at the fact that he somehow managed to catch that. You tried to catch up to him in order to kick at the back of his knee, but you were stumped as he stepped out of the way, leaving you to stumble stupidly, Yeonjun being the only one who could stablize you. 

“You motherfu—“ Your cursing was cut short as he suddenly pulled you up, bringing you close to him as you straightened up, all words dying on your tongue as you made eye contact with who you presumed to be Beomgyu, who was in the middle of escorting the group of people onto his ship.

“Is this the one you were talking about?” He said, voice carrying effortlessly through the winds that continued to blow through the planet; how could anyone live in this? Yeonjun nodded, giving you a slight push forward, bringing you right in front of Beomgyu. He had long hair that was pulled up into a ponytail, his round glasses not hiding the way he took in your features, his eyes running over your body just as shamelessly. Even with the mask that covered his face you could see the amusement in his eyes as he looked at you, taking a step closer as he hummed in satisfaction.

“A pretty one. If you don’t want her, I’m sure I could offer you some good money—“ 

“No.” Yeonjun practically snarled, pulling you to him as he glared down at the boy who simply took a step back in acknowledgement. He shrugged, seemingly unfazed by your teammates' behavior as he began digging in his pockets before pulling out a strange instrument. 

“Fine. Don’t know why you’re giving her away if you’re reacting like that though,” His comment was clearly meant to bother Yeonjun, but he refused to bite the bait as he stood silently at your side, watching carefully as Beomgyu opened the strange instrument, revealing a stamp of some kind. Motioning for your arm, you slowly offered it to him, hands balled in fists as he carefully lined the stamp, before grabbing a hold of your arm with one hand and pressing the stamp down firmly to your skin with the other.

Flinching, you tried to not let out a groan of pain at the invasive feeling; it was freezing. You felt the pain sear through you as a sound came from the it, the stamp lighting up as it counted down the seconds. Instinctively, you tried to pull away, but Beomgyu’s grip on your arm made it nearly impossible, your legs beginning to shake from the pain as you watched his unmoving expression, his eyes trained on the timer of the stamp as his glasses slid down slightly. 

Just when you thought that Yeonjun would finally give in and interfere, Beomgyu finally lifted the stamp from your arm, your stomach lurching as you saw what had been left behind.

Seared into the skin just under your wrist was a barcode, serving as a bleak reminder of just where you were going. You hear Yeonjun let out a small sound of protest, but before you can turn to him Beomgyu is grabbing you once more and forcing you into the ship, the sudden move forcing you to briefly glance back, hurriedly meeting his eyes as you mutter a quick goodbye. 

“Be safe.” 

With those being the last words you heard from him, you turn around, taking a deep breath as Beomgyu begins to lead you down the dim corridor of the ship and into a strange room. With a harsh push, you stumble inside to be met with five other girls who seem to be in the same state as you— shackled and unsure of what was coming next. Taking a seat on one of the benches, Beomgyu pulls you down next to him as you hear the ship begin to take off, the loud rumble taking up the deafening silence inside.

“As you know, you’re all here for a reason,” Beomgyu began, breaking the silence suddenly as you all turned to him, “Treason, murder, you get the idea,” you flinched as Beomgyu bumped your shoulder, sending you a teasing grin as if he knew more than he let on. (He didn’t, but he knew that you weren’t exactly being simply sold off like Yeonjun had informed him.)

“We’re currently headed to the kingdom, which will take about twenty minutes to do. There, you will be put to work for the queen, since she’s always running out of workers, somehow…” He trailed off at that, sarcasm dripping from his tone as he suggested that the worker’s disappearance truly wasn’t much of a mystery. 

You felt yourself drifting away as he continued to explain the procedures that would happen once you arrived, your mind going over your plan instead. To be blunt, your plan relied purely on chance; Arrive at the kingdom, find an opening, and sneak off to the room that housed the target item. After going over the intricate floor plans of the kingdom, you were able to discover the secret room that the queen housed at the top floor— which would be impossible to get to without having a reason to go up. 

If anything, the only reason you would be able to go by unnoticed was because of the big preparations for the planet’s annual ball. The doors would be open for anyone and everyone who was good enough to receive an invite, and the home would surely be packed with enough people to leave you with enough time to sneak around the palace— at least, you hoped so. 

❂❂❂

Out of the many kingdoms you have encountered in your days as a smuggler, you have never seen one quite as intricate as this. The moment your group was able to land on the dock behind the palace, you were able to take in all of the small details that were added to the building. Fine jewels and large arcs were added to the palace, the many rooms and hallways shown to those outside from the large windows that decorate every wall bathing the interior with light. 

“Holy shit,” The mutters of awe from your teammates rang out in your ear, your body flinching in surprise at the sudden sound. You were finally able to make it inside, the sounds of scrambling from your earpiece distracting you from the way the guards at the door scanned your code— officially registering you in their system. 

“You should be in the back entrance in the main wing. Remember, you need to make your way to the west wing as quickly as possible once the party starts. But for now, remain as inconspicuous as you can and don’t draw attention to yourself. Try not to interact with any of the other staff, either.” You couldn’t help but nod at his words, even though you knew that he wouldn’t be able to see you. 

You walked down the corridors, trying to memorize any detail that would help you get back to the main entrance. As far as you knew, you were being led to what was called the servants wing. From your research, the planet as a whole wasn’t too keen on the human species, and discrimination was quite normal.

So you couldn’t find it in yourself to be surprised at the decrepit room that you were met with, allowing yourself to be tossed in by Beomgyu as he bid you all goodbye and good luck. You shivered at the implications of his words. 

Moments later you were given maps to the building and were swept away to change and be oriented on what to do, just as you expected from what Yeonjun had told you. It all seemed to be a standard cleaning job, though you weren’t much of a fan of the stereotypical maid outfit you were given, picking at the white ruffles in disdain as you adjusted the thigh high socks you were given— seriously, who’s idea was this?

It wasn’t until you were told to go to the west wing that you began to piece everything together— meaning, the hungry looks all the non-humans seemed to give you and the other workers. 

“Yeonjun,” you growled, hurrying your stride as you got a particularly lingering look by one of the guards, “Remind me again what exactly the job description for this thing is?”

Judging by the nervous chuckles ringing out in your ear, you knew that you had caught on to something he forgot to mention. (Or just didn’t want to, judging by his hesitation.) 

“Well, uhm,” you listened to him expectantly as your destination finally made its way into your view, unable to help yourself as you began to practically sprint to the door.

“You see, on planet Nueves, it’s not uncommon for people to enslave humans,” You clenched your jaw, biting back on calling him out for his stalling, “Cleaning, cooking, work, all of that.”

“What else, Yeonjun?” 

“Well,” Yeonjun said, gulping as you reached to open the doors to your destination, “Humans are also used as sex workers. “

You practically bit through your tongue at that, immediately bowing your head down in pain as the protests and exclamations of your teammates rang loudly through your ear. Though you could hear Yeonjun try to justify his horrid decision, followed by his profuse apologies, you couldn’t help but drown him out, your mind much more focused on the strange man who seemed to be waiting for you, other workers silently standing by as well. 

Breathing in slowly through your nose, you bowed to him as you kept your eyes cast down, the throbbing pain in your mouth serving as a nice distraction from all the chaos that was going on in your earpiece; from what you could hear, Yeonjun definitely got his karma. 

And now, you couldn’t help but feel nerves break out inside you once you realized that this man was not human. From the looks of it, he seemed to be a higher up staff member, considering the way the other people seemed to wait for his command. 

“The castle is currently under intense preparations for tonight’s ball,” His voice was clear and strong, cutting through the silence so sharply you couldn’t help but look up, noticing the way the other’s did the same as well. “But that doesn’t mean that our duties of maintaining the castle clean and dignified have disappeared.”

He began to assign tasks to each person, and you took this opportunity to take a look at the man as he described each task thoroughly. Well, just as you had expected, he was definitely not human. Maybe it was because of his astounding eyes, which seemed to swirl with flecks of scarlet, small shards of the same scarlet scattered beneath the corner of his eye, glowing softly in the room despite the fact that light poured through the windows, or maybe it was his stiff and robotic movements, his tone cold and intimidating as he easily towered over all of you. 

Your eyes couldn’t help but catch on the coat he wore, tailored perfectly to his body and left with six horizontal cuts on his back, three perfectly lined on each side and so small that you would miss it if you didn’t look at him at the right angle.

“Did you hear what I said?” 

Head snapping up, you couldn’t help but flush with embarrassment at the realization that you were the last one left in the room, the others leaving long ago to begin their duties they were assigned to. The man remained silent, turning to you instead as he took slow, deliberate steps in your direction. 

“Play it cool, don’t say anything,” you heard Hueningkai say into your ear, but you could hardly pay attention to him as you watched the way the light caught on the man’s hair, bringing out the hidden red tone and forming a ring of unruly fire around his figure, the flames seemingly dancing around under your panicked gaze; no, you realize, it’s actually moving. 

Slowly, as though under water, his hair moved, managing to both awe and terrify you further as you couldn’t help but stay still and hope for the best. His eyes seemed to swirl harshly as he stared down at you, quiet for a moment before he finally opened his mouth to speak.

“You are to clean the bottom floor in the East wing. If you have questions, ask those who were assigned the area with you.”

“The east wing? Oh, this isn’t good,” Hueningkai seemed to voice what you were all thinking, because as much as you would have loved to complain with him, you were currently trying to not show how distraught the news made you. 

It seemed as though your prolonged silence seemed to bother the man, because he proceeded to take another step forward, bringing you out of your frozen state as you were forced to take a step back in retaliation. You looked up, meeting his gaze with a gulp of nervousness— man this guy was terrifying. 

“Understood?” 

“Understood.”

The very sound of your voice was able to give away how shaken you were, the man’s eyes narrowing at you before he turned, the air around you seemingly going down a few degrees the moment he left the room. Bracing against the wall, you shuddered, pressing your forehead against the cool marble wall in order to ground yourself.

“Fuck he’s terrifying,” you whispered, unsure of any surveillance that there might be in the room. You heard a couple of chuckles in your ear as a response, 

“Tell me about it,” Taehyun said, checking the floor plans once more as he spoke, “I could practically hear your nervous breathing. The camera was so shaky we could barely see a thing.”

Scoffing at his words, you pushed yourself off the wall, brushing down your ridiculous dress as you readjusted your appearance. “Right,” you said, shaking your head as you heard laughter in your earpiece— for such a serious mission, they did seem to be enjoying themselves.

“Tell me, Yeonjun,” you began again, still not over the bomb of information that had been dropped so suddenly, “Tell me when exactly you were going to let me know about the sex worker thing? That is, you were going to tell me, right?”

It seemed to go silent on the other side, and you carefully cracked the door open as you checked for any non humans that would be around to ogle at you. Once you deemed it safe, you quickly made your escape, glancing down at your map once in a while to make sure you were going the right way. You didn’t really need it though, not after the grueling hours you took to memorize the building. You did, however, notice how inaccurate the map truly was; most of the personal rooms were left unlabeled on the map, and many of the hidden rooms were taken out of the map completely.

Makes sense, you thought, bowing your head down politely at the sight of another staff member who seemed to be higher ranked than you— well, then again, who wasn’t?

“I was going to tell you,” Yeonjun’s voice rang out sincerely in your ear, and you could tell that he was feeling guilty about his actions.

“It’s just, I didn’t know how to bring it up. But!” It’s almost as though he anticipated the insult you were about to send to him, as he quickly hurried his words so he could get his next statement out. “There is a way that you can put yourself off limits! I’m sure they were supposed to give these out already,” he said, trailing off softly at the end, “But you should be able to ask a higher up for a pin which will render you off limits— some science-y magic stuff, I don’t know.” 

“Okay,” you gritted out, still not yet ready to forgive Yeonjun for his carelessness— As it turns out, you don’t quite enjoy being looked at like you’re a piece of delectable meat. “Who am I supposed to get it from?”

“Well, that would be your task manager; meaning, the man you just talked to.”

“You’re fucking with me,” you gasped, reaching the bottom of the staircase and already finding others who had already begun their cleaning. After hearing a “no” on the other end, you couldn’t help but go silent, choosing to look around the floor first in hopes to sight the man.

As it turns out, the pins were handed out; you just hadn’t arrived in time to get one. One look around the room showed you that basically everyone on this floor had a pin. As you began to search for anyone who could guide you to the man, you noticed the strange looks you were given by others— presumably because of your lack of protection. 

After a good couple of minutes of you looking around uselessly, you were able to spot an older woman silently watching over everyone, her differing attire giving away that she was not here to clean like everyone else. 

“Excuse me?” You began, approaching her meekly as she turned her attention to you. “Sorry, I just— I wasn’t able to get a pin, where is…?” 

She turned to you, slowly scanning your attire before landing on her face, her eyes flashing in recognition— literally. The single action made you shudder, the sudden flash of white showing you that she wasn’t human herself, and if she wanted to, she could probably refuse you.

“You are to go to your task manager. He’s on the top floor of the east wing. I’ve notified him of your arrival.” She watched you carefully as you bowed in gratitude, her eyes following you as you made your way to the door. 

“Don’t linger around,” She said, her voice loud and clear despite you being across the room now, turning around to see her rooted to her spot. “He’s a busy man. He won’t enjoy having his schedule interrupted.”

You nodded slowly, hand reaching for the knob behind you as you tried to avoid her intense eyes. Finally exiting the room, you sighed in relief, your eyes landing on the staircase you took to get down to the bottom floor. 

“Woah,” you heard Hueningkai say in your ear, “Creepy. Did you hear how she said she already notified the guy? That’s crazy! Wonder if they communicate like that only…” You blurred out Hueningkai’s ramble of constant theories wondering how they communicate, focusing instead on making sure that there was no one in the hallways that could get in your way— luckily for you, the corridors around you seemed to be deserted. 

“Weird. Why is this place so empty? You’d think this place would be filled with staff.” You mumbled, hand gripping onto the railing as you noticed how the spiral staircase beneath you was seemingly never ending. The ongoing discussion in your earpiece went quiet as you made the comment, no doubt bringing your observation to their attention for the first time. 

“Actually, now that you mention it…” Yeonjun seemed to click away at the keyboard on the other side of your head piece, leaving you to wonder silently as you continued your trek up the endless stairs. “The ball should be going on by now.” 

“Now?” You repeat, a newfound adrenaline coursing through you as your goal came into mind once more. “This could be it! Screw the pin, I should be able to sneak to the West wing now that no one is looking over me.” 

“Actually, I’m not sure if that’s a great idea,” Yeonjun interrupted, trying to bring you back to your senses as you rushed up the stairs, finally spotting the end, “There might still be guards around you know, plus, what if the task manager sees you—?”

“I can say I got lost,” you whisper, scanning the hall as you made sure that it was completely empty, “Plus, why would there be guards around here? The real concern is downstairs with all the commoners.”

“You’re being reckless!” Yeonjun hissed, frantically scanning the area in the camera as well to make sure no one was around. “You do realize that without that pin, you’re risking yourself to potential threats—“ 

“Yeah, but then again you didn’t seem to have much of a problem mentioning that to me in the first place.” You say, still hurt about the fact that he left out such a dangerous detail. Your footsteps are light, just as you taught yourself, the only sound in the empty hall being the occasional whispers to your team back on the ship. 

You may be taking a huge risk right now, but you weren’t stupid— all of the guards main concern was making sure that their queen was alright, and if anything, the places teeming with security right now would be the main entrances that would lead to the rest of the castle; their human servants would be too terrified for their lives to act out.

Which leads to this— empty corridors, empty wings, perfect for your mission. 

And yet, you can’t predict everything. 

“Well, isn’t this quite the sight?”

You feel yourself freeze up as the brush of breath passes your cheek, your body no longer listening to your command as two hands grab onto your biceps roughly. The gruff voice is too close, too sudden, and yet, you hadn’t noticed a thing. 

Shit, you’re kidding!

The hands proceed to turn you around roughly, and before you know it, you're hovering off the ground and being pushed back into the wall, the impact causing the air to leave your lungs. Your eyes open slowly, your lungs stinging and the loud voices in your ear too much for you to be able to react properly. That, and the fact that this monster has rendered you powerless.

Seriously, this mission was a lesson learned. 

“Just in time too, I almost thought that I would have to go to another kingdom to find a good servant.” 

It was as if all the blood drained from your body, leaving you to gape in horror as you realized just what his intentions were. You could already hear Yeonjun’s rapid typing followed by unintelligible strings of “sorry’s” and “I can fix this”. 

Yet none of that mattered as the man held you still, his rough grip no doubt leaving bruises as he eyed you with a heavy hunger in his eyes that made your skin crawl. As much as you fidgeted and moved, you found yourself stuck in place, his eyes commanding your attention, unable to look away as if they were pinned there. 

“See, it’s so unfair that the kingdom allows their little humans to parade around in clothes like these, only to leave them off limits,” the man before you practically salvated as his hands traveled around your body, playing with the ruffles and frills of the dress, lingering at the hem of your skirt. 

“I got it!” Yeonjun exclaimed, the sound shaking you out of your terror as you focused on his next words. “His eyes— that’s what’s keeping you immobilized. Whatever you do, don’t look into his eyes!” 

It wasn’t as though that piece of advice was going to help you escape then and there, but as you closed your eyes, the amount of willpower to do so bringing a headache over you, you felt your limbs relax at once as you were finally allowed to kick and trash around in his grip. Your nails dig deep into his arm as your eyes remain screwed tight, bringing the skin to your mouth and biting down as hard as you could, finally feeling yourself dropped from his grip. 

And though years of combat training had prepared you for this moment, you knew better than to give yourself away— if this monster knew that you had it in you to fight back, there would no doubt be guards coming to capture you before you could even get a glimpse of the queen’s bedroom. 

So you did the second best thing you could— you ran.

You didn’t dare look back as the sound of the monster’s heavy footsteps thudded behind you, the heels that you wore bringing your speed down more than you would have liked. Yet, just as you saw the staircase at the end of the hall, your path was blocked with a new obstacle as someone exited one of the many bedrooms that lined the hall, spotting you immediately and assessing the situation before you could even say anything. And before you knew it, you were being pulled behind the figure, the monster that had been quickly gaining on you skidding to a halt as the sound of his protests began to fill the hall. 

“Hey man, I already called dibs on that one, find your own,” the man said, glaring down from where you hid behind the man. You continued your act, flinching at his gaze and avoiding his eyes as you clung to the man that saved you just in time. Glancing up, you felt a wave of relief as you recognized the fiery hair and intimidating aura— your task manager. 

“How repulsive,” the man spoke, his face grim as he took on a protective stance— man, if you weren’t at risk of putting the whole mission (and your life) in jeopardy, you might have taken the time to admire his physic a bit more. 

“How you were able to get past the guards is truly a wonder,” you stiffened for a moment, before you realized once more that he was in fact, still talking to the man that had revealed himself as a trespasser. With one glance behind him, he locked eyes with you, the glowing red catching you off guard as he nodded to the door he had just come out of. “Go inside, I’ll take care of him. And don’t come out until I say so.” 

Hesitantly, you nodded, and without another glance back, you ran to the room, just in time to hear the sounds of struggle ring out in the hallway; It sounds as though the monster was ready to break through the door at any moment. Sighing, you run a hand down your face, feeling your heartbeat slowly calm down from the adrenaline rush of it all.

“Fuck, this is getting ridiculous,” you sigh, leaning against the windowsill as you listen to the sounds of destruction slowly die down, “Yeonjun, where am I?”

“Just another storage room,” Yeonjun began, the sound of rustling paper no doubt indicating him checking the map, “Paintings, artifacts, and whatnot.” You heard incoherent mumbling on the other side as you heard Hueningkai’s voice chime in, discussing a hidden pathway that had suddenly caught their attention. 

“Wait, this could work,” Yeonjun said, catching your attention once more as you retracted your hand from grabbing one of the intricate vases on the shelf. The fighting outside had disappeared completely, but you could still hear your task manager’s interrogating voice on the other side of the wall; you were running out of time. 

“What is it, the guy might come in at any moment.” You said, beginning to observe the room around you for any signs of a secret pathway. No stereotypical bookshelves or gigantic paintings stood out to you, so you weren’t exactly sure what you would be looking for. The sounds of multiple footsteps closing just outside your door brought out a shot of adrenaline through your veins, taking matters into your own hands as you began to sort through the no doubt expensive artifacts.

“Uhh,” Hueningkai spoke, shuffling through papers and clicking away at the keyboard, noticing the hurried pace in your movements, “It’s the tile! Look for a tile just under the window, you should be able to pull it up and find a trapdoor; be careful though, it’s very fragile.”

At his instructions, your head snapped back to where the window was, inspecting the strange patterns of the tiles, trying to find one that you might be able to pull loose. You stilled, your eyes catching on the way that a tile seemed a bit too spaced from the others, the placement almost uneven. 

“Found it,” you whispered, grinning triumphantly, reaching down to check your suspicions—

Only to shift at the last second as you pretended to fix your stockings, your heart racing once more as the door swung open, revealing the very one person you’d rather not see at the moment.

Turning around, you feigned a look of innocence, eyes wide and afraid as you watched the man that had chased you down be escorted by multiple guards, chained and muffled as he thrashed around in protest, only to be dragged around due to the sheer force of the guards. 

“You were the one who was sent to see me, were you not?” The man said, cutting you off before you could ask about the man being escorted away. You nodded, watching as he closed the door behind him, shuffling side to side as you felt the floor underneath you shift with your movements; you were quite literally standing on the secret passageway, the tile shifting every time you shuffle your feet. 

“Yes, I am,” you said, ducking your head meekly as you tried your best to seem as someone who would not pose a threat to him, “I was told that you would be on this floor, but I had trouble finding you, Mister—“

“Soobin,” he added in, reaching into his pocket as he pulled out the object of your desire— the demented pin that had put you in this situation in the first place. “Choi Soobin. Come here,” his voice was low as you slowly made your way to him, averting your gaze as he began to attach the pin to your clothing.

“Such embarrassment,” Soobin began, carefully pushing the needle through the thick layers of your outfit, “Other kingdoms may allow their servants to be free of use, but that is not how we do things here. Such lack of decorum, it’s revolting.” 

Securing the needle back on, you smoothed over your dress, feeling the cool golden crest under your skin. It was nice to know that there were others that agreed that the idea of free use was sick. Looking back up, you noticed the deep fire in his eyes had cooled down, replaced with a muted color that almost gave him a bored look as he observed you. 

“It contains a nulling spell,” he explained, beginning to adjust the parts of your outfit that had become askew due to the assaultant’s behavior, “In this planet, the scent of humans and their blood is like a drug— so much so that it isn’t uncommon for kingdoms to allow their workers to do whatever they’d like to the human indentured workers. Afterall, those that are here are sent as punishment,” he shot you a look on the mention of punishment, leaving you to look away sheepishly— it seems that you weren’t being totally undermined afterall.

Opening the door, he places a hand on your shoulder, guiding you outside and back toward the staircase you came from; back to square one. 

“Is that why that man was after me?” You spoke, trying your best to stall in hopes that you would be able to find a way to escape. You were so close to your goal, who knows if you would be able to sneak off again! 

It was almost subconscious, the way that Soobin automatically adjusted to the sudden slow of your footsteps, finding as much interest in the topic as you pretended to. His brows furrowed as he spoke, hands clasped behind him as he allowed himself to slow to a stop with you, seemingly unaware or simply unbothered that you had stopped walking. 

“Well, yes. To put it short, he must have either smelled your scent or felt your heartbeat from far away, which led him to sneak past security. A possibly detrimental failure on their part, they most likely won’t live to see another day, whether that be inside the castle or not,” he said, casually glossing over the fact that this kingdom wasn’t past executing for any potential errors. You shivered at the implications, nodded along to his words as you encouraged him to continue. 

“We have to do something, ___ will be taken back to the bottom floor if we don’t get her to sneak away soon. Who knows when she’ll have the next excuse to be so unsupervised,” Hueningkai said, taking this chance to try to come up with a distraction, “Okay, what if we were to—“

You flinched as Soobin’s eyes flashed white, his body stiff as he froze, eyes going back to normal once more before he spoke. “I must go,” he said, nodding at you before turning around, heading to the stairs of the west wing before he turned, “Go back to your task, I have notified them that you will arrive soon. We will know if you aren’t there by a certain time, and there will be repercussions.”

Nodding eagerly at that, you turned around, heading back to your stairway as you listened to the sound of his footsteps fade away. 

Good thing you don’t even work here. 

Taking one last look behind you, you slipped off your heels as you made your way back to the room, barely making noise as you slipped back inside.

“Where does this passageway lead,” you muttered, headed straight to the tile that stood out, grunting with effort as you slowly picked it up off the floor— you grinned as the trapdoor to the pathway opened. Looking down at the entrance, you were met with pitch black darkness. 

“It should lead to a series of tunnels, I’ll guide you once you make your way down,” Yeonjun explained, leaving you to gather your courage and make your way down the ladder, heels still in hand as you tried to make it look like you were never there. Closing the door above you, you shivered as you were left alone in the darkness, left to rely on your other senses as you slowly made your way down. 

“Once you’re at the bottom, there should be a light that you can carry with you,” Yeonjun added.

“How do you know this?” You asked, stiffening as your foot met the cold floor beneath you, the said light stashed away in a hole in the wall— it was a regular human flashlight. Flipping the switch, you were pleasantly surprised to see that it still worked. You moved it around, observing the dusty environment around you; Yeah, maybe you’ll put your heels back on. 

“Everything has a price,” Hueningkai snickered, observing the tunnel through your camera, “you’d be surprised how quick people are to turn on their kingdom.”

“Interesting,” you mumbled, noticing the many other joint tunnels that no doubt led to the secret doors you had observed in your map, “What would tunnels like these be used for in the first place?”

“Well, long before the king died, it was said that he was having an affair with the queen,” Taehyun explained, his never ending knowledge of planets coming into light, 

“The tunnels were built from the very start, though. They were mainly used to transport valuable items from room to room without any potential moles knowing. But, as time went on and their security got more dense, the king would simply use them to sneak women through without the knowledge of the queen or its people. It was a very dull marriage, the people say,” Taehyun sighed, giving you instructions on where to go. 

“So, what you’re saying is, the queen doesn’t know about these tunnels,” you said, wondering if the queen ever discovered what the king had been doing behind her back. It has been years since the queen has become a widow, there’s no way she hasn’t learned about the castle’s secrets, right?

“Well, when we spoke to the person who gave us this map, they said there might be a chance that the queen still hasn’t found the secret passageways,” Yeonjun said, thinking back to the call he held with the anonymous person, “Since she never really cared about him anyways. Or the kingdom, really.”

“It was an arranged marriage,” you concluded, hearing their sounds of approval as you were finally face to face with a ladder. 

“This should be the trapdoor that leads to the queen's bedroom. Be careful, and make sure there isn’t anyone inside. Remember, the room that houses all her jewels should be in the closet.” 

You nodded, not caring if they could see you or not. Turning the flashlight back off, you laid it down beside you as you were left in the darkness once more. Slowly, you climbed the ladder, practically holding your breath as you tried to not make a single sound that might give you away. Once you were at the top, you pressed your ear against the tile, listening carefully for any surrounding voices or footsteps.

“Clear,” you muttered, hearing the relieved sighs of your teammates on the other end. 

“Great, the trapdoor should be just under the window, identical to the other room.” 

Slowly, you pushed the door open, checking one last time for signs of life once you were able to crack it open. The adrenaline coursing through you seemed to calm down a bit once you saw no one inside, taking this chance to run to the door and bolt it immediately. You then proceeded to barricade it to the best of your ability, only resting once you knew that no one would be able to push in immediately.

The sight of a closet has never brought this much joy to you, already feeling the excitement running through you as you opened the doors, making your way inside the humongous walk-in closet, immediately knowing where to find the entrance to her secret room. 

“Holy shit,” you muttered, eyeing the insane amount of jewelry and gems that surrounded you. “This room’s no joke,” taking a moment, you stopped inside the center, aweing at the way the many priceless gems glinted back at you, almost begging you to sneak one or two back with you.

“Don’t, ___,” Yeonjun warned, already perceiving your plan as he watched the screen, “We’re only here for the necklace, nothing else. We don’t want to risk anything.”

Gulping, you nodded at his words, scolding yourself for becoming so greedy at the sight of the room; the real treasure was within the locked display case in the center of the room, the necklace dangling beautifully on a velvet mannequin bust.

“Finally,” you sighed, reaching to your head to pull off the Bobby pins that you had stuck inside for this moment. Pausing, you patted your head as you tried to look for the other pin, only to freeze with dread as you realized you only had the one. Looking around the room, you tried to look for something that might be able to help, stopping once your hand brushed over the crest on your chest. 

“Perfect,” you whispered, taking it off as you began to pick at the lock. You frowned, focusing only on opening the lock as quickly as you could, your surroundings and the voices of your friends not registering in your head as they spoke. 

“You might want to hurry, ___. Remember, they might come looking for you soon. We’re on our way now, try to make your way out of the castle as quickly as you can once you have it. We’ll guide you if anything happens,” It was almost as if Taehyun were talking to himself at the end, the sounds of the engine humming in your ear bringing a bit of peace to your racing heart.

Hearing the final click, you felt a wave of relief wash over you like cool water on a hot summer’s day. The glass door opened, as you carefully took the necklace out of the bust, shoving it the only place you could at the moment— in your boobs.

“Ok, interesting,” You heard Hueningkai say, and you could almost see his scrunched nose and judgy eyes, “we’ll have to clean that once we get it back.” 

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes at his jabbing remark. “Shut it, I’m the reason we won’t be doing missions for a whi—“ 

You froze, the world around you turned into a haze, your ears ringing and your legs bucking beneath you as the faint call of your name was heard, followed by the piercing realization that there was a needle in your neck.

❂❂❂

“Affirmative. No, she was just found trying to escape. Yes, I’ll make sure to execute proper protocol.”

The moment you came to, you felt as though a bunch of needles were being pushed into your brain, a pounding headache and incessant ringing in your ears pulling a groan of pain from your lips, the sound catching the attention of the figure that loomed over you. 

“Jesus fuck what did you put in me,” you groaned, feeling a wave of nausea run over your figure, ducking your head as you concentrated on not puking your guts out. Upon your discovery, you were currently tied down to a chair, your wrist tied together behind you, the skin around the roped itching from every move you made. Your frilly costume remained, and from the feel of it, the necklace hidden snugly between your breasts did too. 

“Poison,” your head snapped up at his words, flinching at the bright light that shone above you. You tried your best to adjust as quickly as you could, but the stinging pain became too much for you, leaving you to look down in defeat. 

“Even if I can’t get some answers out of you, you’ll be dead soon anyways.” 

Your heart sank. Dead? You can’t die yet! You were supposed to succeed, go back to your friends and celebrate another job well done! You were supposed to settle down for a bit, to spend some time living as normal people once more, to let Taehyun and Hueningkai spend some time living out the childhood they never got, the image of finding them alone on a dead planet running though your head once more. 

“Poison—?!” You sputtered, wincing at the way even the usage of your own vocal cords seemed to hurt you, “what… what poison?”

“Lilac blood,” the man said, stepping into the light and revealing himself as your task manager, Soobin, “my personal specialty.”

Lilac blood… You thought, trying to wrack your mind for a possible explanation of what it might be, or where it might come from, “But that’s….” You muttered, finally putting two and two together, looking up in horror, “that’s only native to…” 

“The hexen species.” He said, a spark of amusement lighting in his eyes— that’s when you saw it.

His hair, moving freely once more, was now accompanied by a set of tentacles that floated behind him, his glaring eyes glowing rouge as he looked down at you, appreciating the fear that rolled off of you in waves. 

“Now, onto more important matters,” he said, pushing a bit of hair out of his eyes as he approached you. In a flash, a tentacle shot at you, wrapping tightly around your neck as he leaned down, face to face as he whispered, “Who sent you?”

“No one!” You gasped, attempting weakly to thrash around in his grip, but much too affected by the poison to be able to do anything. “I was sold off, I was just trying to escape!” 

The grip on your neck loosened, allowing you to gasp for breath as it remained there in warning. He straightened up, reaching into his pocket before offering his hand to you, the items he held making the blood drain from your face. 

“Servants are not allowed personal belongings,” he said coldly, closing his fist and crushing the hidden earpiece and necklace in his fist, the crackling noises not bothering him in the slightest as he watched your panicked face with indifference.

“Now that we are truly alone,” he said, voice low in warning, “Who. Sent you.”

Your mouth remained shut. The last thing you were going to do was rat out your crew— you’d rather die. But he remained silent, not caring about the poison that could kill you at any moment, leaving him without any answers. 

“Not going to talk, hmm?” He said, clasping his hands behind his back, pacing around the room, deep in thought. “Well, rest assured that by the end of tonight you will have regretted…” 

As much as you wanted to pay attention to his no-doubt threatening speech, your brain suddenly wouldn’t allow you to. Your brain, apparently, was currently much more into the way his lips moved as he spoke, the flesh much more plump and pouty than you remembered. He was still threatening, but for some reason, the same feeling of fear wasn’t really there anymore. It was instead replaced with a sudden discomfort. 

“What is wrong with you,” Soobin said, not spoken like a question, as he meant to. He froze in his place as he regarded you, taking in the way that your scent and heartbeat was quickly changing. This wasn’t the sound of death. In fact, why weren’t you crumbling in pain right this moment? 

Something wasn’t right. 

“God, it’s kind of hot in here, don’t you think?” You whispered, all regard for your situation thrown out the window. Man was this uniform awful! You could feel every ruffle, every fold that brushed up against your body, and you did not like it. Not one bit.

Your mind was muddled, and you felt oddly feverish. Soobin felt it too as he pressed his palm against your forehead, and he couldn’t help but recoil in disgust as you leaned into his touch fondly. 

“This is not what is supposed to happen,” he muttered, a wave of dread pooling inside him as he realized that he, in fact, was also starting to feel feverish as well. 

“What have I done—?”

Yet his personal query was cut short as smoke filled the room, affecting him before he could react, his whole system shutting down and leaving him defenseless;

He’s screwed. 

❂❂❂

“Yeonjun you bastard I’m killing you once we get back on the ship!”

Just another ordinary day for Yeonjun.

Except this time he was dragging your unconscious body out of a smoke filled room, his eyes catching on the only other person who knew your identity.

They had to take him too. 

“Well, unless you want to leave him here and have the whole kingdom chase after us, then be my guest!” Yeonjun was seething under the gas mask as he hissed his words at Taehyun. He was angry. At the person who sent the mission, at the stupid task manager, and at himself— Mostly at himself. 

“I think it’s too late for that—!” Hueningkai gasped, flinching at the violent way the guards outside pounded at the door, the wood caving in slowly to their command. “Go! There will be time to kill each other later!” 

Maybe it was because of the way they broke through the window to save you, or maybe it was the fact that you and Soobin had been missing for way too long, but Yeonjun was pretty sure that the whole palace was surrounded by now. 

With one last grunt of effort, Taehyun and Hueningkai tossed the unconscious man onto the ship, climbing on board as the three raced to their tasks; Yeonjun placed you gently on the couch before going to help Hueningkai with Soobin, and Taehyun was racing out of the planet’s atmosphere at before the other ships could catch up to him. 

“Brace yourselves, we’re going lightspeed,” Taehyun announced, frowning at the sight of other ships appearing on his radar. At his command, Yeonjun and Hueningkai rushed to finish binding the man, sealing the binds with a seal that would disable any strength he had in him— being a smuggler truly had its perks.

With the final seal placed, Yeonjun ran to buckle your unconscious body into your usual seat, a pang of guilt tugging at him as he took in your sickly state. Pushing it aside, Yeonjun shook his head, rushing to his seat as he buckled himself in. 

At the sound of the belt’s “click!” Taehyun began inputting commands for his next destination, not bothering to glance back as he asked, “You did buckle up the big guy, right?”

Yeonjun and Hueningkai shared a look.

Irritated by the silence and what it meant, Taehyun scoffed, much more worried about the ships that were currently firing at him than the safety of their special guest. 

“Just leave it!” He yelled, and before either boys could apologize, the ship was being put into lightspeed, the pressure of it all silencing them immediately, their bodies glued to the seats as they shot off into the unknown; the sudden bang that rang out through the ship making the blood of all three men ice cold.

Soobin left a dent in the wall. 

Oh, you were gonna be pissed.  

❂❂❂

It was currently three in the afternoon, according to the planet that you were currently on, and you had bigger issues than being pissed at a dent in the wall. (For now.) Yeonjun was at your side, checking your temperature for the upteenth time that hour, sitting patiently by your side and waiting for the moment you would come to. While Hueningkai went off to secure a room for the stranger, making sure that there would be no way he could break out or fight back, Taehyun had gone off to find fuel for the ship.

And though the other two didn’t show it as much, the tense air in the ship was enough to give away that they were all extremely worried— extremely anxious, waiting for you to return to consciousness, acting like lost puppies without you being there to take the lead.

“Still feverish?” Taehyun asked, his voice startling Yeonjun as he looked up from his task of changing the cool towel he placed on your head. He had brought back a couple bags of groceries, going to drop them off at the kitchen counter before returning back to the couch where you lay.

“She’s been stirring all night— all day,” Yeonjun muttered, flinching as you winced once more, brows furrowing and incoherent mumbles coming out of your lips. 

“We need to take a blood sample at this point,” Taehyun suggested, sitting at your feet as he observed you intently, frowning at the fact that you haven’t been changed yet. “And we should probably change her clothes too.” 

Yeonjun nodded at that, wondering how you managed to shove yourself into such an uncomfortable uniform for so long. The guilt of it all started to creep up on him once more, but before he could say anything, he was interrupted by the sight of your opening eyes.

“Ugh, fuck,” you groaned, rolling to your side as you faced the couch, the lights above you much too bright for you to bear. God, were you hungover or something?

“You’re awake!” Yeonjun gasped, apologizing immediately as you flinched at his volume, “Oh, thank god, you’re awake!” With careful hands, he sat you up, giving you a tight hug as he let himself relax after all the stress he had been burdened with.

Yeonjun’s embrace was very much welcomed, surprisingly. You would have thought that moving would have been unbearable for you, but the moment you were able to be engulfed by Yeonjun’s arms, enclosed by his warm scent, you couldn’t help but relax in his hold, nuzzling into his shoulder as you let out a whine. 

That… that’s not supposed to happen.

Pulling away, Yeonjun held your shoulders, oblivious to your flustered state as he scanned your body for any other issues. “Are you alright? Do you feel sick? Do you think we should take you to the hospital?” 

You shook your head, your body involuntarily leaning to the next target you could find, the need to be coddled and held suddenly as prominent as the feverish heat in your body.  

“Woah, easy there,” Taehyun said, gently supporting your body as you leaned into his chest, trying your best to get a whiff of the cologne he always used— it had always secretly been your favorite. “We need to run some blood tests, find out what happened.”

The need to protest festered inside you, only to come out as small groans as he picked you up, walking towards the infirmary that connected to Hueningkai’s lab. And, look, you’d swear on your life that you had never really thought of your friends this way, but man was Taehyun’s chest sturdy. You knew that out of everyone, he was the one that hogged the weights in your training room the most, but this was ridiculous. And it seems that your thoughts were simply too hard to hold in, because next thing you know, Taehyun is shooting you a strange look.

“Ridiculous? What is?” 

You remained silent, choosing instead to pat his chest in appreciation.

“You’re rock hard man,” you muttered, your filter long gone as the two men were caught off guard by your words, exchanging horrified looks as you continued to feel around— or rather, pat his arms, shoulders, and chest fondly. “All that gym time has really paid off.” 

Laying you down on the bed, Hueningkai approached you, ready to take a blood sample as he held back a laugh. You allowed him to, flinching at the invasive feeling as you distracted yourself by looking over Hueningkai’s face instead. And, like the two other times before, a strange feeling overtook you, and suddenly, Hueningkai wasn’t really Hueningkai anymore. Suddenly, you noticed, he looked very attractive when he concentrated hard on something, and suddenly, he had very nice hands, and, well, your thoughts began to run astray—

“What’s wrong with me!” You exclaimed, repulsed by your thoughts as you squeezed your eyes shut, trying not to make a sound as Yeonjun began to comfort you, his cooing voice and praise becoming too much to handle.

“Someone isolate me,” you begged, keeping your eyes shut as you avoided seeing the looks of concern spread over your shockingly attractive freind’s faces. “Please, I’m not messing around. Take me to my room please.”

“I’ll run the blood tests, someone take her to her room,”Hueningkai said, turning away as he took the blood samples with him, “and keep the physical contact to a minimum.”

Oh fuck, you thought, absolutley humiliated as your cheeks blazed with heat, he knows, doesn’t he. 

And yet, something about him knowing about your situation, yet acting so indifferent about it, sent a strange feeling throughout your body— it was like a secret only the two of you knew.

“Taehyun, you take her,” Yeonjun said, watching as Taehyun proceeded to help you up, neither of them failing to catch on to the way you leaned closer to him, eyes still screwed shut tightly, “I’m going to check up on our… guest, to see if he knows anything.” Taehyun nodded, going in the direction of your room as Yeonjun went the opposite way, towards the headquarters where Hueningkai locked Soobin up.

He hoped to get some answers from him.

Yet, all he found as he opened the door was an equally affected Soobin, cheeks flushed and calm demeanor shattered, his chest rising and falling in an unsteady rhythm. At the sound of the door opening, Soobin’s head shot up, eyes narrowing and blazing hair sticking to his forehead as he growled, 

“Bring her to me.” 

Shocked by his sudden statement, Yeonjun froze at the doorway, remaining quiet as he assessed the situation. 

“What did you do to her,” Yeonjun asked, slowly approaching the man that was bound powerless by the many seals that Hueningkai had made sure to slap on him. “You infected her with something.”

Irritated, Soobin scoffed at the others words, struggling to break out of his binds as he spoke, “I poisoned her, that’s what I did. Now bring her to me or I’ll make sure she never wakes up again.”

Expecting these words, Yeonjun scoffed, unaffected by his threats as he took in the shattered facade that was the calm indifferent man that they had met back at the palace. 

“ I doubt that,” Yeonjun said, exiting the room without another word, making his way down to your room instead, the words of Soobin running through his head. He may have come across as uncaring, but the thought of you truly being infected with deadly poison horrified him— he just hoped that it wasn’t too late. 

❂❂❂

Well, this was awkward.

As you lay on your bed, Taehyun just outside your door, the realization of what this feeling was dawned on you.

Man, you were horny. 

And it wasn’t as if this discovery was absolutely galaxy shattering— no, this was normal. But what wasn’t normal, was the way your whole body seemed to shut down on you, not able to think straight at the need tugged at you incessantly, to the point where you were almost in pain. 

“This can’t be happening,” you gasped, thighs rubbing together helplessly as you ran your hands up and down your body, helpless to control your own actions, the need to take off this stupid frilly dress overtaking you.

And you could, but then you’re not sure if you could control your need after that. 

The embarrassment of it all hadn’t been lost on you either, Taehyun’s concerned expression stuck in your mind as you begged for him to leave the room; you’re sure he caught on to what you were feeling at that moment. 

“At least I’m alone,” you mused, your hand twitching as you brushed against your thighs. You were alone… you processed the thought, glancing back at the door as you considered the thought. Maybe you should go lock it—

“___, how’re you feeling?” 

The door opened as your hands immediately retracted from their position, sitting up and looking at them innocently as if you weren’t thinking of giving in to your body’s needs seconds ago. 

“Okay, I guess,” you said, trying your best to give them your most reassuring smile; it didn’t work.

How could it work? Not when Hueningkai stood there, watching the way you grimace every time your body shifted, knowing exactly what it was that you were going through at the moment. Feeling his intense gaze on you, you looked to him, frowning as you asked him, “What did you find?”

The attention was then turned to Hueningkai, thankfully, as the three of you waited patiently to hear what it was that Hueningkai had found. Well, it was mostly Taehyun and Yeonjun waiting patiently, because suddenly, another wave of heat washed over you, leaving you to double over in pain. 

“Nothing deadly, thankfully,” Hueningkai rushed to say, the words bringing out inexplicable relief to Yeonjun and Taehyun as they rushed to your side to make sure you were alright. (It really wasn’t helping in this situation. The feeling of their hands on your body was too much, your skin suddenly lit on fire wherever they touched. God, if only you could let yourself give in, let yourself feel their touch elsewhere…)

Your lips were red and swollen from how much you had bitten on them, struggling the urge to let out any incriminating noises as their scents wafted to your nose, the smell so comforting and welcome that it had you fighting the urge to jump on them.

“What is it then? What’s happening to her?” Yeonjun said, taking in your flushed state as he went to hold your hand, feeling as you gripped onto him tightly and let out a small, involuntary whimper; this was humiliating. 

“It’s— there was traces of lilac blood found in her system,” Hueningkai began, cheeks redening as he watched your cool, calm and collected persona shatter before his eyes, replaced by someone he didn’t recognize— you were so needy, so unbelievably clingy that it was getting harder for Hueningkai to look away; this new side of you was so fascinating to him.

“Lilac blood?” Taehyun said, looking back at you in panic, “But isn’t that extremely poisonous?” 

Hueningkai gulped at that, trying to gather the courage to explain the severity of the situation. “Well, yes,” he began, biting his lips nervously as he watched the way you melted in the two’s hold, your thighs squeezing together helplessly— he could tell it was getting worse. 

“It’s extremely poisonous, deadly even, when in contact with extraterrestrials,” Hueningkai said, breath hitching as your eyes met his; he could almost hear your pleas to be freed from this strange feeling.

“But, when in contact with humans, it acts as an—“

His words were interrupted as another wave of pure, unadultarated, horniness washed over you, the feeling ten times stronger than usual as you let out a moan— from the sheer pain or need, you couldn’t tell. The room went silent, Hueningkai’s cheeks unbelievably red as the two men beside you froze, eyes locking as the realization dawned on them.

“An aphrodisiac,” Hueningkai sighed out, clipboard hugged tightly to his chest as he waited for anyone to say something, anything, to cut through the heavy tension that was built up in this room.

“God, this is so humiliating,” you whined, trying to pry yourself from the touch of the two men, wanting nothing more than to be left alone so you could melt in a pile of shame. 

“You might… you might want to move away from her,” Hueningkai muttered, watching as the two looked at you, moving away once you nodded frantically in agreement; you might just do something insane if they continued to coddle you the way they were.

“We’ll, uhm, be right back, ___,” Hueningkai stuttered, turning around and exiting the room as Yeonjun and Taehyun trailed after him, sparing you a worried glance as they left. 

And you were left alone, the need inside you festering to the point where you could no longer take it anymore.

Maybe you should lock the door. 

❂❂❂

“What are we gonna do?” 

Yeonjun was the first to speak, still flustered over the information that had been dumped on him. First it was having to imprison a guard from the castle, now this? 

“Well, we can wait for it to wear out,” Taehyun said, glancing back at your bedroom door. 

“Which usually takes twenty-four hours,” Hueningkai said, running a hand through his hair as he looked back down at the results on the clipboard, “and the pain will only get worse as time goes on.” 

“Well, what else can we do?” Yeonjun sighed, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall— he knew what the answer to the question would be, he just wasn’t ready to face it yet. 

“We can….” Hueningkai said, biting at his lip as he spoke, quiet and unsure of his words, “We can help her.” 

The hall was silent as they each thought over the proposition, hearts racing at what helping you would entail. Just as one of them opened their mouth to speak, a sudden bang interrupted their conversation.

“It’s coming from the prisoner’s room,” Yeonjun said, running towards the direction of the sound as the two followed close behind. The banging consisted, growing louder and louder as they neared the room, only to be met with the sight of the door fighting the brute force of the man on the other side. 

Wasting no time, Yeonjun opened the door, watching as Soobin stumbled through, unaware of the men on the other side. Before he can react, he’s pinned to the wall, Yeonjun’s hand grabbing a fistful of the man’s red hair as he snarls,“You did this to her.” 

Yet all Soobin can do is laugh, eyes dilated as he remains silent, chest heaving up and down as he listens to the sounds of your heart beating, your scent turning him into the depraved monster he used to be before he joined the castle’s guard. 

“She needs me,” Soobin says, struggling against the binds all over his body as he spoke, “You motherfuckers know what’s wrong with her, no need to be surprised.”

Soobin grunts in disdain as Yeonjun pulls his head back, scalp stinging as his hair is still held tightly in his grip, “What do you want with her, you monster.”

Soobin finds this situation fascinating, almost, as he cracks a smile, eyes meeting with Yeonjun as he taunts him. 

“You know what I want,” Soobin says, the distant sound of your whimpers tugging at his mind, “Don’t act stupid. Bring me to her.”

For a moment, Yeonjun’s eyes meet with his friend’s as he contemplates what he should do next, before shaking his head and throwing Soobin back inside the isolated room. He watches as Soobin stumbled inside, looking back at them with an expression that screamed I’ve already won. 

“She’s not going to go back to normal,” Soobin seethes, watching the way his words affected the three, “She’ll need me to fuck her good if you want your teammate back.”

Like clockwork, he watched the expressions of rage fall onto the men, the door slamming against his face as he’s left alone, listening to your cries from the other side of the ship. 

If he can’t escape, the least he can do is cut the head off the body.

❂❂❂

“Shit, what’re we gonna do,” Yeonjun sighed, pacing around the room as the words of the monster ran through his head. “What if he’s telling the truth?” 

“There’s no way,” Hueningkai quickly butted in, going back and forth repeatedly between his findings and continuing his research on the effects of lilac blood, “We have about five hours until this effect is worn off. Until then, all we can do is find any ways we can help her.”

They paused for a moment, before Taehyun stood up, heading to your room.

“I’ll go check on her.”

❂❂❂

You were a mess. 

A panting, sweaty, needy mess as you laid on your back, the necklace placed safely on your desk as you tried to rid yourself of the feeling as best you could. But, four surprisingly easy to achieve orgasms later, and all you could feel was the neediness sinking into your skin even worse. 

Your hand was beginning to cramp.

You couldn’t even have bothered yourself to strip, and you couldn’t have thanked yourself more for that as a knock rang out in your room, making you want to start crying for having been interrupted just as that coil was forming in your stomach.

“___?”

But you couldn’t stop.

“___? Are you awake?” 

You were so close, and you needed this, your fingers plunging in and out faster, your breath shaky as your other hand worked at your clit just the way you liked it, your legs tightening around your hand as you tried your best to stifle your noises.

Taehyun had a nice voice. 

Taehyun also knew that you were awake. 

He felt as though his heart was about to beat out of his chest, taking a step back as he heard what was going on in your room.

You knew this. 

Yet you couldn’t truly bring yourself to care as you closed your eyes, your mind involuntarily wandering to a place you hadn’t expected. 

It was Soobin.

You could almost see him on top of you, could almost feel his wandering hands, and hell, it felt like you could truly hear him as he whispered into your ear, his breath practically fanning on your cheek as he spoke, 

“Come to me, my dear. I’m the only one who can fix this, and you know it. Be a good girl and come to where I am. You don’t want to be stuck feeling like this, do you?”

Shaking your head, you felt tears brim your eyes from the overwhelming feeling. “No…” you whispered, not sure if you were rejecting his offer or denouncing the thought of being stuck like this. 

“No? No what, bunny?”

The sudden use of the pet name brought out a wave of shock in you, clamping down hard on your hand as you gasped, slowing your ministrations as you rode out what was left of your orgasm, whimpering pathetically as you spoke.

“No…. Don’t…. Don’t wanna feel like this…” you cried out, because just as you felt as though things were going back to normal, you felt a stronger wave of need come back to you, leaving you to crumple on the bed in a mess of tears and overstimulation; you were exhausted. 

“I’m here, bunny, come find me and I’ll give you what you need.” 

Silence.

Taehyun’s hand remained frozen mid-knock, unsure if he should try to talk to you again. 

Instead of having to make the decision himself though, he was met with your teary eyes and flushed face, a sheer coat of sweat coating your body as you supported yourself against the doorway, looking up at him as you spoke.

“Where is… I need Soobin,” you gasped out, not caring how you came across as Taehyun’s eyes swept over your crumpled clothes, his eyes widening as he processed your request. 

“No, there’s no way. Too dangerous,” he stuttered out, stepping back as you practically tripped over your own feet, leaning against him and pinning him against the wall as he spoke, his hands flying to your waist to steady you. He could feel your body heat rushing to him in waves, gulping nervously as he tried to ignore the way you were all over him. “Is there— is there anything we can do? Sleeping medications, anything? You just have five hours before it goes away, I’m sure you’ll be alright…” 

The words died on his tongue as you mouthed at his neck, the sensation of your mouth foreign and pleasant as he took in the feeling of your body on his. 

“Five hours…?” You practically whined in his ear, hands gripping onto his shirt as you pressed yourself harder to his body, “I can’t…. I can’t take it. Please, can’t you… help out?” 

Taehyun almost shut down at your request, the feeling of your thigh trying to pry his legs open too much for him to handle, your trailing lips and panting breaths almost making him give in.

“No,” he said firmly, planting his hands on your shoulders and pushing you away, holding you there as you cried in protest, “You’re not in your right mind, ___. This isn’t what you want.” 

Taehyun almost thought that you were going to start crying at that, but it seemed as though his words managed to sober you up, your glazed eyes looking up at him as you quietly spoke, “Please, bring me some sleeping pills.”

Taehyun nodded, sending you back inside your room as he rushed to fulfill your request.

Hopefully the sleeping pills will help you through these last five hours.

❂❂❂

The sleeping pills worked like a charm. 

Six hours later, and the three men were at your bedside, observing your calm, peaceful figure as they waited for you to wake up, the white noise of the news channel on your laptop filling the room. 

“The necklace is right here,” Hueningkai said, sealing it in a container as he grimaced at the crumpled outfit you had changed out of, “And we should probably burn that thing when we get the chance.”

“Agreed,” Yeonjun said, glancing at Taehyun for what seemed to be the upteenth time, “Taehyun, you never told us what happened back there. You seemed hella freaked out once you came back— did something happen to ___?”

Taehyun shook his head, cheeks dusted with pink as he spoke, “No, it’s just…. She kept asking for Soobin.”

At the mention of the man, the room went silent, the three of them remembering how Soobin had calmed down once you had fallen asleep. It was strange, almost as if he could feel what you were feeling. 

Hueningkai shook his head, dismissing the thought as he noticed you finally shifting awake. What a ridiculous thought.

The three men stood by, ready to coddle you once more and make sure you were alright, when you doubled over in pain once more.

Oh dear.

“Damn it…” you breathed out, eyes shut tight and brows furrowing and you scooted away from the two that sat along your bed, “Soo…. Soobin…. Where is…” 

And, just like clockwork, the destruction on the other side of the ship ensued. 

“No, ___, this can’t be happening,” Yeonjun said, standing up as he heard the pleas of the man’s name fall from your mouth, “It’s too dangerous, there’s no way that we can…”

“Please…” you said, voice firm and eyes steeled as you looked up at him— you were done worrying your crew, your friends, done endangering their lives just because you didn’t want to step up and take charge, “Let me see him.”

It wasn’t a question this time.

And though they considered denying you, they realized that this was not really a request from a friend, but an order from a captain. 

Slowly, they trailed after you as you made your way to the prisoner’s room, steadying yourself along the walls and refusing any assistance from your friends; the last thing you needed was more physical touch to set you off. 

“Careful ___, he might be waiting right at the—“

You couldn’t seem to care less about the warning as you opened the door, immediately being pulled in by a set of arms that the boys swear they binded. 

“___!”

Rushing inside, they paused as they took in the sight of you being entrapped by Soobin, his arms wrapped tightly around your torso as he whispered into your ear, a tentacle wrapped around your neck in warning, his eyes unmoving as he watched the boys.

“You came to me, bunny,” he whispered, lips brushing alongside your skin as he pressed you tighter to him, the feeling of his body against yours bringing about an irresistible heat over your skin, your brain muddled as you tried to keep your thoughts coherent. 

“You have nowhere to go,” you said, your head tilting up as the hold on your neck tightened; you could hear the click of the loaded guns coming from where your friends stood, no doubt pointing them at Soobin in warning. 

“Everyone thinks you’re an accomplice. A well trained guard disappearing so easily after years of serving the kingdom? And with the queen’s invaluable necklace, no doubt— which, of course, was hidden in a room only he knew of.”

Soobin stiffened at your words, not saying a thing as he eyed the exit that the three men blocked. 

“Think about it— if the palace, or any form of security sees you, you’ll be shot dead on sight. You’re a fugitive now,” you said, looking up to see that Soobin was already looking at you.

“Just like us.” 

“I’m nothing like you,” Soobin hisses, grip tightening as he takes a step back, “Plus, you need me. Look at you,” he says, the hand that was pressing on your stomach pushing you back, the feeling of him behind you making you gasp, “All needy and desperate for me.” 

“What’re you playing at, Soobin,” you warned, shutting your eyes once more as you tried to ignore the sickening heat that rushed to your body, a strong restlessness forming at your stomach. 

“Take me back to the kingdom and turn yourselves in,” Soobin said, stubborn as another tentacle wrapped around your stomach, pulling you back and gluing you to Soobin’s body as you were made into a shield; you tried to stifle a whimper as you realized that he was being affected too.

“Or I’ll snap her neck faster than your finger can pull the trigger.” 

“Soobin, listen—“

“Don’t speak as though you know me,” he snarled, lips brushing against your ear as he quietly added, “this connection we share means nothing.” 

Connection. 

Is that what this was?

“You don’t understand, do you?” You quietly tried again, slowly reaching up to place your hands on his forearm— he tightened his grip on your neck, but you stood your ground, hands remaining there as the others watched, searching frantically for an opening to get you away. 

“The report has spread everywhere— there’s no media outlet that hasn’t covered your escape,” you softly explained, thinking back to the bounty that was sent out in exchange for your heads, “you have nowhere to go.” 

“___, what’re you trying to say—“

“I’m saying,” you interrupted, meeting eyes with your friends as the horrible realization of your words dawned on them, “That you should join our team.”

Not a word was said, but you could basically hear the unanimous words of every person in the room:

Are you insane? 

Yeah, maybe you were, but there was this awful, nagging feeling that you just couldn’t leave Soobin on his own. Strangely, you couldn't imagine going forth with your life without the man that was currently threatening your life, and a sinking feeling puddled in your stomach as the realization dawned on you that he felt the same. 

Soobin was an insanely strong alien that was currently pitted against three humans and their guns; with ease, he could take them on and overthrow the ship— and he knew that. But instead, he chose to cling to you as he listened to your words, his grip on you morphing long ago from something threatening to something possessive. 

Soobin didn’t want to leave.

And, as you met his eyes, the same thought seemed to strike him as well. 

“You’re nothing without me,” you whispered, testing your limits as you tilted your head towards him; you weren’t dead yet, so you think you can handle a bit more. “Join us. What other options do you have?”

“I could kill you all and take this ship as my own.”

“But you won’t.” 

The look you shared was impossible to break, and you could almost hear his thoughts the longer you waited for his answer. 

“Don’t think you’ve won yet.”

The tension in the room seemed to falter as Soobin released you, allowing you to catch your breath as you stumbled to your friends, the three placing you behind them as they aimed their weapons at Soobin in threat. 

“Oh please, those won’t do a thing,” Soobin said, rolling his eyes as he began to regain his composure, the extra limbs disappearing behind him with ease, “be thankful that that one’s in charge.” He said, jutting his chin as your direction as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“But don’t think that everything is back to normal now.”

They scoffed at his words, closing the door and locking it once more as they guided you back to your room, their gazes constantly falling back on you and the fact that no, you weren’t back to normal. 

“Please, leave me alone for a bit,” you begged quietly, ignoring their protests as you shut the door on them, locking it without another word, the three men left outside as a feeling of dread pooled inside them.

It’ll take a while for things to go back to “normal”.

❂❂❂

You won’t eat. 

A few days have passed and your appetite has drastically lowered, the food that they have left outside your room only disappearing once in a while, if they’re lucky. The amount of times they had to bring back cold, uneaten and untouched food was extremely concerning for them. 

Coincidentally, Soobin hasn’t eaten anything either. Yeah, the fool actually remained on the ship, and has yet to kill them in their sleep— the three would take turns keeping an eye on Soobin through the sevaliance room that was connected to the wall adjacent the prisoner’s bed; what looked like a simple wall to them was actually a one way glass. 

The necklace had been exchanged long ago for the other half of their payment, the sheer luck of it all leaving their names and faces off the news, Soobin’s fading away as time went on as well. And as much as you begged them through the groupchat to take a break and go somewhere nice with the money, they absolutely refused to do so without you. 

“Please, ___, you have to eat something,” Hueningkai begged, camping outside your door as he held your meal in his hands. You refused again, leaving the boy to frown at your words, refusing to leave until he saw your face. 

“You haven’t come out of your room yet, let me see you,” he whined, ears straining to listen to any sound of life that may be going on inside the room. His heart jumped as he listened to the approaching footsteps, waiting in anticipation to see you again. 

The door opened, and out you came, the very sight of you bringing out a motherly instinct inside Hueningkai.

“Oh, look at you,” He said, placing the food down and running to you, cupping your face in his hands as he inspected you closely, your weak state allowing him to do so without much protest. 

“Have you slept at all?” He muttered, taking in the sickly look on your face, flinching at the heat of your skin, “Is— are you still feeling…?”

Wordlessly, you nodded, leaning against him as you tried to block out the thoughts of the one person who circled your mind— Soobin. 

It was involuntary, the way your mind kept tugging back to the red haired man. While you ate, while you worked, while you slept. It was driving you insane, just like the permeating heat in your body did. No matter how much you tried to distract yourself from the feeling, you would soon find yourself back on the bed again, trying to rid yourself of the discomfort, only to find in dismay that you couldn’t. It was degrading. 

You could almost hear him calling out for you sometimes. 

“Hyuka, I can’t do this anymore…” you sighed out, pulling away from him as you leaned against the wall, the cool metal soothing against your back, “I need to speak with Soobin.” 

“Are— are you sure?” Hueningkai asked, not ready to let you see him again; not after what he pulled the last time. “There isn’t anything else we can do to….?” 

You narrowed your eyes at his words, tired of being denied seeing him as you said, “Oh? What’re you implying…” you took a step towards him, your hands steadying themselves on his chest as you leaned on him, his hands awkwardly floating in the air as he looked down at you, easy to fluster as ever. 

“You like seeing me like this, don’t you Kai?” It was just cruel teasing at this point, but you were getting tired of being treated like a porcelain doll at this point. So you and Soobin might have to fuck to get you back to normal— so what? It’s not like sex is a mind breaking discovery. 

“I, uh, uhm…” the poor guy could say nothing in defense as he practically short circuited at your low, whispery voice, the words running in his head faster than he could say them. 

Pushing off of him, you tried to ignore the way your hands were itching to explore more of his body, rushing instead to get to Soobin’s room, a nervous Hueningkai stumbling after you.

“___, what’re you gonna…”

“I’m gonna talk to him, obviously,” you said, raising a brow as you opened the door, unsurprised to find Soobin already waiting for you. “What else did you think?”

And, like always, he took the bait with ease, cheeks flushing and ears turning red as he stuttered, “no, I— I wasn’t thinking anything….” 

You smiled, amused at his flustered self as you went to close the door, eyes meeting his one last time as you spoke. 

“Good.”

And the door was shut. 

❂❂❂

“Oh bunny, how predictable,” Soobin was on you in a matter of seconds, your newfound bravery turning into nothing but a facade as he pinned you against the wall, hands steadying themselves on your waist, “It’s like you want to get yourself killed.”

“You want me just as bad,” you taunted, your leg going to wrap itself around his waist, pulling him in as you spoke— you could feel him begin to get hard already. “Don’t act like you haven’t been begging me to come pay you a visit.” 

All Soobin could do was chuckle, his hips rolling against yours as he seized your wrists with one hand, pulling your arms above your head. “And yet, you’re helpless against me.” 

Your resistance practically melted once you felt his touch, a newfound relief settling inside you as the feeling of his body against yours felt so natural, so right. Soobin was quick to notice, as always, his lips roaming around your neck as he continued his taunts. 

“How pathetic. You manage to get me on your ship and suddenly think you have control over me,” he seethes, biting on the flesh and inflicting a gasp out of you, “this connection we share, it is nothing but a misfortune.”

“You keep…. You keep talking about this connection of yours— ours,” you pant, a sigh leaving you as he gave a particularly harsh thrust against you, “what exactly are you going on about?” 

“You poor thing, you mean to tell me you don’t know?” He asked, condescending in his tone as he hovered over you, your eyes involuntarily flickering to his lips as he spoke. 

Shaking your head, you whimpered, feeling the effects of the aphrodisiac come onto you in heavier waves the longer Soobin held onto you; you don’t think you can even think straight anymore. 

“Bunny, you’re connected to me,” he said, a sly smile tugging at his lips as he took in the shock in your eyes, unable to keep himself from stimulating you more. “The blood inside you, it has bonded us,”

“And unless you kill me, you’re not getting rid of me.” 

The lips that crashed onto yours felt like a cool drink in the desert, your body alight as Soobin finally allowed himself to touch you, hands roaming around your body as if he were trying to memorize every part of you.

There was no love in the kiss. All you felt as he pressed himself against you, hands sliding under your shirt teasingly, was hot, primal, lust. Soobin was hungry, and he was done waiting for someone to give him what he needed. 

And luckily for him, you were more than willing to give. 

“Please,” you whimper, the heated pain of need overtaking you once more, nails digging into your palm as you chase any pleasure given to you, “please, I need, I need…” 

“More?” Soobin mused, pushing you around like a ragdoll as you felt yourself come in contact with the bed, “Beg for it, bunny.” 

It was a matter of seconds before you were stripped bare before Soobin’s gaze, his eyes never leaving your body as he waited for you to cave into his request; only for you to keep your mouth shut— you still had some pride left within you. 

“For someone who has relinquished all control to me, you sure do act like a brat,” Soobin sighs in dismay, his hands trailing along your thigh before stopping just where you needed him most, his fingers teasing you as he felt around. “Come on, I know you can be good,” he said, leaning over you as you shook your head, a frown overtaking his features as he raised his brows. 

“No?” He asked, slowly pushing you legs apart as you shook your head again, shutting your eyes the moment you felt Soobin tease against your folds, slowly rubbing his fingers up and down. He hummed at that, the sound of him taking off his coat making you open your eyes slowly as he spoke, 

“Then I guess you won’t get what you want.”

The feeling of Soobin’s tentacles wrapping around your thighs was definitely new. The long appendages were cool, yet not as slimy and sticky as one would think. And while two of them encircled each of your thighs, pulling them open and leaving you defenseless against Soobin, another one was quick to reach up and trap your wrists above your head. 

“Poor slut, so wet for me yet has too much pride to beg for more,” Soobin tsked, cold eyes staring down at you as he listened to the sound of your heartbeat become erratic, your small whimpers more than enough to keep him satisfied, “Such a shame you don’t want this pretty pussy to cum.” 

It was almost overwhelming, the way you felt Soobin lower himself to your level, the sight of his head between your legs making you whine shamelessly, hips bucking in the air as you practically fell apart from the single action. Your mind quickly became a foggy and incomprehensible hurricane of thoughts, the familiar feeling of being empty coming in once more as you felt yourself become impatient. 

“Easy, bunny,” Soobin mutters, lips trailing kisses along your thighs, “Dripping for me already and yet, I haven’t done a thing to you.” 

“Soobin,” you pant, back arching against the bed as you felt him get close, so close, yet pull away last second, “Soobin, don’t be such a—!” Your words were quickly cut off as an appendage of his was shoved into your mouth, the sheer size of it taking away any remaining thoughts in your brain— any want to rebel against Soobin quickly disappeared.

“You seem to really like the sound of my name,” Soobin mused, teasing you once again as you whined at the feeling of his breath against your pussy, “Say it again.” 

“Soobin—!” The tentacle that had been taken away from your mouth quickly made its way back in once you gasped out his name, your sudden obedience more than enough to make Soobin decide to please you.

“Good girl,” he muttered, lips attaching themselves to your clit as he listened to the sound of your surprised squeal. Your mind was reeling at the fact that you were finally being touched by someone that wasn’t you, thighs trembling pathetically as you shut your eyes, mouth agape as you let the tentacle that had been shoved inside roam around your mouth. 

As if you hadn’t been overwhelmed with enough stimulation, the sudden feeling of two more of Soobin’s tentacles encircling your breast and touching curiously along your nipples brought a new wave of pleasure over you, Soobin’s sudden harshness against your clit making the coil in your stomach finally snap, a surprised moan leaving you as you rode out the shocks of the remaining pleasure, Soobin’s ministrations not stopping for a second as he ruthlessly carried you into another orgasm, your body tightening and your mind begging for a break as you ignored the exhaustion, loud cries flowing from your mouth as you rolled your hips onto Soobin’s face. 

Slowly, the wriggling appendage in your mouth slowly made its way out, still covered in your spit as you whined, hips bucking against Soobin’s face as you spoke. 

“Soobin,” you began, waiting for the overstimulation to take over; but all you felt was an incessant need for more build up inside you, a raging storm that just wouldn’t quit as you gasped, “I need more….!” 

“Again?” Soobin mused, eyes meeting yours as the sight of his bruised lips practically made you melt. You nodded frantically as you noticed the way the tentacle that was previously inside your mouth slowly wandered down your body, finding its place at your entrance as he sighed out, 

“If you insist.” 

You were practically drooling at the way the strange appendage felt inside you, moving around inside as if it had a mind of its own, The two tentacles that were previously stimulating your breasts moving to wrap around your waist, bringing your hips up, off the bed as you were left to be practically used by Soobin. The constant string of noises was incomprehensible at best, tears brimming your eyes as your body finally began to realize that it was finally getting what it had been craving for so long. With it’s ridges rubbing against your walls, it wasn’t long before you were seizing up, your eyes rolling back as your body allowed you to ride out another orgasm, still as strong as the previous ones you’ve had— if not, even stronger. 

“What a lovely sight,” Soobin commented, looking down at you as he took in the way you let yourself be helplessly fucked by him, “Do you think you can take more, bunny?” 

Your body seemed to jolt awake at the sound of more, the tears that had been building up at the corners of your eyes finally spilling as you nodded uselessly, not quite sure if you really knew if you would be able to handle it. But that didn’t really matter, not with the way you suddenly felt Soobin’s cock prodding at your entrance, the movements of the other appendage never seizing for a second.

It was too much. That was all that your brain screamed at you, but as you felt Soobin finally enter inside you, your body couldn’t seem to care less about that comment, another orgasm washing over you as you came on his cock, the loud whines that spilled out of you enough to leave you embarrassed for the next upcoming weeks. 

“Fuck— so tight, shit,” Soobin hissed, the feeling of your warm walls squeezing him catching him off guard as he groaned, his hands wandering all over your body as they ran across your skin, squeezing lightly whenever they landed on your thighs. Looking back at you, Soobin could only laugh cruelly as he noticed the way you never truly calmed down from your high, hips bucking desperately as you cried out for more. 

“My poor fucktoy wants more?” Soobin mocked, amused by the way that you were too fucked dumb to care about your pride, incoherent mummbles stringing out of your mouth as you begged to be fucked by him. And, well, Soobin aimed to please. 

There was nothing sweet about the way Soobin fucked you. With hips that moved like water, you were left to do nothing but cry and beg as he thrusted into you brutally, the strange tentacle that had been inside you never leaving for a second, still prodding around as though looking for something. 

“Soobin— fuck—!” You cried out, his name like a prayer on your lips as you felt the tentacle hit a particular spot that had you seeing stars. And, cruelly, it proceeded to aim only there while Soobin fucked you ruthlessly. 

Just when you thought that you couldn’t become more overwhelmed, you felt the tentacle that had been flicking at your nipples snake down your stomach, stopping once it found your clit, only to rub at it just the way you liked it. 

If the others hadn’t heard you already, they sure had now.

Because as you clamped down on Soobin’s cock, tears falling from your eyes rapidly, you couldn’t find a single ounce of shame inside you, the only thing you could find being a hungry, insatiable need for more. 

“Soobin…” you began, hiccuping as you continued to sob, not an ounce of overstimulation washing over you as you let yourself continue to be used by Soobin, “What’s happening to me, why won’t it— why won’t it go away?” 

“Oh, my sweet angel,” Soobin cooed, your muddled brain unsure if he said this to mock you or not, “your body is only after one thing— me. And unless you don’t get filled with my cum, your body won’t be able to ask for anything else.” 

At the realization of what that meant, you began to involuntarily clench around him, your sounds turned into nothing but weak pleas as you felt the exhaustion threaten to seep into you.

“Hmm? What’s this?” Soobin mused, slowing his ministrations until all you felt was the way his hips ground against yours, all stimulation you felt immediately slowed to match his pace. At the lack of pleasure, you felt yourself become irritated, the demanding need surfacing once more as you begged for him to fuck you properly.

“Does my angel like the sound of me filling her up?” He asked, the words bringing out a tugging in your stomach as you could do nothing but nod, far too gone to care about how desperate you might sound. 

“Yeah? Want me to fill you? Make you mine?” You weren’t sure if he simply said these words because he was lost in the moment, but you couldn’t deny the odd way that it affected you, a soft whine leaving your throat as you softly begged him to do so. 

“Yes, want… want your cum,” you whined, hands itching to be freed so you could feel him, entangle your hands in his hair, something. “Please, Binnie…wanna touch you.” 

The new nickname came as a surprise to the both of you, and, if you had any shame left in you, you probably would’ve left the room right now. But, was there anything to be embarrased about, when you lay in the bed of the prisoner with both his cock and strange tentacles fucking you in such a dizzying way? You don’t think so. 

“Binnie?” He hummed, releasing your hands as he watched the way you immediately reached out to him, the need to be even closer overtaking you, “Is that your nickname for me princess?”

You’re not sure when the sudden shift started in Soobin, but personally, you were more concerned with the way you found yourself both enjoying it and wanting to cling to him even more. 

“Come here,” he whispered, the tentacles leaving your waist and supporting your body as you sat up, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you slid your hands under his shirt. 

“Why am I the only one that’s naked here?” You whined, somewhat annoyed that you’re the only one that has been indecent the whole time. 

“You want me to take this off?” Soobin asked, raising a brow at your strange tactics, “Now?” 

You nodded, already beginning the process as you added, “Everything. Now.” 

The sudden change in the attitude and chemistry was left unspoken between the two of you, your heart thumping hard against your chest as you wondered if this was the effects of the blood bonding coming into play.

Now, as Soobin stood before you, bare like you, you allowed yourself to become more curious with your movements, hands caressing his skin as you mused over all the different scars on his body. Cautiously, you leaned up, a satisfied smile tugging at your lips as Soobin allowed you to kiss him, the feeling much more different that the first time. 

Yet, as your hands continued to wander, you knew that something shifted in Soobin as your hands grazed the part of his back where the appendages protruded, your sudden touch bringing about a soft hiss from Soobin.

“Not there, angel,” Soobin warned, hips moving once more as you were reminded of the bothersome heat inside you, your lips chasing after his uselessly as he pulled away. 

“Look at you, pathetic baby,” Soobin sighed out, the degrading words making you shut your eyes as you leaned on his chest, hands finding purchase on his shoulders as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer as you rutted against him mindlessly. 

“Fucked stupid by my cock. I bet you’re begging to cum again, hmm?”

And like the many times before, you agreed, your mouth trailing kisses along the expanse of his neck as you said, “please, Binnie— I want to feel you cum with me, wanna be filled.” 

Wordlessly, Soobin tugged your head back, getting a fistful of your hair as he whispered in your ear, the wicked smile evident in his voice as he spoke.

“Then you better give them a show, bunny.”

His brutal pace was set before you could say anything else, your eyes glossing over from the way that Soobin seemed to know just how to please you. Any words that you might’ve had died in your brain and melted on your tongue, left as nothing but sweet sounds that only seemed to encourage Soobin more.

The two of you were loud. Soobin knew that. He knew that you were aware too. But, as you clenched on his cock once more, your body shaking and your whimpers turning sweeter, he had to make sure that you became aware of the heartbeats that had suddenly appeared. 

“Aren’t you ashamed, bunny?” Soobin said, not bothering to keep his voice down as he spoke. Knowing that you became confused by his words, he continued. 

“Your teammates must be so jealous right now. This pussy’s too good to not want to fuck, hmm? I bet they’re dying to be in my place right now. But all they can do is watch helplessly.”

Soobin felt the moment you caught on to his words. How couldn’t he? Not with the way you were currently falling apart before his eyes, your lips bitten and swollen as he pulled you in for another kiss, pulling you in tight as if to make a point; you’ve lost her, she’s mine, look at how nicely she behaves for me. 

Pulling away, Soobin laughed harshly, cupping your cheek as he looked at your tired face, your dazed eyes slowly meeting his. 

“You still need more, don’t you bunny?” You were beyond destroyed by now, your body ready to shut down at any second now, but the burning need still as strong as ever as you slowly nodded, the words he spoke seemingly taking ages to process in your mind. 

Without any warning, you were suddenly being pulled up, the only thing that allowed you to stand being the support that the tentacles provided, along with Soobin’s arms that immediately encircled your torso, your chest being pulled flush against his. 

You were a mess of tears, sweat, and cum as you faced the wall, Soobin’s lips attaching themselves to you neck as he slowly began fucking into you once more, the new angle providing new stimulation for you. 

“They’re starting to enjoy this, you know,” Soobin whispers, the images of your shocked friends standing in the control room, watching you with dazed eyes, simply brought out a feeling of lust within you, the strange feeling of being desired making you feel dizzy. 

“Can you imagine, bunny? Imagine what they would do if they gave in, if they wanted to fuck you too. I bet you would take it, hmm? Take their cocks like the good girl you are?” The way Soobin was fucking you was outright delicious, and your mind couldn’t even begin to imagine the scenarios Soobin was currently feeding you.

“They love watching you. Love watching the way your pretty pussy takes me in. I bet they’d love to watch you be filled by me too, hmm?” You nodded, feeling the way Soobin’s pace had faltered, the rhythm starting to break the more you squeezed around him, his breathy moans and whispers of what could be bringing the both of you to a new peak.

“But they’ll just have to accept that you’re mine now,” Soobin said, the words loud and clear as he tightened his grip on you.

“Soobin,” you pant, hands wrapping around his forearms as you feel yourself getting closer.

“Say it again.”

“Soobin.”

“Louder, angel.”

“Soobin—!” 

Full. You feel so, oh so full. So satisfied, and so incredibly tired as you finally feel the way Soobin’s hot cum spurts inside you, seemingly unending as you come down with him, the violent waves of pleasure washing over you as all you can do is listen to the way Soobin quietly breathes out praises in your ear, not stopping until suddenly, he’s fucking his cum back into you, the feeling suddenly way, way too much for you.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay angel. You did so good, so good for me, taking everything I gave you.” He whispered, slowing his pace down until it was nothing more, the hot liquids slowly seeping out from in between your thighs. 

“Rest, angel, I got you,” he softly spoke into your ear, and though you had no reason to, you knew that you could trust his words.

So, after a week of nothing but physical and mental torture, you finally allowed yourself to rest, a heavy weight taken off your shoulders as you allowed yourself to collapse, allowed yourself to be caught by Soobin as he slowly laid you down, adjusting your body until you were covered by the thin covers that he was given. 

Soobin took his time to dress himself, not bothering to button up his shirt as he looked at the wall adjacent to his bed, his voice monotone as he spoke. 

“If you have any shame left, bring me some towels so I can clean your friend up,” he said, stressing the last part as he listened to the faint sound of scampering on the other side, glancing back at your sleeping form as he ran a hand through his hair. 

Their friend. His mate. 

❂❂❂

One would think nothing else but the fact that you just had the wildest, horniest, most shameful wet dream that put all other wet dreams to shame. 

But, as you woke in your comfortable bed, you sat up to find multiple clues that said no, it was not all just a dream. 

That is, if the complete change of clothes, deathly ache of your body, and the whole other person who clung to you said anything.

“You’re awake,” Soobin said, voice gruff as he pulled you in closer, “how do you feel?”

“Like death,” you wheezed out, choosing to skip over the awkward talk of “what the hell are you doing in my bed?” 

Afterall, after he gave you the fucking of your life, the least you could do was allow him a good night’s sleep— he was part of the team now, technically. 

“Could you tell your friends that you’re alright,” Soobin huffed, angry from even mentioning your friends, “They’ve been surveilling us all night. It’s strange.” 

He proceeded to motion to the very obvious camera and the mic that was now added to your room. You shot the man a questioning glance, but all he could do was shrug.

“Couldn’t be bothered to get up, honestly.”

“I’ll be back,” you muttered, unsure why exactly you were reassuring the man when you felt yourself being pushed back into Soobin’s chest, his hold tightening on you.

“No, just tell them you’re alright here,” Soobin grumbled, breathing in your scent as he fully expected you to give in. 

“No, I’m gonna go see them,” you protested, pulling yourself from his grip as you finally felt yourself become freed, only to get pulled right back in by Soobin.

“Why? So they can see the aftermath of all I did to you?” He said, his voice dropping octaves as he made you recall the events that happened the night before. “They still think about you, you know. I can sense it. It’s a wonder how they kept to themselves for all this time.”

“Soobin!” You exclaimed, cheeks heating up as he let you go, watching with amusement as you tried to show the way you definitely weren’t having difficulties walking. 

“Need assistance?” Soobin mused, and before he could react, you were tossing one of your fallen pillows at him.

Making your way back to the deck (slowly…) you tried to not think about how you just single-handedly fucked up the remaining balance you had on this ship. Not only was your relationship with Soobin extremely weird, but you had also managed to come on to two of your friends and practically begged them to help you out. How awful. The closer you got to the deck, the heavier you could feel the tension in the air, your hands growing clammy as you finally came face to face with them.

To put it frankly, a part of you had been hoping that Soobin’s whole “let’s give them a show” thing had simply been a strange fantasy, but as you take in the way that absolutely no one can hold eye contact with you, you’re realizing with a heavy dread that it was not, in fact, a strange fantasy. 

It was very real. 

“I’m… feeling better…” you said, trying to cut through the silence, only to get a couple of nods and nothing else. 

“That’s good,” Hueningkai said, and damn it did his ears just turn red from simply making eye contact with you?

This ship, you realize with dismay, was beyond saving. So you did the best you could to distract yourself from the situation, choosing instead to look around the windows to see where you might be. Yet, just as you were about to piece together what planet you might be on, your eyes caught on something peculiar, a sudden wave of rage taking over your essence.

“What the fuck is this dent doing in my ship?!”

The relationship re-building can wait;

You need answers.

[kiyof]

ive been here for a while now as a silent/ghost reader, but now im gonna start speaking my Truth and reblog stuff i like esp fanfics!!

[kiyof]

I know it’s not much in the face of everything but I have been finding hope & resilience in palestinian poetry these past few weeks and I created a google drive file of poetry collections by palestinian poets that I will keep updating as I keep on reading. I also recommend checking out @fiercynn’s palestinian poets series for more poets + poetry available online

[kiyof]

Does anyone else get overwhelming daily waves of ‘I love beomgyu !!’ that makes you feel warm and full and feel like crying and throwing up falling to your knees BECAUSE I JUST LOVE BEOMGYUUUUUU😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭☹️☹️☹️☹️ JAHDJD><#*£gfgWAWAAHH I LITERALLY LOVE HIM :(<33💞💘💕💞💘💕😭😭☹️☹️🫶:(

[kiyof]

what the hell why is this literally the best thing ive ever read on this app im gonna kms this needs more than 171 notes im so serious

UMAZANE MISLI | c.bg

STARRING: Choi Beomgyu x fem!reader

CAST: Lee Heeseung (EN-), Lee Geonu (Just B), Jung Sungchan (ex-NCT), Yang Jeongin (Stray Kids), Felix (Stray Kids), Choi Seungchol (SVT)

RUNTIME: 35.9k (sorry)

SYNOPSIS: Beomgyu thought that a life of academic excellence, popularity contests, and ego trips were left behind the moment he graduated from a prestigious private school. However, he found himself locked in an intense, three-year rivalry with you. He always had to be number one in everything that the two of you were involved in, but god damn, your band makes incredible music. Lord knows what would happen if one day, you find him moshing to one of your basement shows. Alas, you were oblivious, and he managed to convince himself that several streaks of messy, temporary red dye and ripped jeans immediately transformed him into a spy that infiltrated your band's smelly, sweat-infused, beer-rotting basement.

GENRE: Coming of age, slice of life, romance, comedy, band!au

WARNINGS: R15+ | Heavy substance abuse | Academic trauma | Familial and generational trauma | Profanity | Strong and explicit language | Crude humor and a flurry of sexual jokes | Honestly there's way too many explosive fights in this fic | Borderline existential | MC and the entire cast basically goes through a breakdown at some point in the fic | If any of these warnings trigger you then please DNI

DIRECTOR'S CUT: hi everyone !! this will be my debut into txt writing !! i hope you enjoy this fic, and as always, PLEASE triple check all warnings and make sure you read this work at your own discretion. You are responsible for the content that you consume. also !! of course, some facets of the band is inspired by the lovely joker out, the slovenian band that stole all of our hearts in esc 2023 !! the family dynamics and rich kid problems in this fic is inspired by succession, the HBO tv series. i also just wanted to give a quick shoutout to alice @jayflrt and her stoner's guide to starbucks smau, which inspired heeseung's character in this fic !! do give it a read if you have the chance !! she's vv funny LOL. also !! another shoutout to @jitaros for the e2l law school dynamics !! i tried my hand at the trope (watched too much better call saul for this LOL) !! this is an homage to crying lightning, and i hope reading this will inspire you to complete law school!hyuck :")))

SOUNDTRACK: Umazane Misli, Plastika, Demoni, Vem da Greš, Proti Toku, Carpe Diem, A Sem Ti Povedal, Bele Sanje, Katrina, and Dopamin by Joker Out (basically the entirety of Joker Out's discog tbh)

VISUALIZERS: Joker In // Law school Beomgyu

COPYRIGHT OIWXA 2023. DO NOT REPOST OR TRANSLATE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION.

I. SHAGADELIC, BABY!

The studio has seen worse things. Pizza boxes covered in mold spreading toxic mildew across the entire room; broken drum sticks that were basically tetanus-inducing pieces of legos on the floor for the unlucky person sans socks or sandals; curled ends of guitar strings strewn across the floor like upturned nails; permanent stains of beer scattered in patches on the wooden floorboards; broken lightbulbs for more tetanus and other forms of infectious diseases; a nest of fruit flies concentrated on one of the leaking pipes next to the generator; an unidentifiable liquid etched on the edge of a dirty carpet with an equally mysterious source; crude graffiti filling up the bare cement walls; the temper of a lead singer with a god complex; and lastly, the simmering temperament of a guitarist that believes he deserves more credit than he is currently given. 

To call the basement of an abandoned house on the distant outskirts of Hongdae a studio was an insult to professional musicians who spend their entire lives in a well-insulated creative space. Your band barely had the budget to install acoustic foam panels across the basement—not like you needed it, though. Nobody in their right mind would dare take the last train to the station and hike at least an hour atop a closed trail to record music in a dilapidated house. It wasn’t like there was anything or anybody listening to the so-called “noise” you and your friends made at ungodly hours, too. If there were, it was probably the ghosts of those who once populated what you assumed was a small, forestry village before the war. 

Nonetheless, it became the meeting place that would house all of the band’s creative endeavors—and to be fair, you didn’t mind the musty smell or the murky leakages of dirty water. All of it to you slowly became a sanctuary that broke you free from the bondage of a degree you weren’t even interested in. What was even better was the people that occupied the rather decrepit space. Sure, there was a lot of infighting in the band that made you want to throw your drum sticks at each member or assault them and get charged with battery, but in the end, it was growing pains for the fruition of an otherwise decent band. For you, the disagreements everyone often faced were a testament to the band’s potential longevity. Even if you didn’t consider yourself the most vocal member of the ensemble, you had a reliable voice of reason that validated the input you’d give to every suggestion or performance discussed. 

“Disagreements should be normalized, you know?” You once remember saying when Jeongin would often cry about the heated arguments Geonu and Sungchan would have. “I don’t think we’d be as good as we are now if we never fought or stood up for what we wanted in this thing.”

A word had to be said about the duo before proceeding into important matters—after all, it was the two of them that had the longest overall experience in Seoul’s university basement scene. Geonu in particular was who one might call the “veteran” in your band. He practically grew up around independent musicians his whole life, and his brother was in the garage rock scene since Geonu graduated from middle school. It was the norm for him to show up underage inside bars, venues, taverns, and any place that reeked of spoiled beer, sticky sweat, and copious amounts of cannabis abuse. Of course, Geonu managed to stay clean save for a few sips of beer here and there; he was notorious for his inhumane self-restraint and resilience, after all. When Geonu was fifteen, around the end of his last summer as a middle schooler, he started a hardcore band and toured a couple of basements around Seoul and beyond. The problem, though, was that his lead singer was a late bloomer. Instead of obtaining the gruff, aggressive, and extremely hardcore (for lack of a better word) tone that was required for the genre, Geonu had to suffer through his band receiving “baby noise” status. To his credit, he took it extremely well, using the ridicule to his advantage. It became a common gimmick later on for the band’s cult following to bring pacifiers and cry like an infant during the breakdown of each song. He even began attaching packets of powdered milk with each tote bag or cassette tape purchased from his fans for extra humor. 

That period of his life closed when he was in his second year of high school, where he founded an indie band and completely changed the direction of his music. The hardcore punk to soft boy indie pipeline was a pretty common shift in many musicians in the current generation, and by then, Geonu had grown out of the nu-metal craze of gelled, spiky hair and repetitive power chords. He wanted something more out of his music and thus formed an unexpected friendship with Sungchan, who at the time was the star football player in their high school. Since then, the two had been in the same band together, often changing the lineup depending on where they were music-wise. The first generation of the band was called King Suit, and most of their shows consisted of covers translated from English to Korean. King Suit was perhaps the most radio-friendly iteration out of all the bands that Geonu and Sungchan were in, and they broke off for the exact same reason. 

“Nobody really wanted to write music,” Geonu explained one time after a freshman party. “I mean, I can’t blame them. It takes a lot of effort, and most of us were self-taught. Sungchan was the only one who was willing to make the academic sacrifice to write and produce music with me, so we broke off after graduating high school.”

From what you could tell, Geonu didn’t seem to look back at King Suit with the rose-colored fondness of nostalgia. Each time he complained about his former members in a drunken pursuit, his voice would drop an octave lower, seething bitterness and poison in his slurred cadence. Geonu also only complimented Sungchan when he was drunk. 

The second iteration of his attempts into the underground indie scene was with a short-lived shoegaze venture that was ironically named DARE. One surprising fact that you managed to squeeze out of Geonu was that Sungchan conjured the idea of starting a shoegaze band. He had been listening to a lot of my bloody valentine and Cocteau Twins owing to his nightly Naver scrolls and Spotify recommendations. According to an extremely inebriated Geonu, Sungchan became obsessed with collecting effectors and pedals, blowing his entire savings and part-time earnings into expanding his ever-growing collection of overpriced battery boxes. Truth be told, his obsession for pedals didn’t necessarily come from a place of musical interest—he just thought that some of the artworks plastered across the Keeley or Electro-Harmonix pedals looked cool. He managed to learn how to use them through deep research on YouTube and Reddit, but he would never admit that the sole reason for his collection was the pursuit of aesthetics. Geonu would also never admit that he wanted DARE to live a longer life, simply because his stubborn pride wouldn’t allow it. He would always argue with Sungchan about how the genre of shoegaze itself was a cut-and-paste replica of each other, and for Geonu, it would be embarrassing to admit that his opinions can change over time. He was too much of a staunch idealist in the sense that he stood by most—if not all—of his opinions, thus it would take an eternity for him to admit that he was either wrong or misconstrued about whatever statement came out of his loud mouth. 

Then, Joker In was born—at least, that was what the current band was called. Prior to the name change, the band didn’t have an official name, so each gig just listed your names as individuals. It was the only iteration of Geonu’s bands that consisted of you in the lineup, in addition to Jeongin’s replacement as the current bassist. Prior to Jeongin’s untimely recruitment, the band had an upper year who promptly had to leave because he graduating and he was an exchange student. You didn’t know what went inside Geonu’s mind theater when he recruited Felix, but you assumed that the short-lasting membership was worth it if he was that good of a bassist. 

And to your judgement, Felix was amazing. He was a veteran of the instrument and played the double bass at his university’s big band back in Australia. Naturally, he would adjust to the electric bass pretty quickly, mastering all the techniques and genres by the time the band scored their first gig. Felix wasn’t particularly good at Korean, but he didn’t need the language when his skills spoke for themselves. In addition to mastering the instrument, he was a phenomenal performer that captivated the audience through his laid-back playing style. Every note he plucked was effortless, and his deep, sultry voice complemented Geonu’s powerful vocals quite well. 

The first time you saw Geonu cry was when the band dropped Felix off at the airport, bringing Jeongin along despite the awkward, one-sided tensions between them. Felix didn’t mind Jeongin’s presence since he joined the band knowing it was a short-term commitment, but Jeongin thought otherwise.

“What if he’ll hate me?” Jeongin would lament. It was your job to comfort him whenever he would dive deep into his woes about filling such a big role. Geonu was too cutthroat, and Sungchan was too much of a deadpanner. There was no way those two could ease the noisy thoughts of an anxiety-ridden boy. 

“Felix doesn’t hate, Jeongin,” You’d reply as you stuffed his mouth with endless slices of pizza. “Have you seen the guy? I don’t think he could get angry even if he wanted to.” 

The band became Joker In after Jeongin’s obsession for Eurovision came to light. At first, the three of you eyed him with confusion and bewilderment, wondering how a boy born and raised in Korea could care about a Europe-exclusive song contest. After being subjected to an entire week or two of arduously rewatching past contests and performances, you’ve grown to realize that Jeongin never watched Eurovision for the quality of songs that each artist produced. Sure, there were some good hits that grabbed your attention, but Jeongin didn’t care about the meaning of the songs written for the contest. For him, Eurovision was specifically created for drama and political tensions, paired with ridiculous, overtly surreal, and over-the-top staging that made you question the infinite potential of the human mind. What initially started as Jeongin’s sole hyper fixation now influenced the entire band’s direction, and Eurovision became a pact of friendship in Joker In. 

“You have to watch Viktor Plushenko skating on a fucking ice rink on stage with Dima Bilan,” Jeongin said, pushing his phone screen on Geonu’s face. 

“I’ve already seen that performance dipshit. You’ve shown it to me like, I don’t know? Every single time we go to the studio?” Geonu would reply, then keep his eyes glued to the performance. He didn’t want to admit that his go-to stage costume of a wifebeater and loose, silver parachute pants came from endlessly watching Dima Bilan on YouTube, but the avid Eurovision fan could pretty much piece his inspiration quite easily. Luckily for him, Korea didn’t have a lot of people that were willing to watch four whole hours of countries they’d never heard of sending artists runnings around in hamster balls singing about dusting a turkey in 2000s-era technicolor. 

“They sure did bring a wholeass ice rink on stage, did they?” Sungchan said, using his tall stature to tower over Geonu and Jeongin. He kept his eyes focused on the Olympic figure skater as he gracefully slid around the small, constrained ice rink in Belgrade. 

“Anything for Dima Bilan. Anything.” Jeongin cooed, eyes never leaving the blue-tinted stage on his phone screen. “Look at him! He’s so… sexy.” 

“Take a shot every time Jeongin simps over Dima Bilan,” You interrupted, snatching the phone from Jeongin’s hands. You went on the search bar and typed in the keywords that led to your favorite Eurovision winner, Duncan Laurence. Once his deep, solemn voice began to reverberate across the vast emptiness of the basement, you felt the three roll their eyes in your direction. 

“Of course, you’ll always play Duncan Laurence’s performance,” Jeongin sighed as he shook his head. He yanked his phone back from your hands and paused the video, momentarily admiring the tall, Dutch man playing the grand piano before shutting his phone off altogether. You returned the sentiment and folded your arms, closing your eyes from exhaustion. 

“Jeongin, you know that people can enjoy the contest for the actual music they produce, right?” 

“Well… yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” Jeongin replied, giving you his signature foxy smile. “You’re free to argue that Stefania won last year because of its musicality and experimentation with hip-hop and Ukrainian folk music, but man, you can’t deny that people liked it because of Mr. Pink Bucket Hat and MC Kilimmen’s breakdancing.”

“I don’t know, dude.” Sungchan interrupted. Whenever the topic of Eurovision 2022 came up, he always felt the need to join the conversation. “I think Chanel with Slomo deserved the trophy.”

Sungchan always had a penchant to enjoy female entries in Eurovision. When the band rewatched Eurovision 2010 and host their first sleepover in the basement for the first time, Sungchan fell asleep until Lena’s “Satellite” came on. The moment he heard her voice, he jolted awake as if someone shocked him with a defibrillator, posture immediately upright as he leaned his tall frame too close to the projector that they managed to hook up. For the whole week since, he kept replaying her performance whenever he had free time. When he was doing chores around the basement or setting up for practice, he would constantly hum the chorus of the song, following the singer’s odd, breathy cadence while swinging his hips to the rhythms in his head. It got to a point where it became an earworm for the entire band, and for a while, Geonu decided to ban the song from playing whenever they were together. 

“You can’t keep playing Satellite when Alexander Ryback was way better,” Jeongin would bitterly mutter under his breath. He would then pretend to hold a violin and prance around the floorboards, using his light, airy steps to do several failed pirouettes. 

Eurovision became the center of your band, and it became a gimmick to put at least one Eurovision song on your setlist—much to your chagrin. On the one hand, you would enjoy the songs that Jeongin would pick, such as “Believe” and Lordi’s “Hard Rock Hallelujah” for your university’s Halloween bash. In those moments, you were into it because you enjoyed the songs. On the other hand, the songs that were often chosen for your gigs were too “poppy,” for lack of a better word. There was not much you can do except keep steady beats intact while you watched Geonu and Jeongin mess around on stage. It was fun watching them get extremely drunk on copious amounts of cheap beer and vodka cranberries, but in the end, you were left performing basic 808s while the rest had their share of fun. 

It wasn’t unfair. It was just the way music was evolving. You weren’t much of a connoisseur to begin with as well, so you sucked it up and kept the musical harmony of the band. After all, what was important to you wasn’t the ability to execute flashy fills or steal the stage from the rest of the members. If you wanted that for yourself, then you wouldn’t be in a band in the first place. The sole purpose of forming a group is to produce quality as a collective, not as individuals—as such, you kept your role practical. So long as you sounded good as a band, that meant you were doing your job right. 

Maybe that was why you got along with everyone very well. Unlike Sungchan, who had a greedy streak of outdoing Geonu’s vocals with his shrill fills, or Jeongin, who had the opposite problem of staying behind and lowering the volume of his bass on the amp, you kept a good balance between showing off your skills and keeping the band’s overall sound in mind. That dynamic was also reflected in the way you interacted with the rest of the band. When you were with Geonu, you were an agent that showed him humility. You would always slap him in the back without any ill will, making sure he understood that there was no hierarchy in the band. 

“We’re not Geonu and friends, you jerk,” You would often say to him while pinching his ears. “We’re Joker In now, and I don’t recall seeing your name at the forefront of our group.”

“My bad, my bad,” Geonu replied, feeling the pain inflicted wherever you pinched him. Sometimes, it would be a drum stick thrown in his direction. When you were feeling generous, you just shook your head and taunted him. 

“I could do your job just as well, wanna bet?” You’d ask, pushing him to your drum kit in jest. Geonu could take jokes pretty well, but whenever this threat would reach his ears, he’d often see his life flash before his very eyes. Even if he prided himself in his skills as a multi-instrumentalist, he didn’t want to admit that he was terrible at the drums. 

You had a relatively peaceful relationship with Jeongin, owing to the fact that you were both in the same section. As such, you had to parle with Jeongin the most about the musical direction of each song Geonu wrote or translated. Since the genre that you often played with the band was along the lines of contemporary indie rock or pop, you didn’t struggle a lot with learning the songs or creating a soft, basic beat that can go along with Geonu’s vocals and Sungchan’s playing. Jeongin’s case was rather different. Although he was a great bassist that had an impeccable sense of rhythm, he lacked the confidence to properly execute all the bass lines he had in mind. Whenever he felt daunting, it would take him a few drinks or a few words of encouragement until he could finally swallow his insecurities and face Geonu. 

“Why are you so scared of that tiny angry man,” You’d often joke, sticking your elbow to Jeongin’s sides. He would look back at you with a flushed and nervous look, scrambling for answers in his fast-paced head while looking back at Geonu. 

It’s not to say he was scared of Geonu, because you can’t really be scared of a man who was his height. Rather, Jeongin was intimidated by Geonu’s presence—and you completely understood where that unfounded sentiment came from. Jeongin was the only one who did not have any experience with live performances prior to joining the band. Sungchan had been playing with Geonu since high school, and you paid your dues back in high school when you were forced to play jazz drums in the big band. Sure, you had a bit of a blank when it came to performing live, but it was easy to get back in the motions of it all when you already knew what to do. Jeongin didn’t have the experience; he only had skill. No matter how great he was at the instrument in theory, he often didn’t know what to do once he was on stage. Geonu would have to pull him back an hour before rehearsals and sound check just to tell him to let loose—which ironically wasn’t something anyone could teach. 

“Loosen up, kid. You just gotta get out there and play! Don’t think about being perfect or fucking up, because once you do, you mess up. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, so you gotta get in there with good vibes only.” 

Jeongin’s gotten better now, but he still shared the same meekness and apprehension when it came to Geonu. You were sure that it’d completely disappear with time, but you weren’t completely confident about the band’s status in a few years. There was a part of you that still considered it a short-term gig—something you’ll eventually grow out of once you graduate from university and get a “real job.” For this reason, you got along with Sungchan quite well. 

Another word about Sungchan: Though he had the longest track record of witnessing Geonu’s god complex, he was also someone that didn’t take the band seriously. In fact, your shock persisted to this day when Sungchan drunkenly told you that he planned to leave the band and music altogether after he graduated.

“This is just a hobby for me,” You vaguely remember him saying with overly dilated pupils and languid, hazy steps. “I think I’ll quit when I get my shit together someday.”

It wasn’t until you were four months deep into the band that you realized why Sungchan didn’t want to pursue music forever. At first, you thought it was an uncomfortable, yet silent and covert tension between Sungchan and Geonu. They’ve known each other for so long; it was natural to have disagreements. Then, you realized through Sungchan’s work ethic and his commitment to the Varsity baseball team that he simply had more going for him than a four-piece cover band. He wasn’t the smartest of the bunch, but he was extremely athletic—which was always a plus when it came to the unlikely colliding worlds of mosh pits and Olympic-level stamina. 

Joker In often had its moments of explosive fights and passive-aggressive silent treatments, but you wouldn’t have had it any other way. Usually, all it took was for Sungchan to complain that he was hungry, or for Jeongin to take his phone out and plug it into the projector, screening his niche obsession of odd European performances for everyone to see. 

Unfortunately for you, though, the topic of today’s fight was around the one thing that should have brought the band together: Food. 

“What should we eat tonight?” Geonu asked, adjusting the microphone stand with one hand while scanning the messy, crumpled, and coffee-stained lyric sheet in his hands. 

“Pizza?”

“Sungchan, we’ve been having pizza for the past six months. If we order the same shit again I swear I might throw up,” 

“Yeah, I’m siding with Jeongin on this one,” You added, leaning your head on Jeongin’s shoulder while clutching your unruly, growling stomach. “Pizza’s just not it right now.”

“Then what the fuck do we order, captain?” Sungchan snapped, heaving a sigh as he groaned in pain. 

“Hey, don’t call me that!” Geonu replied and returned the sentiment, scratching his head in frustration and confusion. He looked out at the sky and checked his phone, taking quick glances between all the furniture in the basement. The skies were dark, and the only source of light the band had was the dim, low glow of an ancient, yellow light bulb that was still there before they called the place their studio.

“Didn’t I say we’re all equals here?”

“Well, you’re technically writing all the songs that we’ve played so far, and you’ve been really anal about the solo I’ve considered for Butterflies and Katrina…”

To be fair, Sungchan was right. For the past three weeks or so, Sungchan has tried his best to add more input into the mixing process, but Geonu would either turn his suggestions down or ask him to play quieter in recent gigs. At first, Sungchan could understand the frontman’s qualms; it was never in his best interest for anyone to overshadow each member. However, he disagreed with the way that Geonu played favorites. Two nights ago, he caved in and allowed you to perform a drum solo—but then again, that was out of the request of the audience. You were lucky enough to have half your friend group and the entire law society show up to embarrassingly chant your name over and over again until you had the opportunity to strike. For Jeongin, it was much more forceful. Geonu had been trying to replicate the same charisma that Felix had brought to the band, and as a result, he has given Jeongin complicated bass lines that aren’t the easiest to execute in front of a crowd. Geonu had his own moments as well, but he chalked it up to being the “face” of the band. Disagreements between the two were commonplace, but it wasn’t common to completely diminish Sungchan’s role to basic chords and simple riffs. 

“Sungchan, for fuck’s sake,” Geonu replied in his usual tone. “I’m not being anal because I don’t like it. I’m being anal because  I know you could come up with something better. This is the same, lazy, cut-and-paste solo that you’ve been playing in every single show so far, and we need more diversity in our tune to get everyone to eventually listen to the stuff we put out.”

“Geon, we’re a cover band. Don’t you ever forget that,” Sungchan chimed. He was sick of hearing Geonu tell him the same thing since they were in high school. 

“So? Translation takes a lot of work! Besides, the only reason we’ve gained our following so far is that we do something unique and original that Joker Out don’t do on their shows.”

“Oh please, all the gimmicks you do on stage basically count as stealing. You see fan videos of Bojan online and regurgitate that.”

“Oh? Like what? Please give me an example, because from what I can see, the crowd loves what we already do.”

Usually, all it took was for you and Jeongin to step in and break the two apart. Jeongin would console Geonu on the sidelines, and you would take Sungchan out for a “walk” until he came back with a fresh perspective. Sometimes, it took hours—days, even—for both of them to set their differences aside and swear an oath of momentary truce. However, this was the first time you’ve seen their bickering evolve into a full-fledged fight. You snuck glances between a panicked Jeongin, who slowly unplugged his bass and turned off the amp. He looked like an ostrich that constantly peaked his head in all directions, eyes rapidly scavenging the best time to step in and do what he does best. 

“I don’t know? You call our music shagadelic sad boy rock—just like how Joker Out describes themselves,”

“It’s an original word!” 

“It’s not if they’re already using it…”

“Guys!” Jeongin finally screamed. “I’m hungry! Can we just postpone this little lover’s quarrel for another time?”

“Jeongin’s right,” You backed up, watching the two attempt to bicker amidst Jeongin’s ear-grating, dolphin-like screech. “We haven’t eaten anything since we arrived, you know? We’ve just been busy going through our setlist like, five or six times. Can’t we just call for a break and get back once we’ve eaten?” 

“I hate that you’re always right,” Geonu finally responded after a light, pondering pause. “Pizza?”

Before Geonu could start dialing the usual pizza place’s number on his phone, a light creak bounced back and forth between the gray, cement walls of the basement. It came in little waves, then echoed with a booming shriek. The four of you immediately looked behind you, catching the lanky silhouette of a man wearing an oversized rugby shirt with marinara stains all over its striped pattern. He tipped his cap off and gave all four of you a smile, the very definition of heavy embodied in the soft, yet dense movement of each footstep. He wasn’t even wearing leather boots or platforms; his sneakers seemed to shake the entire room with every step he took. Once you were able to catch a glimpse of the intense redness in his eyes, you finally knew why someone who appeared so light carried such weight with him. 

“Oh my god, you scared me, Hee!” You jokingly exclaimed, greeting him with a strong pat on the shoulder. He cocked his head back and forth, giant, glassy eyes adjusting to see the blurriness of your face. Once he was able to stay still, he returned the gesture with a wave that almost knocked him down to the ground. 

“You losers didn’t call the shop so I got worried you died or something,” Heeseung said, passing the large box of pizza to Sungchan before slumping his entire body on one of the couches in the studio. “This place looks pretty gnarly, so I kinda expected a horror movie plot going on where one of you goes insane and murders everyone in the room.”

“To be fair, you did come at the right time,” You said, practically shoving a glass of water in Heeseung’s mouth. “Geonu was one step closer to ripping Sungchan’s head off just now.”

“Did you bring the usual?” Sungchan asked, knowing the answer just by the whiff of garlic, tomatoes, and mozzarella that wafted throughout the entire basement. 

“Yeah, so every single one of you better pay me back. This was out of pocket.”

“You have the employee’s discount though, so the total price was probably around like, 12,000 won or something,” Jeongin said, trying his best to hold his laughter while taking a slice of pizza out of the box. Whenever Heeseung came with pizza, the war zone between Geonu and Sungchan subsides into a peaceful truce. 

“Hey, shit’s brutal lately, okay? I gotta get my money back.” 

Heeseung kept his body within the crevices of the old, unwashed couch, sinking his body further and further until he practically disappeared from your current realm of reality. At this rate, you would be surprised if Heeseung could get up and go home on his own. Though he was notorious for smoking copious amounts of weed every day, it wasn’t like him to show up to work completely fried. While the boy had problems with addiction, he was perhaps behind Geonu went it came to self-control and resilience. One time, he was able to quit weed for an entire month to focus on his studies. In those four months, he refused temptation altogether like a patron saint. No matter how many people tried to tempt him with a single puff or a bong rip, he would cover his nose and run away from the room. So far, he’s never caved in during these periods of asceticism. 

“Fine, you stingy ass motherfucker,” Geonu replied, opening his phone to send a few Wons to the demanding pothead. “Broke ass bitch.”

“Can I talk to you real quick?” Heeseung suddenly interrupted. His brain shouldn’t be capable of multitasking in his current state, but the addition of money to his bank account was enough for him to forget about collecting his debt from the band. 

“If it’s about that guy then I don’t wanna hear it. Besides, that’s all you talk to me about.”

“Beomgyu’s not bad if you give him a chance, trust me.”

Beomgyu. Hearing the name alone was enough for you to reach the same levels of anger that Geonu and Sungchan had just presented. Whenever the topic of Beomgyu came into the conversation, Geonu and Sungchan’s outbursts seemed like nothing but child’s play. While their arguments could easily be solved between a slice of pizza or a pint or two, you could never imagine yourself sitting idly and peacefully at a dining table with Beomgyu. 

“Trust you?” You suddenly interjected, anger slowly seeping into your brain with each passing second. “Trust you? The person who gets insanely high and goes to Starbucks because you find the barista cute? No thanks!” 

“Hey, man,”

“Don’t hey man me, you prick.”

“But you’re gonna love what I’m about to tell you,” Heeseung shushed, doing his very best to lull your unquenchable temper. The funniest thing to him was how being quick to anger was never in your personality. Throughout all the times that he’s known you, he was sure that it took infinite attempts to get you to at least crack or start getting annoyed—not angry. This was why no matter how much he tried to restrain himself, he couldn’t. It was too much fun watching you explode over some guy that apparently made it his life-long goal to get under your skin as much as possible—the best, or worst part about it is that it worked too well. 

“I caught Beomgyu listening to Joker Out lately,” Heeseung started, barely containing the eruption of laughter that was bottled within the confines of his throat. “It’s probably your doing,”

“Of course he would,” You snapped, rolling your eyes at the thought of Beomgyu listening to your band’s idols. “He’s nothing without me,”

“You know what the better part is? He’s trying to learn Slovenian so he can one-up you and see them live in Europe or something,”

“I don’t care,”

“You clearly do,” 

When it came to Beomgyu, you were terrible at keeping your temper in check. This was a well-known fact among your bandmates and a funnier gag to Heeseung. While your bandmates tried their best to pretend Beomgyu didn’t exist in your so-called friend group, they counted on Heeseung to spark the dormant anger within you. It’s not as if they were afraid of you, per se. It was more so the idea of taking responsibility; they’d rather let Heeseung take the fall than have you endlessly scream at them throughout practice for even mentioning Beomgyu’s existence. To be fair, they were right. With Sungchan and Geonu, things were simple. Even if they were to start punching each other during practice, everything could be solved if they ordered a slice of pizza. With you, however, things were different. You would endlessly talk about how much you hated Beomgyu regardless of the occasion. Even if there were pizza or expensive tickets to see your favorite band live, you would never let your loathing for Beomgyu come to a timely rest. It was always in the back of your brain, itching to come out at every opportunity you had. 

“Look at you, little miss I have to be number one in everything,” Heeseung mocked in his inebriated state. He took a dab pen out of his pocket and inhaled its contents, watching the world around him slow down by the minute as your warped, contorted face continued to deepen its wrinkles. You were tempted to take a huff, but adamantly shook your head in absolute refusal. 

“Say that one more time and I’ll hit your already empty head,” You replied, already hitting him a couple of times on the shoulder. 

“Ouch,”

“Who the fuck does he think he is?! He’s the one who started this whole thing! I never even wanted it to be this way!”

“Yeah you kinda did,” 

“How?!” 

“I don’t know? Like, that one time you got angry because he beat you in a project,”

At this point, the band dropped everything to pay attention to Heeseung. He was already somewhat dangerous when he was sober, but he practically had no filter when he was high—which was, to be fair, about ninety percent of his existence. Whenever Heeseung was high, all social filters were removed, allowing him to gain access to all of the things that would incite anger in you. This time, it was the sacred project that sparked the endless rivalry between you and Beomgyu. The band knew to keep their mouths shut around the topic to maintain the peace that they kept between you, but Heeseung? The word peace itself didn’t seem to exist whenever he was too high to even think about what he would order at Starbucks. 

“Well, that’s because he kept rubbing it in my face! I wanted to congratulate him!” 

“He told me you got this close to beating him up in the lecture hall,” Heeseung replied, failing to contain the large grin that was permanently etched on his face. “One of the TAs practically had to grab you before you swung your knuckles in his face.”

“Well, that’s because he kept being annoying about it! He said I got a good mark because I sucked the professor’s dick!” 

“You should know him by now, though. He has no filter.”

“But he said it like he meant it,”

“Yeah… about that…”

Even if Heeseung was, indeed, high, he was not a snitch—at least, he believed himself to be a man of his word. Even if tormenting you with talks of Beomgyu was one of his favorite forms of entertainment, what he refused to tell you was that Beomgyu was doing it out of his weird ways of telling you he had the hots for you. Heeseung didn’t know much about Beomgyu, to begin with, but to him, obsession in all forms was a pure sign of attraction. 

“Look, I think you two just need to lock yourselves in a room and fuck,” Geonu interrupted, rolling his eyes at the scene playing in front of him. A part of him enjoyed watching you lose your cool at a single man that couldn’t even utter proper insults correctly. Whenever Geonu had the displeasure of seeing you and Beomgyu fight, he ironically laughed at the two of you without realizing that it was pretty much a reflection of his own battles with Sungchan. 

“Hee’s right,” Jeongin quietly muttered, breaking his silence after devouring the last pizza slice. “I think you just need to get laid.”

“Excuse me?” You replied, mouth agape at the thought that Jeongin out of all people would call you out in your endless musings towards Beomgyu. “For your information, I do get some.”

“Oh really? When?” Sungchan joked. “When was the last time you fucked?”

“Last month!” 

“Rebounds don’t count.”

“Yes, they do!” 

“No, they don’t.”

A word about your rebound: it didn’t count. It was just a quick hate fuck with an ex that you haven’t talked to in three years. There was no preamble; it was action without thought. You didn’t even bother asking for her contact information after, and the two of you parted ways in mutual acknowledgement to never cross paths again. In that sense, it didn’t count. 

“Anyway, you better sort whatever beef you got going on with Beomgyu out. It’s getting really annoying watching you two fight all the time.” Heeseung said, taking another puff out of his dab pen once he started to feel the ground on his feet again. 

“Why is it up to me to fix things?! As I’ve said so many times before, he’s the one who started this whole mess!” 

“Sure…”

“Why don’t you guys believe me?!” 

“Have you seen yourself?” Geonu interrupted, scratching his head at your poor attempts at salvaging your once calm demeanor. “You’re like, little miss perfect. You’re in like, a million different student clubs, you’re volunteering around campus to the point where you live there—hell, you’re even running for student government this year.”

“Well, that’s because I need to! I need my resume to look good or else I’ll be unemployed for the rest of my life! It’s not like I’m doing so much because Beomgyu does a lot too!” You rebuked, treating the basement like a criminal court. So far, all the witnesses acted as judges with a gavel, striking each of their hammers down to denounce your alibi. Even if you believed you were right, it was up to them to recite the final verdict: Sure enough, you were guilty. Guilty of the vice that is competitiveness. 

“I mean, I believe you when you say that, but you have to admit that you’ve been overworking yourself since you met the guy like, three years ago,” Sungchan admitted, shuffling his feet towards you to give you gentle pats on your back. 

“No I haven’t!” 

“Listen,” Geonu started with a deep sigh. “You’re in varsity, you’re in charity, you almost joined a cult, you’re in debates, you used to be a senior editor for the school paper, you completed your internship like last month, you’re acing all your classes, you’re in the administrative board for your faculty’s association, and you’re in Joker In. That’s overkill, and I’m betting my dick on you not doing this much had you not met Beomgyu.”

“He just brings out the worst in me!” You screamed to no avail. This was the dead end of your court case, and you had to leave the basement without the last word. 

“He brings out the private school overachiever in you that’s for sure,” Heeseung joked, his pupils consuming the whites of his eyes until they were overly expanded like obsidian marbles. 

“That was so uncalled for, Hee. Put a trigger warning before you make my PTSD worse,” 

“Sorry, princess, didn’t realize that going to a super rich private school would be the same as surviving the Korean War,”

“Get the fuck out, Hee.” 

You had to stand your ground. Every single time the conversation led to Beomgyu, you were always seen as enemy number one. To be fair, you were the more aggressive out of the two of you. While Beomgyu limited himself to crass insults, you elevated the threat of physical assault and a free boxing match for all of the university to see. Sure, it wasn’t your intention to want to beat him up into a neat, fine pulp, but there was something about Beomgyu that always made you so violent. 

“And tell Beomgyu that he’s a prick!” You shouted, after finally managing to push an incredibly high Heeseung out the door. Through the small cracks that you left open, you could see him stumbling on his feet as he began to walk away, waving your figure off with a haughty grin. As always, he left his hat in your basement, and once you descended to the meeting point, you picked it up and threw it out of the broken glass windows, watching it swing back and forth between its sharp shards. 

“You two really need to see a marriage counselor or something,” Geonu whispered, watching your rage slowly disperse into your usual calm. 

“Geonu’s right, and I rarely agree with that cunt,” Sungchan added, attempting to flail his elongated arms on Geonu’s shoulders. 

“Hey! We’ve been playing together for centuries and this is how you repay me?”

“My bad, captain,”

“I think you two need to go to couples therapy instead of them,” Jeongin interrupted, using his thin, fox-like eyes to slyly look at the pair. “I mean, you guys have been at it since high school. They’ve only been at it for like, three years.”

“Thank you, Jeongin. Thank you.” 

As always, it was up to Jeongin to fix things whenever the entire band was on the brink of disbandment. For Jeongin, though, it was another stressful addition to his reluctant ventures as a member of Joker In. First, it was his anxieties about keeping Felix’s legacy after he left. Then, it was helping you mitigate the couple’s quarrels that Geonu and Sungchan always found themselves in. Now, it was helping you calm down after the mere mention of Beomgyu’s existence. 

“Anyway, let’s get back to practice. Rhythm first,” Geonu snapped. The one thing about him that made him an efficient frontman was his ability to gather the team back into practice. No matter how many times he’d often want to throw his microphone stand in Sungchan’s face or duct tape your mouth shut whenever Heeseung would come in and deliberately bring Beomgyu up, he had faith that the entire band would succumb to obedience once he took control. 

“Why?” Jeongin grumbled. To his detriment, Geonu had asked the rhythm section to double their practice time for the past week. At first, he didn’t really see an issue with this, but now, he was skeptical. You, too, shared the same sentiment, looking at Jeongin in confusion before reluctantly shrugging your shoulders and picking your drum sticks from the floor. 

“I have to talk to Sungchan about something important,”

With this, you gave Geonu a salute and watched the two climb up from the basement and disappear altogether. Once they were gone, you started to hit your sticks together, counting from two as you waited for Jeongin to play the backing track. 

As for Geonu and Sungchan, they eased into the abandoned kitchen of the rustic house, watching Heeseung’s slumped, sleeping figure on the broken couch. They made sure to drop him home before you finished your round with Jeongin, and they hurried to one of the care packages they’d often pack for a bottle of water. 

“How do we tell her that Beomgyu’s been sneaking into our gigs?” Geonu asked in a hushed voice, his ears turned to the direction of the stairs that led into the basement. 

“I mean, I don’t think we need to tell her,” Sungchan replied. “It’s gonna ruin the band and everything we’ve got going for us so far.” He nonchalantly took a sip of his water and took a quick glance at Heeseung, who was knocked out cold. 

“What do you mean? I think she deserves to know so the two of them can finally fix things,”

“Geon, it’s not that easy,”

“How would you know?”

“I don’t, but I can tell,” Sungchan muttered, trying to keep his already quiet voice even lower. “It’s probably just them blowing some steam off because they couldn’t find a way to do it before,”

“Hate fucking?” Heeseung joked, keeping one eye open before slumping back down into the comforts of the smelly, tic-ridden couch. Geonu also reminded himself to tell Heeseung to visit the doctor and take a long shower once he got home. 

“Not quite,” Sungchan said, returning the sentiment while walking towards Heeseung with another bottle of water. “You know, if you think about it, both of them come from a pretty well-to-do background. They’re both in the same program, and from what I sort of know about her situation and from what I can guess about Beomgyu, they’re both just facing the consequences of overbearing tiger parents,”

“What did she tell you?” Geonu asked. He was always one for good gossip. Unfortunately, Sungchan wasn’t. 

“That’s not my story to tell, I’m just trying to see it from her perspective,”

“So we don��t tell her?” Geonu asked again, rolling his eyes at Sungchan’s tight-lipped nature. 

“I mean, if she finds out, then she finds out. Just let it happen on its own.”

“And how do we make sure that nothing too messy happens in our gigs?”

“I don’t know, let them fight it off if it happens,” Sungchan muttered after a long, quiet thought. He’s thought about the scenario one too many times, but he wasn’t one to stop the inevitable. “It’s good to let all that pent-up frustration out I guess…”

“You’re too nice, Sung.”

“I know, Geon. I know.”

“What?! Come again?!” 

For Heeseung to call Beomgyu’s voice a scream was an understatement. If a dolphin were to learn to speak, it would sound better than Beomgyu whenever the topic surrounded you and your entire being. It was for this reason that Heeseung sometimes loathed the idea of coming home; he supposed the price of free rent came at a cost of living with the earthly incarnation of wrath. 

“Gyu, I know you heard me the first time,” Heeseung said, attempting to cover his ears to no avail. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Hee. My ears are getting bad from hearing her name!” Beomgyu screamed again, fury visible in the twitches of his eyes. 

“Jesus, you don’t have to shout at me… I’m just your messenger boy,”

“And I don’t need to hear about her! So what if she’s playing their songs? She’s probably gonna fuck it all up anyway…”

“Says the person who went to their gig two nights ago,”

In the same way Heeseung knew all the tricks and tactics to turn you into a red, fuming ball of anger, he also knew how to push all of Beomgyu’s buttons. Then again, it wasn’t that difficult to get Beomgyu angry, for Beomgyu was the type of person to get angry at a mere fly that happened to land on his shoulder. It was very easy to tick Beomgyu off, but only you had the power to get him into a continual period of rage that never ceased to disappear the moment he hears your name or catches a whiff of your scent. Heeseung wouldn’t compare Beomgyu’s so-called hatred towards you in a predator-prey dynamic—to him, both of you were blood-thirsty warlords that could never come to terms with a ceasefire to the detriment of the rest of the world. 

“Hee, I swear, if you told her that—”

“Don’t worry, Gyu. I’m not a snitch.” Heeseung interrupted. “What I am, though, is a messenger boy, and if I’m being honest with you, I’m getting sick of my job. Just admit that you like her and I don’t know? Go fuck her or something,”

“Hee, I don’t like her. Let me correct myself: I will never like her. I like her band, not her.”

Beomgyu was an enigma in many, many ways, but what never failed to amuse Heeseung about his reluctant roommate was how hatred was stronger than attraction or any feelings of love. Beomgyu was the type of person to go through lovers like a page in a novel—fast, yet detailed, but never stuck on the same page for too long. And yet, when it came to you, he seemed to be an avid reader that ceaselessly consumed and repurposed every page of a novel, adding and subtracting everything that he could concentrate all of his energy on understanding the layers and complexities of a text revered by schools and institutions alike. 

“All you talk about is how impeccable the mastering is on the drums whenever you listen to their SoundCloud…”

“So? I just happen to like how she plays. That’s not a testament to me liking her,”

“Why do you hate her so much, Gyu? I don’t think I’ve had the chance to properly ask,”

Heeseung never had the chance to ask Beomgyu out of fear, even when he was high. That was the one thing that never went away no matter what state he was in. To be fair, he had every right to be scared or fearful in any shape or form; he’s never seen a type of hatred as intense and raw as the one Beomgyu harbored over you. 

“Because she exists, Hee. She exists.” 

“Can’t you just let it go?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Beomgyu took a deep breath. He hated that he always ran out of something so essential to life whenever you came up. “Because some dipshit keeps telling my parents that she’s basically beating me in everything! Her!”

“So…?” Heeseung replied, rolling his eyes at the underwhelming result of their rivalry. “Why can’t you just tell them to shut up and mind their own business?”

“I wish it was that easy, Hee. God, I wish. Every time they call me it’s like Oh that girl got number one again! Oh that girl’s president of the law society, why are you VP external? Beomgyu-yah, why can’t you be better?”

Another word about Choi Beomgyu: If it wasn’t as clear as day, then it would be helpful to explain it now. He was from a well-to-do family with no financial obligations or the threat of living a brooding, middle-class life chasing paycheck after paycheck to sustain the bare necessities in Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. With this in mind, Heeseung begins to paint a kaleidoscopic diagram of the various reasons why Beomgyu may be so hung up on always being number two against you. He closed his eyes, allowed the remaining traces of cannabis to set the cogs in his brain into motion, and came up with an epiphany that shook him to the core: Beomgyu was a bored, rich kid that needed something to keep him at his toes, and you were the very stimulant that he was looking for. Sure, it was, in a sense, an underwhelming conclusion, but Heeseung could only digress. He wasn’t born into a family that had it all, and he reckons that if he didn’t have to worry about his finances, he would end up being a bratty, bored student out for blood just like the very person that offered him a taste of wealth in a sky-high apartment. 

“Yikes… Talk about Tiger King and Queen…”

“So yeah, it is personal.” Beomgyu spat. It would be rude to call the boy tone deaf—especially in his hot-headed state. Heeseung kept his mouth shut, something that he rarely did when he was inebriated in any form. 

“You don’t have to tell them about her, you know?” He asked after finding the right words to say. Beomgyu rolled his eyes and huffed under his breath, his hands twitching to throw his phone off the balcony. 

“I’m not! That’s the point! I’m not telling them about her! They’re just stalking me on their own!” 

At this moment, Heeseung thought of trying his best to reconcile the bad blood between you and Beomgyu. Then again, he pondered—another thing he never seems to do. If he were to succeed in getting you and Beomgyu to set your respective differences aside, then he wouldn’t have his very own source of entertainment anymore. As much as he would’ve hated to admit, he always looked forward to getting high just to hear Beomgyu complain about you. What made it even funnier to him was how you were nothing like the devil that Beomgyu pictured. It wasn’t to say you were an angel that descended from the heavens, either. You were, in fairness, just an average university student that couldn’t—and shouldn’t—care less about a rich boy that endlessly yapped about you. Without Beomgyu in the picture, you were just a drummer that had to deal with another pair of noisy rivals that needed to go to some form of couple’s therapy. 

“Hee, you don’t get it, do you?” Beomgyu suddenly spoke, breaking the short-lived silence that Heeseung tried to salvage. 

“Afraid not.”

“I can’t get along with someone like her. I just can’t. She gets on my nerves, and I wish she didn’t exist!”

It was common for Heeseung to hear Beomgyu complain about his parents and his brother in the few months or so of him living with the boy. In fact, it was a routine for Heeseung to hear Beomgyu complain. That was what he was good at, and he was glad that he was putting his skills to good use by choosing the right program and career path. Now that Heeseung had the chance to picture it, Beomgyu would make a fine lawyer, incessantly nagging his way through each court case until the jury rules in his favor so he would shut up. 

“Jesus, you rich kids are kind of an ick…” Heeseung whispered. He gave Beomgyu a quick wave and headed straight to the balcony, closing it to see his roommate flash him the middle finger. He returned it with a smile, and fished a lighter out of his jean pocket to light the stem of a dirty, unwashed bong that was filled with beer instead of water. 

“You should be lucky I’m letting you live here for free,” Beomgyu mouthed through the glass windows just enough for Heeseung to see. 

“Yeah, I guess hearing you pine about a fellow overachiever and trauma dump about your terrible childhood is better than paying for rent,” Heeseung replied, opening the door to let Beomgyu into the balcony. Beomgyu hated it whenever Heeseung would smoke. A part of it came from the stench that stuck to his hair and clothes despite three laundry loads in the washing machine, and another part came from his irrational fear of anything related to drugs—which was rather odd since he was the type of person who was pretty loose when it came to drinking copious amounts of alcohol at social gatherings. 

“Hee, if I go to jail one day, you’ll probably be out of this earth to witness it.”

“Oh, I’m so scared!” 

Heeseung tried his best to stifle a bout of laughter that began to accumulate in his lungs but to no avail. In an instant, he was a laughing mess with red-laced eyes, and all Beomgyu could do was cover his nose as the hooded boy continued to blow smoke on his face. 

“Close the fucking door when you smoke, you’re hotboxing the entire apartment,” Beomgyu screamed, storming out of the balcony to close the glass windows shut. Before he could go back to his room, Heeseung stood up and opened the door again, letting the stench of weed laced with moldy beer enter the ventilation system. 

“You should try it sometime, Gyu. It’d loosen the stick up your ass for sure,” Heeseung said with a languid touch to his cadence. Every word and movement he uttered was met with heavy restraint, and Beomgyu knew that Heeseung wasn’t on earth anymore. 

“Are you coming?” Beomgyu asked. He knew there was nothing he could do to reason with someone that was properly baked. 

“To what?” Heeseung responded, almost shattering the bong in his hands as he languidly danced back into the apartment. 

“Joker In’s gig tonight,” Beomgyu said reluctantly—almost too quick for Heeseung to catch. 

“Gyu, I deliver their pizza like, every day. I don’t need to go there again unless they give me shrooms for free.”

“Whatever,”

Beomgyu stormed off into the bathroom to grab the essentials that he relied on for the perfect disguise: a disappearing can of Manic Panic hair dye in neon red, a pair of scissors and a bunch of razorblades that he used to tear his jeans and his tank tops, a pencil of kohl eyeliner that he stole from one of his first hookups during freshman year, and a near-empty bottle of black nail polish. Heeseung often joked about how his so-called “disguise” was just a blast from the MySpace, scene-girl past, but Beomgyu refuses to admit that his go-to look to your gigs was less-than-perfect. He’s snuck into your gigs since he saw you secretly put posters of a Valentine’s bash on every crevice of the law faculty; he was sure a couple more gigs couldn’t hurt before the inevitable occurs. 

“You’re going alone?” Heeseung asked, waving at his reflection in the mirror while trying his best to stop himself from uncontrollably laughing. 

“Yeah, why?”

“What if she sees you?”

“Have you seen her play? She only focuses on rubbing two sticks. I doubt she’d even notice me.” Beomgyu replied, sharpening his eyeliner. Heeseung knocked the bottle of nail polish and caught it, a wide grin of pride on his face as he carefully placed it back in its original position near the sink. 

“See? You’re constantly horny for her,”

“I’m not, she’s ugly and she’s annoying,”

“And yet you’re going to her gig,”

“Man, shut the fuck up.” To Beomgyu’s surprise, this had become his way of saying goodbye to Heeseung whenever he would go to your band’s gig. He used to push Heeseung out of the bathroom so he could concentrate on applying eyeliner on his waterline, but he’s become desensitized to the stings that he would feel when he would accidentally poke his eyes. Sometimes, Heeseung was willing to help Beomgyu apply red dye to his hair, tracing the lines of his tattoos around his arms and calling them crude shapes such as dick nozzle or pee pee stains. Whether he liked it or not, it had unfortunately become a ritual to have Heeseung with him when he was going through his transformation, and now, he was afraid that Heeseung’s absence wouldn’t give him the push and comfort he needed to go through with his covert operation to see you play the drums.

“I’m calling out to you, I wish I could hide,

Oh, no one loves me tonight

It’s just my demons and I,”

This was supposedly the hundredth time that Beomgyu had seen Geonu sing, but he could never learn from his mistakes. Alcohol, nicotine, and Geonu’s voice seemed to give Beomgyu the worst cross-faded experience of his life. Contrary to what others might believe, Beomgyu felt like this during all of Joker In’s gigs because Geonu was too good at his job. His voice had an enchanting quality to it that made Beomgyu’s walls collapse into putty, turning the decrepit paint-job of the basement into one, giant quicksand that continually pulled Beomgyu in. It didn’t help that the rest of the band amplified Geonu’s hypnotic timbre; Sungchan’s guitar acted as a second voice that harmoniously meshed with the mystic melodies that left Beomgyu in a trance-like reverie; Jeongin’s bass didn’t act as a stabilizer with its own heavy renditions of weightless bliss—and, of course, you. 

Suspension of disbelief was something that Beomgyu thought he could never accomplish, and yet, the moment you started to strike each tom with your drum stick, he knew that everything in his life didn’t matter to him anymore. He supposes it was the power of music, but he also hatefully admits that your skills carried an unbreakable spell with each note you hit. Rhythm wasn’t even something he particularly enjoyed, seeing as most of the music he listened to was melodic and lyrical in nature. It was only when you took the seat to the drum kit that he was finally able to stand close to the speakers, in the very corner he saved for himself, just to see your tireless figure effortlessly match the energy of the rest of the band. He didn’t know what it was that made him nearly obsessed with the way you played: What it the nonchalance you brought to the stage? Or was it the fills you’d add here and there whenever there was an instrumental break? Was it perhaps the almost-melodic nature of your playing that aroused not just him, but everyone in the room into a mosh-pit frenzy? Maybe it was the way you looked when you played—but he wasn’t drunk enough just yet to admit something so… raunchy. 

The walls started to fade one by one, and the group of people that crowded all corners of the basement slowly blended together into various forms and colors. The neon, old gray test lights that dyed the room in a diverse spectrum of colors swirled into one, hazy, hypnotic vision that almost made Beomgyu nauseous. Geonu’s voice began disappearing into thin air, and all he could hear was the muffled bass drum that you kicked with patterned intervals. 

This was out of the norm, and Beomgyu’s recklessness amplified into tenfolds of fear. He couldn’t feel the sensations of his skin anymore; his eyes continued to swirl into an amalgamation of colors and people that looked like blurry amoebas; time seemed difficult to track as everything was moving too fast and slow for him to ground himself; each body he bumped into felt like he was getting crushed under its weight; Beomgyu couldn’t breathe; Beomgyu couldn’t see anything anymore; the only thing that Beomgyu could hear was an all too familiar voice that he wasn’t sure he hated or loved. 

“Hey, you alright?”

When Beomgyu opened his eyes, he was outside the concert venue, crouched down on the same levels of the tall grass that tickled his face. His cheeks felt cold to the touch, almost as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on him. He felt through his hair and tried to contain the fear that embraced his body, locked in a state of panic at the sight of bright red staining his palms. It took a while for him to realize that it was just the temporary dye that he’d placed on his hair, but the apprehension and trepidation came to haunt him again when he looked up to see your concerned, glassy eyes. 

“You don’t look too good,” You repeated, kneeling down to his level as you lit a cigarette and blew the smoke against his direction. There were several empty water bottles next to you, coupled with an entire cooler filled with soft drinks, fruit juice, and whatever Beomgyu could see in the dimly lit outdoors of the outskirts of town. 

“No, I’m fine.” He breathlessly replied, staring down at the soles of his scuffed, leather combat boots. There was no way he could look up now. He could tell that you weren’t convinced; your chuckles made the pits of his stomach dance with the bile that was piling up in the organ. You took a water bottle and gently held his face in the soft surface of your palms, letting the liquid slowly refresh the corners of Beomgyu’s mouth. The haziness that he felt in his vision slowly dispersed into clarity—which worsened the nausea that overwhelmed Beomgyu in waves. It was the first time he got this close to you without wanting to rip your head off. He didn’t know how he felt about it, but the remnants of alcohol that swirled throughout his bloodstream made his cheeks flush in a bright shade of red. He quickly took the water bottle away from you, drowning himself in its cool temperature. Maybe that way, he would wake up and remind himself that you shouldn’t be a friend. 

The cool winds of the summer night grazed his cheeks in a tender embrace as he tried his best to keep his head down. He relentlessly prayed that the dimness of the venue’s entrance would hide his worst-kept features from you, fearing for the worst. Ever since his first visit to your band’s gig, he’s never felt something so close to a palpable sense of freedom—a euphoric high that gave him the taste of being a carefree young adult caught up in the fast times of rock music and decadence. He’s thought about making amends just to keep his little, secret sanctuary intact, but his stubborn pride wouldn’t allow him to yield to someone like you. Now that he was sober enough to think about it, he found the irony behind you embodying both his shackles to parental approval and a one-way ticket to liberation quite laughably fascinating. During the day, you were the very picture of something his parents wished he could be, and during the night, you had all the qualities of becoming a musician he idolized. He cursed fate under his breath, wishing that you weren’t blessed with the gifts of intelligence and innate leadership skills. He refused to admit it, but in another life where all you were to him was a drummer in his favorite band, he would’ve given you the benefit of the doubt and let you into his life. 

He was reminded of your presence when you hovered a thin, white stick in front of him that glowed within the vast darkness of the night sky. He politely refused, shaking his head as a way to tell you that he didn’t smoke. You stifled a bout of laughter and tucked the cigarette back into its flimsy, dilapidated box, taking a languid seat next to the boy that you decided to take care of without realizing that he was the main source of your misery in your school life. 

“What was the last song that you guys performed? I think I missed it because I blacked out or something,” Beomgyu asked with slight hesitance. 

“A new version of Vem Da Greš that Geonu translated a few days ago,” You replied, humming the tune to the song that he wished he saw you play live. Something inside of him was telling him that he shouldn’t stay here any longer, so he got up and stretched his arms and legs, callously calculating his angles so you wouldn’t see a single hint of his face. He reveled in your denseness but despised your natural amiability. Once you got up and mimicked his stretches, he turned his head back and stuffed his hand in his jean pocket, fishing for his keys as he mustered a small goodbye in your direction. 

“Are you sure you can go home alone?” You asked. “I can drop you off at the bus stop or something, since this place is pretty far out from the nearest city,”

A part of Beomgyu knew that the city lights would reveal his identity, but another part of him also knew how stubborn you can be. Even if he were to tell you that he was fine, and that he’s been known to rely on drunk navigation a lot, he was sure you would ceaselessly insist on taking him home. That was another thing he hated about you—you were too nice, too caring, and too kind to be his rival. 

“I’ll be fine,” Beomgyu replied, trying his best to change the tone and cadence of his usual voice. As expected, your cackles echoed across the large stretches of grass and greeneries that surrounded the abandoned house that your band inherited, and you slowly walked closer to his side to poke his shoulders. 

“You were literally wobbling around the basement, and if it weren’t for a nice group of girls that nursed you back to health at the sofa, you wouldn’t be here standing up to go home,” 

Beomgyu covertly checked the time on his phone, afraid that the phone case filled with his cards and IDs would give his identity away. The time read 03:46 A.M., and he heaved a long, drawn-out sigh. He should’ve called Heeseung a little earlier to pick him up before he got absolutely wasted. In fairness, he could just call an Uber and hitch a ride home, but the transaction would raise another round of suspicion for his parents. He already had enough to worry about when he turned off his location and lied about going on weekly hiking trips with his friends, and he didn’t want to subject himself to another endless lecture and the threat of heightened surveillance from his parents. 

“Fine,” 

You jogged back to the venue and quickly came out with several water bottles in your small backpack, tossing one in Beomgyu’s direction. It was already bad enough for him that you out of all people saved him from his drunken downfall. The last thing he needed to end his night was to go on a long walk back into the city with someone he was supposed to hate. 

“So, where do you live, if I may ask?” 

Beomgyu pondered. He didn’t have to tell you his exact address. “Around Mapo-gu, near Mapo station.” 

“Oh?”

He didn’t like the lack of response on your end. A low, vibrating hum escaped your lips, and you snapped your fingers as your mouth widened in amusement. “That’s where my friend lives! I can ask him to pick you up once we get there!” 

You quickly took your phone out of your pocket and held it in your ear, too quick for Beomgyu to protest and stop you from doing so. Now, he was sure it was all over. The moment he heard the receiver pick up, he braced himself for what was to come. 

“Hee, are you awake right now?” You asked, impatiently tapping your foot on the concrete roads that led to the only bus stop in sight—a shadowy silhouette of a thin, metal pipe with a flat circle that read Supsok Village Complex 2. He took a quick glance at your fretful stance, fidgeting with the straps of your phone’s drum keychain while fiddling with the pair of sticks that were lodged under the straps of your loose, billowy joggers. A satisfied hum huffed out of his breathless mouth when he saw you irately throw your phone inside your backpack. Even if Heeseung didn’t pick him up from the venue tonight, he knew that he could always rely on his copious cannabis routine to fall into a deep, unyielding sleep around this hour.

“I’m sorry, my friend’s a bit of a pothead so he’s probably knocked out cold or something,” You apologetically muttered. I would know, he’s my fucking roommate, Beomgyu thought to himself, returning your regretful sentiment with the only form of forgiveness he was willing to give you. Now, it was just the two of you, and Beomgyu had no clue if he should take the long, arduous hike back to his apartment or be thankful enough for your clumsy attempts at assisting him back to his domicile. The fact that he leaned towards succumbing to your aid made him realize that he wasn’t as good with alcohol as he would’ve liked—and now, he was sitting right next to you, eyes glued on his warped reflection in the glass windows as he watched you idly fidget in your seat. He was more than willing to suffer through the entire bus ride to his area of town in awkward silence, but judging from the way you tapped your feet and snuck quick glances between his brows and the tip of his nose, he knew that there was no escaping your desires for a tangible conversation. 

“So… did you enjoy the show?” You asked after passing through six different bus stops. Beomgyu played with the loose hems of his tattered tank top, letting the seams go undone. He didn’t expect you to take your hoodie off in one motion, tossing it to the side of his neck as you quickly looked away. He tried his best to etch the rare shyness he saw written on your curved, cat-like spine; this was definitely something he’ll be bullying you for tomorrow. 

Was he at fault for catching you in your most vulnerable state? No. You were just too dense to realize that the handsome, messy, rocked-out, drunk stranger right next to you was the very bane of your existence. 

Beomgyu’s glory was short-lived, though. Now, he had to make the move. He remembered what his brother had taught him back in middle school, when Beomgyu was still struggling through incessant voice cracks and embarrassing one-liners that he’d religiously recite to get the girl of his then-dreams to bat a single eyelash in his direction. Step one, take a deep breath—because oxygen is the key to looking good, apparently. Step two, expand the diaphragm to fill the ribcage and beyond. It provided the facade of chest muscles. Step three, turn the chin low enough so the vocal cords could only register low notes—he didn’t know the science behind it, but he found that doing these three steps immensely lowered his already low, baritone voice into unknown depths (Beomgyu would like to add that he would never do this sober. It took courage for him to fall for his brother’s tricks, and he was only ever so courageous when he was drowned in eighteen glasses of tequila sunrise). 

“Y-yeah, you guys did great as always,” Did it work? 

No, it didn’t. The timid shyness in your slouched stature was gone, replaced with your best attempts at keeping your laughter within the confines of your throat. He couldn’t tell if you were choking on air, stifling your dinner and pushing it back into your stomach, or suffering through an intense, sharp pain in your abdomen. All he knew at the moment was that the tension that was once present in the air instantly dispelled into the flowery picture of two young adults failing to hold their laughter back in the empty seats of the night bus. It was certainly an odd experience for Beomgyu to not just share a ride home with someone he would very much murder in the confines of an empty, night bus, but he couldn’t deny how right things felt at the moment. Within the dim, flickering fluorescent lights of the shaky bus, all he could see was another universe through the reflections of the glass windows—a universe where he met you under different circumstances. A different reality where he would take you home and house you in his apartment, watching sad movies in his bedroom until the first sunrise. 

Are you more of an action person, or comedy? My favorite genre is melodrama, he wanted to say. Maybe in his “new” identity as a faux washed-up youth in leather combat boots and ripped jeans, he might have some leeway into managing his double life. Tirelessly hating you for three years straight certainly added tired him out, so perhaps it would be a new thing to try 

“Ah, a repeater,”

“That’s… odd? I don’t see you around a lot, though,” You replied. It was often common for your band to track and befriend those that constantly attend your shows—then again, you weren’t the best judge of that. Each gig always ended in 

“That’s because I don’t stick around after the encore. I just leave once the song is done,” Beomgyu replied, trying his best to alter the tone in his voice. He couldn’t tell if you were just extremely tired or if you had too much to drink, but the deep swirls of colors under your lids was enough for him to feel a sense of security in his identity being under wraps. Just like the milkiness of the dark skies that danced with several shades of navy, you swayed back and forth with the motions of the car, heavy lids slowly going in and out of sleep as you tried your best to stifle a yawn and pay attention to your somewhat new companion. The driver announced the last stop, acting as an alarm for you to slap yourself in the face and hop off your seat. 

To be fair, both of you were in an equal state of fatigue and inebriation. Beomgyu was waddling as he tried to balance himself on the railings of the exit door, and you placed your weary palm on the semi-wet surface of the bus, momentarily taking it away after the driver had angrily beeped at you until you did so. Once the bus zoomed away, you felt a wave of nausea hit you—at first, it began at the back of your stomach, then, it slowly climbed its way up until you were hunched over at the nearest sewer, coughing out everything that was supposed to fuel you for a one-hour set. Beomgyu turned away and reluctantly placed gentle pats on the small of your back, hiding his face from the city lights that threatened to blow his cover off. 

“My apartment is this way,” He muttered. You nodded after a few rounds of coughing, then doused yourself with the last water bottle that was inside your backpack. 

“Mine’s on the other end of the street,” You replied, wiping your mouth with your jacket and quickly waving off his concerns with a tired grin. He couldn’t imagine the toll it took on you, or any musician for that matter, to play intense, fast-paced songs back to back without any rest, but perhaps that type of stamina was what it took to become a professional of sorts. Maybe that was also why you were such a feisty fighter, because you needed the energy to carry yourself throughout the day. 

“See you around?” You asked. He didn’t turn to look at you. He simply stood still, lowering his head until all he saw were the messy, beer-stained surface of the degrading leather in his combat boots. He gave you a quick nod, then stuffed his sweat-ridden hands in his jean pockets. Somehow, he could still feel your presence lurking around, waiting idly until he entered the apartment. It wasn’t until he was within the comforts of his building, swiftly jogging up to the elevator, that you began to walk away. Through the large, glass windows of the apartment building, you were but a mere ant, eyes lingering on the path he took as if it were a complex maze. He could see you taking quick glances between your road and his, a satisfied smile on your face as soon as you confirmed that he was, indeed, safely home. That was another thing he hated about you. There was no need for you to have gone that far to make sure a stranger from your gig got home without getting mugged. 

He didn’t need to be cautious when he opened the door to his apartment. Heeseung was already fast asleep on the sofa, strewn with empty bags of potato chips and bags of Starbucks takeout that he probably went out to get once Beomgyu had left to go to Joker In’s show. In his current state, it was practically impossible for him to get up and pick Beomgyu up. Beomgyu was pretty much used to ending his night with the role of a babysitter, but now, he didn’t feel like he had the energy to keep up with his routine. Heeseung could probably manage fine on his own, and Beomgyu desperately needed a cold shower to refresh his head at the unexpected encounter. God, she’s so fucking dense, Beomgyu thought, smiling to himself as he plopped his body on the warm, soft surface of his duvet. The shower will have to wait until the morning, and until then, he didn’t mind the extra load of laundry that came with massive spots of red dye on his pillowcases.

II. VOTE NO.24 ON EUROVISION! GO SLOVENIA!

To your luck, Geonu didn’t announce a practice session today. Normally, the band was privy to five hours of practice every single day—including the weekends. A part of it came from Geonu’s penchant for perfection, but another came from the growing bond that the band had developed over time. While Geonu and Sungchan didn’t necessarily need more time together, the daily sessions helped the entire band get to know each other and experiment with compatibility in the most esoteric way possible. In your first sleepover with the band at the eerie, decrepit basement (Heeseung would call it a horror movie set), you were able to call Jeongin a friend after he gently sat you through one of your first acid trips, gripping your hands tight as you endlessly cried about the visions and voices that still manage to chain themselves in your nightmares to this day. Another thing you learned about Jeongin that day was that he had a problem with mushrooms during high school, only quitting in his second year after an intervention that led him spiraling into a near-death experience of impulsively taking his car out in the middle of the night. You didn’t ask him for the specifics, nor did you mention that you were surprised that someone like him had gone through rehab, but you learned that Jeongin had trusted you with his story. 

“Believe it or not, but Eurovision was what got me through that entire ordeal,” You remembered Jeongin telling you at some point. He was confined in a psychiatric ward for nearly a month, his schedule and time dictated through therapy sessions, group activities, and worksheets that he haphazardly filled. He also told you that time passed differently when one was locked inside the same, white walls every day, and so the only time started to move for him was when the person next to him invited him to watch several Eurovision performances in preparation for the finals in Rotterdam two years ago. 

“I knew nothing about Europe then, but the guy next to me was married to a Swedish woman for a decade before she passed. They made it a routine to watch Eurovision every year, and he still tries his best to keep up with it even when she’s gone.” 

You expected him to mention Maneskin as the band that got him through his slump, but Jeongin was a man full of surprises. For someone with beady, glassy eyes and a geekish demeanor, you didn’t think that Finland’s Blind Channel would be the one that would get him out of the institution. 

“I mean this sounds like an edgy fourteen-year-old’s confession on an anonymous forum, but man, I’ve never really seen a band like that go so hard on live television, you know? Every time I see crazy antics or bands that had the same energy as Rage Against the Machine, it was always in the 90s or the early 2000s, when things weren’t too radio-friendly. And it wasn’t just them being hardcore like that, but it was how down-to-earth they all were—almost like they really loved what they were doing.” 

Jeongin didn’t tell you why he started taking mushrooms or what led to him getting institutionalized in the first place, but it was enough for you to know that what you once perceived as an odd affinity for Eurovision was to him, an important getaway that cemented him back into the ground. Since then, the topic of Eurovision had become a daily part of your life—and now that the 2023 semi-finals were coming, Jeongin and the rest of the band had been keeping tabs on the latest culmination of the contest. In your downtime, Sungchan would update the Discord server with his ever-evolving tier list of entries, and Geonu would log on just to argue and contest Sungchan’s opinions. Of course, both would know their places once Jeongin would enter the conversation, but nonetheless, it came to a point where your days would feel empty without someone mentioning anything Eurovision related. 

There was Eurovision, and then, there was Beomgyu. 

Oddly enough, your days also felt incomplete without Beomgyu. Ever since you made the bold mistake of scheduling the same office hours as Beomgyu, the two of you had been in a constant stalemate of academic excellence. For you, it wasn’t necessarily the fact that you needed to prove something; you initially enjoyed seeing someone get so riled up and bothered at the fact that you were always better in everything you did. In a sense, your goals, ambitions, and fortitude didn’t come from a place of parental pressure or identity-building—you had to be on top of your game to the detriment of your well-being. While Beomgyu may have seen it as a competition, you saw it as a zero-sum game. To you, your entire livelihood basically depended on being the best at whatever, whenever, and wherever—excluding your role as a drummer in Joker In. 

“Good morning, dipshit,” An all too familiar voice rang in your ears. You didn’t need to turn your head around to see who took the spot next to you in the vast lecture hall. Keeping your head to the busy tabs on your laptop, you heaved a sigh of both relief and exhaustion. Despite the absence of practice, you still had another part of your daily routine in check. 

“What the fuck do you want, Gyu,” You coldly spat, knowing that the response you were going to get had to do with your gigs last night. 

To the surprise of many—yourself included—your persona as the drummer of Joker In had been one of your best-kept secrets. Sure, being in a band was something most college kids got to experience, and student musicians were a common phenomenon across all facets of campus life. You nonetheless kept those two aspects of yourself as separate as possible, creating a clear divide that made sure none of those parts of your world intertwined and meshed together in any way. The law society didn’t need to know about the nightly debauchery you involved yourself in within the confines of the basement; those were stories that you kept to yourself to your grave—a musical pandora’s box that was meant to stay a secret. 

“Heard through the grapevine that Little Miss Perfect got shitfaced last night,”

This time, you closed your laptop and snapped your head towards Beomgyu. Heeseung was terrible at keeping his mouth shut, but he wasn’t there to bear witness to the copious amounts of alcohol and weed that muddled your body that night. In a flurry of panic, you did your best to remember everyone that was present at the gig, scouring through the entirety of emails on Eventbrite that signed up for a ticket or two. 

“And?”

Then again, what consequence would you get if you got caught? It wasn’t like the Law Society could strip you of your position; you were single-handedly the only president of the contemporary generation that managed to revive the organization from near death. If you told any of your professors about your musical ventures, you doubt they would look at you differently. In fact, they might even check out your gig or look up Joker In’s several sites across the internet, either becoming a fan of the band or not. Truthfully, there was no certain risk that threatened your current position and reputation on campus as the face of the Faculty of Law. The only thing that mattered to you was the unpleasant nature of combining your professional life with one that you exclusively created to escape the shackles of boundless perfectionism and tireless efforts to maintain all that you had built. 

“That’s not a good look for the law society,” He grinned, perching his chin on his palm as he flipped through his notes. You did the same, clearing your throat as soon as the ten-minute mark on the digital clock succumbed all students into a quiet, dreary dread of a two-hour lecture. 

“Last time I recall, you’re the one seen at a super sketchy rave last summer,” You whispered, keeping your head low enough so the professor couldn’t see you. “If you’re ratting me out for my band, then I’m ratting you out for doing lines with Heeseung at the Seoul Jazz Festival,”

“I only did one line, mind you,”

Another odd occurrence between you and Beomgyu’s rivalry was how both of you had accumulated so much dirt on each other, that it was practically impossible to call everything a truce. For the past three years, each intense battle between grades, essays, and projects was met with threats of outing the other for reckless behavior. Whenever Beomgyu would bring up your period of weed addiction in first year, you would rebut with some of his worst speeding incidents. If he were to draft an email to the program coordinator about your experiments with DMT when you just began your friendship with Geonu, then you were ready to send pictures of him doing lines with his rich friends at a yacht in Mykonos. Three years of constant rivalry also meant constant surveillance, and now that the two of you had reached the finish line to your respective degrees, the tension and threat of total exposure increased tenfold. 

“A line’s a line,” Beomgyu silently spat through gritted teeth. “I’d never do coke, so you should be thankful I’m not kicking you out as president,”

“Fuck you,”

“I wouldn’t.”

“I’m lucky, then.”

“That’s the only luck god’s gonna give you, Gyu.”

Three years of unyielding pride and egoism also meant that the two of you knew when to stop arguing. Even if most of the people around you saw you and Beomgyu as a pair that didn’t know when enough was enough, there were certain limits that introduced a silent armistice in the war that Beomgyu had waged on you. For one, if fights were to occur before a lecture began, both of you were willing to swallow your feelings of pride and pay attention, ushering the competition elsewhere in the form of aggressive keyboard smashing and who could raise better questions to the professor. This was one of those instances, and as always, you left the lecture hall as the main victor, even being called after class to discuss the prospects of constitutional reform with the professor. Beomgyu simply stood to the side instead of leaving—another trait about him that you grew too accustomed to. Every single time you were either called after classes to discuss further questions or network with the professors, Beomgyu would always be behind you, scanning through every nook and cranny to seize any opportunity to either sabotage your efforts or present himself as the more eloquent and intelligent version between the two of you. Usually, professors didn’t mind this type of engagement—in fact, many academics would thrive in an environment where their students would actively contest and participate in the discourse surrounding topics that interest them the most. However, between you and Beomgyu, this would be a strenuous experience for any professor that was unlucky enough to be caught in your competitive mess. 

Luckily, in every case, Heeseung would always be the savior, dragging the two of you out of the lecture hall in the nick of time. 

“You two should just make out already,” He would often say while muttering strings of apologies to the meek, slouched professors that would hastily grab their bags and rush back into the comforts of their own offices. Albeit humiliating at first, you were now too accustomed to the lanky, tall, and especially inebriated man taking both you and Beomgyu’s collars throughout the ends of the campus, only momentarily seating both of you at the edge of the cafeteria to either laugh or complain. 

“That’s giving him too much luck, Hee,” You bitterly retorted, giving Beomgyu the middle finger as a late greeting. 

“She’s privileged enough to be a rich private school nerd who sucks people’s dick on LinkedIn. I can’t give her too much action,”

“You’re the nepo baby, Gyu! Last time I recall, you got in because of your brother’s recommendation letter,”

Talks about Beomgyu’s brother were what always riled him up the most—of course, second to talks about you. 

Here’s the thing about Choi Seungchol: Though he wasn’t in the Faculty of Law, he was a memorable student that continues to be the face of the Faculty of Medicine. An accomplished oncologist with a prestigious tenureship at John Hopkins, he was one of the few Korean medical students who were able to break the difficult threshold of Western-dominated academia, proving himself with his tenacity, wit, and ever-expanding knowledge of cancer research. From the young age of seventeen, he had already graduated high school and shortened his study as an undergrad, dedicating his entire life to an ambitious—but certainly commendable—dream of finding an affordable, accessible, and efficient cure for cancer. Coupled with a look that was universally easy on the eyes, having a brother like Seungchol would have definitely sparked a deep-seated inferiority complex in anyone who had the displeasure of being his younger sibling. 

Tit-for-tat seemed to be the game that you and Beomgyu often engaged in, and if his kryptonite was his brother, then yours would be the long line of lawyers that you descended from. 

Unlike Beomgyu, who chose to study law out of an intense desire to separate his identity from his brother, you treaded onto the same path that marred your family name with generational pride. Sure, it wasn’t to say you wanted to become a lawyer, but rather, you wanted to become the best lawyer out of your family. Rich people had a different set of issues that they needed to face—a constant, mental battle that cut all ties between blood and family. In your family, there was no such thing as a maternal or paternal bond; every one that bore your name was wrought with the constant pressures of living up to it. Each generation was always compared to the last, and each brought the troubles of the past to the realities of the present. All the woes, infighting, and distasteful pride have unfortunately been a product of an entire familial generation that fought hard to keep its legacy intact—and for you, that meant your ticket to leave all of that behind was outdoing the family altogether, reigning supreme in the lifelong struggle of succession. 

With you, your family wasn’t family anymore—they were stepping stones. A key to success and freedom that can only grant liberation once you did everything to prove yourself. 

In a sense, all rich families were Darwinian. The Chois were a household name in medicine, and yours happened to dominate the legal system. One wanted to break free by independently taking another route in life, while the other aimed to destroy an old empire from within. To those that didn’t have the taste of prestige or the amount of free time to comprehend the psychological detriment of wealth, it was a simple case of money bringing too many unnecessary problems. Why worry about such minute issues like reputation and status when your windows didn’t work? 

To you and Beomgyu though, things were different. Too different, in fact. When both your lives were mapped out to success and filling in the shoes of the past, it was inevitable that you would define yourselves and your actions around your family’s troubles. Something as simple as joining a band would cause immediate ruin to the decades of perfecting your role as the ideal candidate to take over your family’s law firm. 

What Beomgyu didn’t know, and what you kept as an even deeper secret than your nights of musical debauchery in the basement, was that you were a bastard—the only child to a second, hidden marriage that broiled your entire family’s law firm in a mess that led to buying out several news outlets and tabloids who eventually took the money to erase all evidence regarding the scandal. You were paraded as the legitimate daughter of your family, and every single facet of your life had been broadcasted to the public since. From bagging first place in an essay-writing contest as a child to constantly making headlines as one of the best debaters in each high school debate competition, you had maintained the aura and image of a perfect successor. And now, all your accomplishments throughout university had been scantily advertised in university newspapers, online gossip forums, and local magazines—from your events in the law society, the talks you’d organize and give in legal seminars, down to the minuscule acts of charity you would do with the Cold Case Foundation. All of your life was documented for the world to see, prepping you up so the family could contain its skeletons within the safety of its closets. 

This was why you couldn’t contain the hatred and anger you’d managed to keep to yourself for so long when Beomgyu would bring your family into the conversation. An inferiority complex paled in comparison to a family secret that threatened to bring the mighty walls of your family’s empire down to the ground with a single slip-up. 

“News flash: I’m not the one who comes from an entire family that practices law,”

Ah, there it was. You stood up from your seat like always, never looking back as you stomped out of the cafeteria in blood-curdling, fuming anger. It was natural for Beomgyu to assume that you had an uncontrollable temper—after all, to him, you were a figure of contempt. Someone who was lucky enough to be born into a profession that he took up just to escape his lack of medical skills and affinity for science and mathematics. 

“Jesus Christ, she’s so entitled,”

“Not cool, dude. Not cool,” Sungchan suddenly appeared as he always does, carrying a carton of coffee milk and sipping its sweet contents into his throat. Heeseung never really understood why Sungchan would always come to defend you whenever it came to any mentions of your family, but he chalked it up to the behavior of a secret admirer. Spending time together every day in the basement and playing in a band is a great way to get to know a person, and an even better chance to fall in love. If that were the case, then Heeseung certainly felt bad for the guitarist. Although you were already perceived as a picture of admiration, awe, and intimidation from afar, nobody truly knew how cutthroat and blunt you were behind the sheer curtains of model excellence. Heeseung was one of the few that bore witness to how ruthless you can be, and if it were him, he would thwart all chances of attempting to woo you. If Beomgyu was already enough of a testament to your mercilessness, then it was the strict, iron command you had at the law society that made you a less-than-ideal lover in bed and beyond. 

“So I’m the bad guy for bringing up her family,”

“To be fair, she was the one who brought it up first…”

“Thank you, Heeseung!” Beomgyu exclaimed. Sungchan rolled his eyes and tossed the carton of coffee milk; a perfect shot right into the plastic opening of the bin. Heeseung watched with envy, lamenting at his failed basketball career. If only he had been taller, then maybe he might’ve had the chance to skip college altogether and fly to the US to sign a contract with the NBA. He’s always wondered why Sungchan didn’t opt for basketball as a sport, playing for the university’s varsity baseball team instead. He had the height and build to quickly gain ranks as a star player, and he certainly had the agility and aim to entrench himself as one of Korea’s best three-point shooters. Whenever Sungchan would look in Heeseung’s direction, the sense of being tinier than an ant in the entire universe maximized tenfold. It wasn’t just Sungchan’s height, but his general aloofness coupled with his nonchalance made everyone feel small under his presence. 

Sungchan raised his hand at Heeseung, waving goodbye once a mutual high five was sealed and locked—a pact of honest brotherhood, as one might say. He mustered a quick, awkward bow in Beomgyu’s direction and ran off the same way you treaded, ignoring the pair’s curious gaze as he scoured through the maze of crowded young adults and intertwined hallways to catch you in your usual spot. 

Beomgyu trailed Sungchan’s tall frame, watching his forehead graze the entry of the cafeteria. He huffed a sigh and grabbed his backpack, slinging it on his shoulder while knitting his eyebrows in frustration.

“Gyu, you’re not red anymore. You’re green,” Heeseung joked. Before Beomgyu could land a clean, painful hit on Heeseung’s neck, the boy quickly waved and ran past the swarm of students that crowded the hallways, waving his dab pen in the air as a quick sign of surrender. Beomgyu rolled his eyes and stared in the direction that Sungchan treaded, wondering if he should follow along. 

Then again, what was it to him? Why was he so angry over something that didn’t even concern him in the first place? You were the one who brought his brother up constantly, so it would only be right for him to hit you where it hurt the most. He didn’t know much about you, but an aching, swelling pang of guilt began rising up in the form of acidic bile, swirling like rough tides in his stomach until a bout of nausea overwhelmed his entire body. Why the fuck do I care? She’s the one who started it all, Beomgyu thought. He gave the hallway that led to the Law Society’s office one, last glance, completely turning his back in the other direction. He had another lecture to catch; he shouldn’t be worried about you.

Once he found your figure crouched under the table of the Law Society’s main office, he knelt to your height, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. You swatted it away with faux bravery, rigorously wiping the soft tears that marred the apples of your cheeks. 

“Hey,” He greeted. 

“Leave me alone,”

“I can’t,” Sungchan laughed under his breath. “I’m witnessing you cry like a baby for the first time,”

“Shut up, Sung.”

For Sungchan, striking a friendship with you was unexpected. He’d at least expected himself to be on good terms with Jeongin before even attempting an acquaintanceship with you. When he initially met you, he had to admit that you were a deplorable person of sorts. You carried an air of superiority wherever you went, treated everyone like they were below you, and you always had a ruthless, competitive streak that turned everything sour with a single blink of an eye. From the moment he laid eyes on you, he was sure that he was going to tell Geonu to look for another guitarist. 

“I can’t work with her,” He confided right after he heard you play the drums in a mock-up audition for a new recruit. “She’s… bitchy.”

“Sung, she’s a professional,” Geonu would often retort, ignoring Sungchan’s complaints about his own strict standard of musical perfection. “I’ve never seen anyone play with so much dedication and tenacity. If only you took this shit more seriously, then I think you can learn to put those feelings aside and actually play the way I want you to.”

For a while, Sungchan did his best to avoid you. Every time you would ask him to play with you so you could synchronize your playing style with his, he would politely decline, opting to send you recordings of his guitar practices from home or outright pretending he didn’t hear you. Granted, he anticipated that you were the type to not let passive-aggression go. One thing he knows about all law majors was their argumentative streak—to him, that was the reason why so many of the people enrolled in that program were born under the star of Aries. Hot-headed, independent, and defensive—those were all the characteristics that aligned with Aries Suns and anyone practicing the legal field. 

It wasn’t until he got too drunk to stand that he experienced your rare displays of kindness. Though it was common courtesy to take care of drunk people at parties, you and Geonu were the only ones who actively checked up on him, closing the door to one of the rooms that became his personal infirmary while constantly feeding him water and a few, light snacks. Whenever he felt like throwing up and Geonu was unavailable, it was you who took him straight to the bathroom, lifting his head of hair as he lurched out his organs into the once pristine, white ceramics of a toilet bowl. Instead of asking him why he hated you, you simply kept your mouth shut, actively giving gentle massages on the crook of his neck and on the small of his back, gently feeding him more water in timed intervals as he continued to hurl and belch in the tiny, squared space of someone’s bathroom. 

“Aren’t you gonna ask me why I don’t like you?” He asked, completely aware of his slurred words. You laughed and pretended you didn’t hear him—the exact same way he behaved whenever you would ask him to practice some of Joker In’s parts with you. 

Perhaps he had too much to drink, or perhaps he just felt safe in the small, cramped, yet cozy spaces of the bathroom, but the first thing he told you—sans re-introductions—was the fact that he wasn’t sure if he was attracted to Geonu or not. In what felt like hours of him trying his best to keep his voice down amidst the blaring, muted, and bass-booted music that streamed into the tiny cracks of the wooden door, he sobered up in a crying fit, watching your figure transform from blurry blobs of wooziness into swirling, tear-soaked waves that made you look like you were submerged into an ocean of his woes and worries. He admired your silence; he admired the small smile that you gave him throughout his entire episode; he admired the way you screamed at whoever was banging at the front door to fuck off; he admired how head-strong and confident you were, even if he knew that you didn’t return those qualities to yourself. 

From that day on, there was a mutual, unspoken pact that formed into a true, life-long bond between you and Sungchan. Whenever Geonu or Jeongin would ask him why he suddenly changed his mind, he would simply shrug, mimicking the same silence you gave him when he spilled his entire emotional journey of sexual discovery inside that holy bathroom. You did the same, giving subtle looks of confusion or outright denying the bad blood between you and Sungchan. The two eventually suppressed their qualms about Sungchan’s drastic shift, nodding in reluctant agreeability that this had to happen eventually for the band to continue. 

“Anyway, I’m pretty sure Beomgyu didn’t mean it,”

“To be fair, I brought it up first. I got what I deserved,” You whispered, careful eyes scanning through random bystanders through the small creak of the agape, wooden door in front of you. Sungchan stood up to close it, but you grabbed the hem of his sweater, begging him to stay. 

“Shh, don’t say that to yourself,” He replied, humming lowly to himself. “I think this is the point where you realize you should probably just get over it all. I mean, it’s been three whole years. Shouldn’t you just get over it and be the bigger person?”

Sungchan’s words hit you like a knife that slashed and hacked at an open wound. Each pause of silence brought another ounce of pain in your chest, and you couldn’t pinpoint if those feelings were a guilty conscience or another byproduct of your massive pride. You hated it when others were right, and you hated it even more that you continued to do the wrong thing despite knowing you could just ignore Beomgyu and get on with your day. Certainly, if you had kept things at light insults three years ago, then you shouldn’t be as riled up or hurt by Beomgyu’s actions and words by now. What bothered you even more, though, was how you didn’t seem to know who made things worse. At this rate, the rivalry between the two of you had gone on for far too long. You couldn’t pinpoint a true start that fueled your spite for him. It was almost like you had always hated Beomgyu from the start, even if there was a part of you that wholeheartedly disagreed with that predicament. 

“You know what, you’re right, Sung. I should stop giving him any of my attention if I want him to shut up,”

“See, it’s not that hard!” 

Before you and Sungchan could shake things off with a friendly hug, your phones buzzed in unison. With a quick nod, the two of you burst out of the Law Society’s office, ignoring the wary eyes that watched each of your steps with confusion and suspicion. You declined the call and swiped right on Sungchan’s phone, popping your head near the camera to see who was on the other end of the line. To your relief, it was an excited Jeongin, carrying crescents in his eyes as he huffed on his earphones’ microphone. 

“Guys!” 

“What’s up, Jeongin?”

“The finals!” He screamed, loud enough for you and Sungchan to mute the phone and cover the speakers. 

“What about it?”

“It’s streaming right now on YouTube!” 

You gave Jeongin a look of confusion, arching your brows and poking Sungchan with your elbows. Despite only getting close to each other for a short time, both of you mastered the art of silence. You didn’t need to tell him to look up the ESC’s website to check if Jeongin was right; there was a certain telepathy that linked your brains together. There was no need for eye contact or physical gestures, it was as if thinking was all it took for Sungchan to understand what you wanted him to say or do, and vice versa. If you were to picture it, then there would be a thin, invisible wire that connected your soul to his, matched with telephone cups where you each whispered your thoughts and actions back and forth. 

“Oh word?” Sungchan muttered once he reached the homepage of the ESC. The semi-finals happened too fast, and it didn’t occur to you that you missed the entire ordeal. Sungchan nodded along, shrugging his shoulders while using his height to push past the sea of students who fell victim to your band’s antics. The key to the exit was Jeongin jumping up and down at the entrance to the university’s main gate, fighting his way out of the security guards trying to calm him down. 

“Come on!” Jeongin exclaimed with infectious glee, grabbing you and Sungchan by the hand and taking the two of you to the nearest train station. 

“Jeongin, where are we going?” You asked. You were sure that Geonu had pinged the entire group chat about the absence of practice that day. Sungchan checked his phone and showed you Geonu’s message once the three of you slowed down and tapped your transit passes to the gates. There was indeed, no practice at the basement today out of Jeongin’s incessant pleas to cancel it. Geonu would have never imagined canceling practice over a singing competition held in Europe, but Jeongin threatened to leave the band if Geonu and the rest didn’t comply with his wishes. Considering how Jeongin was the most compliant member who never seemed to ask for much unless it had to do with Eurovision, Geonu granted the boy’s wishes. 

“The watch party!” 

You scrolled through Joker In’s Kakao group chat with Sungchan, only to find no mentions of a Eurovision watch party anywhere. By now, the entire band had figured that Jeongin was the impulsive type. While you had access to his hidden story of mushroom addiction, the rest were privy to Jeongin’s sudden online activity at the crack of dawn. He would send a barrage of memes and videos on the group chat only to disappear for a week. The only times he would come back was if Geonu had made a practice announcement in the chat, or if the band called him to the meeting place. 

Ergo, Jeongin was not the type of person to organize an entire watch party with his sporadic communication patterns. 

Once the three of you had reached the apartment, a barrage of cannabis hit your nose. Of course, Heeseung was on the side with a bong in hand, while Geonu was already absorbed into the couch, eyes red artificial bliss. Before you could take off your shoes to step inside Jeongin’s apartment, you halted your steps, blinking several times to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. Some people say that hate was just another form of obsession, and the last thing you wanted was to see Beomgyu in your dreams. 

“Why is he here? 

“Beomgyu is Heeseung’s roommate,” Jeongin meekly replied, keeping a small smile on his face as he kicked his shoes off to dash into the kitchen. Sungchan reluctantly followed suit, taking a bowl of potato chips and popcorn to the small, glass coffee table that was at the center of Jeongin’s rather spacious living room. 

“So? Heeseung never brings him to the basement when he delivers pizza,”

“That’s because Beomgyu doesn’t work at the pizza chain,”

Instead of sitting in the empty space next to Beomgyu on the couch, you opted to take a random spot on the couch, sitting behind Geonu’s legs. Normally, he would complain about you using him as a headrest, but at this rate, he was too high to comprehend that there was something leaning into his calves. 

“Whatever. Since when did you like Eurovision anyway?”

“Before you did, that’s for sure, fucking poser,”

“Oh my god, you son of a—”

Before you could stand up, Sungchan placed a firm grip on your shoulder, entrenching you within the surface of Jeongin’s soft, fur carpet. You took a mental note to ask him about his tastes in furniture. On the other side of the couch, Jeongin had hurried back from the kitchen with a few packs of seltzer that he struggled to carry, pushing one of them into Beomgyu’s lap before he could retort in violence. 

“So everyone in this room is voting for Slovenia, right?” Jeongin asked with an eerily large grin. 

“Yep! Number twenty-four!” Sungchan confirmed, making it his duty to make sure you didn’t lash out throughout the entire song contest. There was no use in fighting back; the hands of a varsity athlete cannot be contested with the likes of an occasional charity player. 

“I’m voting Finland…” Beomgyu huffed, rolling his eyes in your direction.

“Gyu, you literally listened to nothing but Carpe Diem last night,” Heeseung retorted in languid, heavy breaths. If one could guess the lightness of his lids, it would be comparable to a bodybuilder’s daily dumbbell perched on top of his eyes. 

“Shut up. I vote for whoever I want, and my money goes to Finland,” Beomgyu replied, cracking a can of cherry seltzer open with his hand. You followed suit, prompting the boy to roll his eyes once again. 

“He’s voting for Finland because he wants to be oh so special like the rest of the world who’s basically riding Käärijä’s dick!” 

This time, you gulped the can of seltzer down in a single sip, crushing the weak, malleable material between your fingers while raising a middle finger in Beomgyu’s direction. Instead of chugging his drink, he took a deep breath, pacing the amount of alcohol that entered and exited his throat. He knew what he was like when he was drunk, and even if the need to punch you into oblivion was there, he had to control himself—at least, for Jeongin. 

“Shut the fuck up, you two! It’s starting!” You and Beomgyu immediately behaved accordingly, exchanging silent death glares while Jeongin ushered to the middle of the large, flat-screen television mounted on his wall. Even if you knew how serious Jeongin was about anything Eurovision related, you didn’t know that he could exude a level of anger that outmatched you and Beomgyu’s squabbles. 

The introduction to the Eurovision Song Contest lined up with the flurry of buzzes that attacked your back pocket. Upon seeing the caller ID, your fingers automatically hovered over the red button. However, the ringing didn’t stop. No matter how many times you’ve tried to dodge each call you got, it would only come back in waves, accompanied by a barrage of text messages that caught your eye,

Dad’s in the hospital.

To be fair, all your memories with your father had been non-existent at best. The only time you’ve ever seen him was in a pristine, neatly-ironed business suit, gallivanting around the meeting rooms of the law firm or taking the same behavior with him on the dinner table, only allowing everyone else to lift their forks once he was seated. Your father’s presence had a shroud of mist around it—mostly because you couldn’t remember a time when you genuinely bonded with him. To call your father a father only suited you best when you were writing your college application essays or passing interviews for internships and research opportunities. Outside of that, you addressed him with utmost formalities, keeping his power trips unbridled by addressing him as Sir or President. He used to like being called an attorney, but after he began to realize that everyone in the firm held the same occupation, he opted for something more. As such, the news of him being in the hospital was shocking, but it was the least of your current concerns. To you, he was just your lifelong boss, slipping you into the legal world with a guaranteed, secure career filled with success and everlasting wealth. The only reason you had to visit the hospital was to discuss the potential inheritance papers that might have to be negotiated on his deathbed, not because of a familial, patriarchal bond that was never even there to begin with. 

“Hold on, I have to take this call,” You said, hastily getting up while balancing yourself on the carpet. You whispered a mute sorry in Heeseung’s direction, who was suddenly sober at the sight of his bong tipping over. 

Once you were in the bathroom, you locked the door and turned on the lights, keeping your eyes away from the large vanity mirror that enhanced the brightness of the entire room. Closing your eyes, you allowed a mouthful of oxygen to enter your lungs, slowly breathing it out as you dialed your brother’s phone number. It didn’t take a single ring for him to pick up. 

“Hey,”

There was always something about your brother’s voice that irritated you. It wasn’t too nasally, but it wasn’t the most clear-cut pitch either. There was a certain grating quality to it that made listening to an obese chain smoker for hours on end a better feat than hearing your brother in a firm meeting or a case discussion. This was probably the reason why you could tolerate Beomgyu, because you’ve lived with people you genuinely despised for as long as you could count numbers and read the alphabet. 

“Why the fuck are you calling me?” You spat, anticipating the worst. You could hear your brother’s breath hitch on the other end of the line. Of course, a situation like this would stress him out. 

“You know I only reach out if it’s important, so get your ass to the fucking hospital right now. Dad’s going through a hemorrhage, and it’s the worst one we’ve seen so far.”

“Oh,”

“So hurry the fuck up. I’ll write your uni up so you can take an academic leave. Shit’s pretty serious,”

Whenever your brother classified a situation as pretty serious, it usually had to do with money. Talks of a potential merger, a big case that’s worth billions of won, or the acquisition of smaller firms that soon became a part of your family’s legal empire. Anything that had to do with money was serious to your brother, and of course, anything that had to do with money was discussed between the family, beneath the nose of your father. 

“What do you mean?”

“You know what this means, right? Dad’s dying, his fucking secretary had just been named the sole trust to the firm, and the entire family’s basically going to war over this fucking fiasco.”

“What the fuck do you mean he signed over the trust to her?”

This was the only time you agreed with your brother about the nature of serious situations. The entire firm and the family were aware of the affair he had with his secretary, but you didn’t know how bad of an impact his senility would have on the future and well-being of the firm and beyond. You kept the phone latched between your shoulders and your chin, taking a seat on the toilet cover while crossing your legs. 

“Just come to the hospital. One of the Choi-owned clinics in Gangnam.”

“Okay, I’m on my way.” You curtly replied. “I’ll be there in twenty,” 

Family ordeals were things that Geonu forgave when it came to skipping practice, but you weren’t sure about breaking the news to Jeongin. Perhaps if you simply told him about your father’s condition, he would let it slide. After all, he was the caring sort. Anything that tugged his heartstrings would render him in a thick, melted puddle of tears. All it took was a story of an old, dying man, and you were sure that Jeongin would let you go. Taking another deep breath, you counted to three and opened the door, slowly making your way from the kitchen and into the living room. Instead of taking your seat back next to Heeseung, you stood still, placing your hands on your waist. Despite Geonu’s current state, he managed to groggily sit upright, eyes peering straight into your soul. The rest of the people in the living room followed him as an example, eyes switched from the television screen to your leveled posture. 

“Guys,”

“Look who’s back from her makeout session with the prof,”

“Beomgyu, not now.” You interrupted, clearing your throat as you mentally ran through the quick story you conjured up in your head. My dad’s bleeding out, and I have to go to the hospital to make sure he’s okay. I hope you guys understand. 

“What, you can’t take a joke? Jesus, I never knew little miss perfect was a softie…”

You would usually let your temper subside and give Beomgyu the benefit of the doubt, but this time, he had crossed the line. It wasn’t to say you cared about your father, but it was still a dire situation that needed to be taken seriously. For all the intelligence that Beomgyu prided himself in, he was not the type to understand basic social cues. As if remaining still wasn’t enough of a message, you let the frustration you’ve built up for years wash over you, closing your eyes as you unleashed three years of pent-up irritation and vexation escape your lips in a shrill shriek. The only thing you felt sorry for at the moment was how this was directed at Beomgyu instead of your family, but you needed to release it all before you eventually exploded. Heeseung dropped his bong and alerted himself awake, leaving his mouth agape while his eyes quickly darted past your forehead. Even Sungchan, who was privy to your bursts of anger, lit up in static shock, rendered in a frozen state that made him glued to his seat. Everyone in the room now had their eyes on you—including Jeongin’s roommate who peeked his head out of his door. 

“Seriously?! My dad’s dying, and this is how you react? Look, I don’t know what the fuck I did to make you hate me this much, but this isn’t a game anymore. I’m done, and I’m out of here!” 

In a flash of a second, you were out the door, letting it swing before reclining into a loud thud. The entire room was now drowned in an ocean of silence, and Beomgyu was the only one who gasped for air. He tried to stand up and chase after you, but his legs were stuck to the cotton of Jeongin’s carpet, pulling him deeper and deeper until his entire body was one with the ground. Geonu exchanged glances with Heeseung and the rest of the band, taking a nearby glass of water and gulping it down in a single sitting. Sungchan quickly climbed up to the couch and sat beside him, patting gentle circles on the boy’s back before directing his attention to the sole, uninvited guest that ruined the watch party. All Jeongin could do at the moment was take the remote from the coffee table, lowering the volume of the television until the entire apartment was laced in another wave of deathly silence. Even if the living room was packed, it felt as if he was the only one in the room, stuck between the carpet and the technicolor screen that showed the first performer of the night. Glimpses of red, black, and white dyed the entire space in ominous colors, flashing images of Edgar Allan Poe in the empty, white walls that surrounded the entire group. The only time someone spoke up was when Jeongin’s roommate passed by to turn off the lights, quickly rushing back within the safety of his room as he locked the door shut. 

“You fucked up,” Heeseung started after a few rounds of unspoken guilt. “Hard…”

“It’s not like I can tell her that I’m mad at her because I don’t know? My parents always yelled at me for not being like my brother?” 

No, that’s not what I wanted to say, Beomgyu thought, but it was too late to take his words back inside his mouth. Now, the initial state of shock that occupied the room was replaced with pure, unbridled resentment. 

This time, he was sure he fucked up. 

“Why did you keep this up for so long, anyway? It’s not like it’s that hard to say sorry or something,” Geonu retorted, slowly sobering up. 

“Look, whatever. I’ll get going now, because apparently, I’m always the bad guy,”

“Gyu!” 

Jeongin tried to chase after Beomgyu’s silhouette, only for Sungchan to hold him back. With two silent nods, Jeongin let go of Sungchan’s sleeve, fiddling with the hems of his sweater while watching the tall, lanky boy jog out the door. He didn’t know if he should end the watch party then and there, or if all of them should continue from where they left off. By now, the second performance had started. Flashes of green and red brightly encompassed their eyes, and they remained seated. Geonu texted the band’s group chat and pinged your user to give them updates on your father’s situation, while Heeseung swiftly took his lighter and lit the stem of his bong, deeply inhaling the glass rim in what was going to be his biggest rip to date. 

What was going on outside of Jeongin’s apartment was a different story on its own. You had called one of your drivers to pick you up from the nearest train station, and now, you were zooming past highways and fast cars, reaching your destination as soon as Beomgyu had stepped out of Jeongin’s apartment building. He tried to rush past the flurry of people during rush hour that crowded the station, but the only person he could see was Sungchan, who had managed to chase him by the tail of his jacket. 

“Hey,” Sungchan uttered, never letting go of Beomgyu’s jacket. 

“Here to defend your girlfriend?” Beomgyu spat. Sungchan was used to this by now,

“No, but I’m here to let you know that deep down inside, I know you’re not a bad person,”

The two were now in front of a vending machine behind the station, a place where drunken white-collared men would drink their sorrows away. It also happens to be the place for a rendezvous to hide under the neon lights of the city—high school couples that secretly meet after the academy for a kiss goodbye before going home, college kids that are too drunk to scan their passes at the gate, office workers that feel the need to have a drink or two before being welcomed back home by their kids, smokers who hide their vices under the surveillance system, and people that are waiting for their online saint to whisk them off their infinite suffering. The vending machine was witness to all facets of society, including Beomgyu and Sungchan’s conversations that would have never seen the light of day. Before the two began, it was a natural ritual for any that chose the vending machine as a meeting place to treat their interlocutors with a beverage or two. Sungchan chose a sizzling can of lemon cider, tossing a couple of loose change he had jingling in his pockets and inserting it in the machine. He tossed the can in Beomgyu’s direction, who accepted it with a meek, small bow. Then, Sungchan fished for the last few coins he could find in the deep trenches of his slacks, pressing the bright, green button that displayed a tall bottle of water. It didn’t occur to him that he had a half-filled water bottle that he took with him in his tote bag for baseball practice; the movement was as automatic as the vending machine dispensing a plastic water bottle in its hooded container. Once Sungchan had the water bottle in his hands, he twisted the cap and waited for Beomgyu to snap the can open. The two clinked their beverages and consummated a few sips. 

“Sure, you’re insufferable and bratty as fuck, but I know you have the heart in you to listen,” Sungchan said, after he was finished with his water bottle. Beomgyu took the can back to the side of his arms, holding it tightly to make sure its fizzy contents didn’t spill out into the streets. 

“She’s been going through a lot, so you should probably cut all of this and apologize if you still want to go to our shows,” 

Beomgyu slowly nodded, taking the can of lemon cider up to his lips once again. For a big city like Seoul, his bright, neon yellow can stood out from the masses of commuters that passed the duo to get to their destination. Sungchan kept his water bottle under his arm, tapping on the plastic cap twice to make sure that he sealed it properly. With a satisfied hum, he cleared his throat and eyed the boy who couldn’t take his can off his lips. 

“I know you’ve been sneaking out in your really shitty disguise, but for my sake, hers, and yours, you should talk it out and hopefully fix whatever you got going on,” He continued. His fingers found themselves at the edges of his pocket again, and an exasperated sigh escaped his lips upon failing to feel through a small, rectangular carton that eased all of his woes with a single huff of smoke. What he found instead was a small, cheap plastic lighter that he didn’t remember purchasing. Granted, he probably stole it off Heeseung’s collection or took it with him when he helped Geonu light his joint. Whatever the case, he found no use for it now. 

“If not, I’m gonna have to ban you from ever showing up again,”

Beomgyu finally took the can off his lips, wiping his mouth with the thick decor of his jacket’s sleeve. Considering the weather, he should’ve probably opted for a lighter cardigan that didn’t graze his lips with leather. Nonetheless, he ignored all feelings of discomfort. He should be used to it by now. 

“Whatever,”

“It’s not whatever, and I’m sure you know that too,”

Beomgyu watched Sungchan’s tall, lanky frame stand upright from his slouched posture, waving his transit card in his face as he started to walk towards the station. He didn’t know if Sungchan was going to go back to his place or if he would pay a visit to the hospital. The only way he would find out is if he bumped into him in the white, putrid halls of a place he’d been avoiding since he left home to attend university.

Beomgyu had always hated hospitals. For as long as he could remember, the smell of antiseptic and rubbing alcohol would always overwhelm his nose, rendering him in a trance-like state that made everything around him a blurry haze of fragmented memories. He could try to recollect the countless hours he’s spent waiting for his father to get off his shift, but all he could gather was the car ride home, sitting silently beside his brother while the driver played an old rockabilly tune from his time. His father wasn’t even in the car with them, and he was probably doing another late shift in the operations room with his mother on standby. When Seungchol was old enough to shadow their father’s sessions, he would be on these car rides alone, carrying the same, putrid odor that reminded him of a distant family that never had dinner together once. When Beomgyu would get home from the hospital, he made it a habit to call his maids or helpers to set up a dinner table with him, each member of the cleaning team acting as his father, his mother, and eventually, his brother. This was the only way he could sleep at night, because the scent of antiseptic would be replaced with dish soap, cleaning tools, and remnants of flower-scented detergent. If the cooks were available, they would also join Beomgyu at the large, family dining table of the Choi household acting as external relatives that he would only see in family functions. 

Now that he was back at the hospital, the memories of a lonesome dinner came flooding back to him in tidal waves. First, his father’s tall silhouette would come into full view, for he was never the type of person to turn his head towards his second son. Then, he could see his mother’s side profile, eyebrows knitted in a constant frown as she would scan through each clipboard and envelope with a mixture of confusion and exhaustion. When he was in high school, his brother had already begun shadowing for one of the several hospitals that were under the Choi name. He would initially tag along, but opted to stay home once he realized that this wasn’t a game of doctors that he would play with his brother in one of the many playrooms they were granted as children. Seungchol had patients to attend to, and he was a mere nuisance to the inner workings of his family’s craft. 

This was also the point where he figured he would try his hand at the humanities, shifting from an interest in stock brokers and the financial sector to settling for the legal field. In earnest, he never found an affinity for anything political. The newspaper was one of many things that made it so difficult for Beomgyu to remember his parents’ faces, since they would spend their mornings jeering at the headlines in disgust before rushing out to work. Seungchol started doing the same once he was old enough to understand the weary woes of the world outside of their wealthy life, and at that point, Beomgyu had already resented the news enough to block it off his phone and other devices. 

If his lifelong grudge had taught him one thing, it was tenacity. It was a trait his parents exhibited when they went from performing surgeries to managing hospitals, and it was the same trait that Seungchol inherited when he began his own medical career. For Beomgyu, tenacity meant suffering through a lot of the things he disliked—whether it was politics, the news, or medicine. To him, tenacity came in subtle ripples. At first, it was the several scandals that he would hear about at the academy regarding big pharmaceutical companies patenting life-saving medication and selling it at a higher markup. He didn’t even know what a markup meant, but he did know that it was something he could use to destroy his family once and for all. When he entered university and applied for the law program, he used his tenacity to climb to the top, even when the humanities weren’t the strongest set of subjects in his CSAT exam. He didn’t understand how money worked, and he certainly couldn’t care less about the politicians he would see campaigning on the streets during election season. The only thing that mattered to him ever since he was a child was to do whatever it takes to get his family back in a single piece—even if it meant destroying the legacy and generational prestige that the Chois had built for themselves since the Occupation period. 

Places like the hospital were what made Beomgyu’s tenacity disappear into thin air, replacing it with irresolute shakiness. It didn’t occur to him that a single whiff of the hospital’s chemicals immediately turned him into mush—a walking, wandering blob that’s place was always behind his parents or his brother. Here, he didn’t feel human at all. He felt like a visual display—a name tag that bore his family name in shame. It was for this reason that Beomgyu refused to call an ambulance or take himself to the hospital no matter how hurt he was. Every episode of alcohol poisoning would always end in several over-the-counter drugs that would end up in the toilet with the remnants of bile that trickled up to his mouth, coughing up every stint of regret that failed to leave his system. No matter how drunk he would get, he would always berate Heeseung for threatening to dial 119, constantly reassuring him that he could cure whatever he could on his own. 

Now, he was back in the very place that he spent his entire life avoiding, hiding behind the metal railings of a hospital bed once his eyes caught a familiar, white coat sported by the outline of someone he hasn’t seen in years. 

Apparently, years of playing doctors with Seungchol worked against him, and now, he was faced to face with someone he had the displeasure of calling his brother. 

“Hyung,” The word used to come out naturally, but now, it felt too foreign to him. At this rate, he was more comfortable calling his own brother “Doctor Choi” than by any other name that he used to call him. He tapped his tongue twice inside his mouth to feel its insides squirm, then, he restfully let his eyes sit at the crown of Seungchol’s jet-black head, watching the luster of his healthy hair shine under the bright, fluorescent lights of the hospital that always managed to invoke a certain nausea within him. 

“Beomgyu-yah,” Seungchol replied, his voice barely a weak whisper. “It’s been a while,”

“Are you in charge of him?” Beomgyu asked, jutting his chin towards the emergency room. Seungchol looked back and shrugged his shoulders, resting the clipboard on the hilt of his belt as he longingly stared at his younger brother. 

“Who?”

“Him,” Beomgyu asked again, pointing to the patient’s profile on his clipboard. Seungchol adjusted the thick, rectangular frames that slid down his nose, squinting his eyes at the tiny fragments of characters that he could barely read. Beomgyu didn’t know that his older brother’s eyes had degraded past his early problems with astigmatism. 

“Ah, you mean Kim & Lee LLC’s current head?” Seungchol asked. 

“Yeah,”

“Yes, I’m in charge of him. My department assigned me to him since our family sort of owes them in some ways,”

Beomgyu didn’t question the Choi’s relations with yours. None of that concerned him in the slightest, and he was aware of the magnetism that many rich families often exhibited—birds of a feather flock together, especially when feathers were made of gold. 

“How’s school?” He asked. He began walking towards the emergency room and stood outside of the door, peeking his head inside the tinted windows while he vigorously tapped his pen on his clipboard. Beomgyu kept his hands in his pockets and followed suit, peering at whatever he could read in Seungchol’s report. 

“Alright,”

“I’ve heard his daughter’s faring better than you at school,”

Speak of the devil, and she shall arrive. 

By now, a single sliver of your presence was hard for Beomgyu to miss. If tenacity was one thing he had, then perseverance was the other. Throughout the three years he had known you, he’s learned one, giant lesson: to persevere. No matter how much he dreaded the preparations for the bar exam, no matter how worn he was over countless hours of dedicating himself to reading pages upon pages of ancient Roman law, a part of him embraced the sheer hard work that he dedicated to each and every aspect of his academic career. 

Then again, none of that mattered when he was always second best when it came to you. Even if the number of hours both of you had put into a project or an essay was the same, he would always fall short of a mark or two, forever trailing behind your shadow the same way he had always trailed behind the success of his ancestors, then his parents, and now, his brother. 

“This is why I’ve always hated you, hyung,”

“I know, I know,”

That was another thing that Beomgyu noticed about the people that managed to do better than him in every facet of his life. From stories he would hear from his mother, the Choi ancestry was filled with quiet, blasé doctors whose first and only priority was to tend to each patient that required assistance. The same trait was replicated tenfold in the way his parents would berate him; both of them would shrug their heads in blatant displays of disappointment instead of yelling at him. He was sure he was never hit as a child, but the string of pain that came from the sheer looks of despondency was imprinted on his shattered ego, forever sinking their sharp fragments into the throes of his heart. When his brother reached the age of twenty, he had mastered the same, cold look that his parents would often give him, doing the same whenever Beomgyu interrupted him at the hospital. 

How did it all come to this?

Beomgyu wished he knew the answer to a question he had been pondering since he was old enough to think for himself. 

“So you’re not even gonna say sorry? Apologize? Admit that what you and our entire family’s put me through is wrong?”

“Beomgyu, that’s just how it’s always been. I don’t really know what to say other than how lucky you should be right now,”

Luck. Being born a Choi meant a lifetime of financial security and a plethora of career options knocking at the foot of his door, and yet, Beomgyu couldn’t see how this luck was worth the feelings of inferiority that plagued him to no end. 

“How the fuck am I lucky, Hyung? How the fuck am I lucky?! Because from what I know, I’ve been the one that just so happened to be born with the inability to do math and science!”

Seungchol slid the pen he was tapping inside his breast pocket. He placed the clipboard on one of the empty, leather chairs that lined the entrance to the emergency room, adjusting the rims of his glasses in the process. 

“All my life, I’ve studied so hard, went to the academy, and never complained about it—hell, I sucked it all up and gave up on getting friends, having fun, and basically being the best example of what mom and dad wanted. But no! Apparently Seungchol-hyung is always better! That law girl is always better! Inseong from fifth grade is always better! Everyone is always better than me! If they wanted someone better, then they probably shouldn’t have asked for another son!” 

The only thing that Beomgyu could hear was his own voice bouncing back and forth between the walls of the vast hospital. Seungchol stood in silence, taking his glasses off and wiping the lens with the hems of his white coat—a pure semblance of their father. 

“Beomgyu-yah,” He whispered with a lower voice. “Just know that I did all this because I wanted you to be free. I care about you, you know?”

He waved his younger brother goodbye, pushing the large doors to the emergency room where people dressed in blue scrubs awaited his command. Beomgyu tried to chase after him, but he stopped in his tracks. All his life, he was always behind his father, his mother, and his brother. Now, he was behind you. Through the small creaks of the door, he traced your sulking silhouette, seeing himself in the way you bowed down to your own brother, who stood upright with a phone and several envelopes in his hand. Maybe if he let his pride aside a long, long time ago, then he would’ve come to the conclusion that the two of you weren’t so different after all. 

“This is Kim & Lee LLC’s associate speaking, and we would like to file an academic leave as soon as possible.” 

Throughout knowing you, he had seen you cry for the first time, mimicking the exact same sorrows and anguish that plagued him since he was a child. There was nothing to be done, so he left the hospital, never turning back once.

III. VENUS PLAYS WITH MARS IN A GAME OF CHANCE

Nearly three months had passed, and you didn’t show up since. The band was aware of your periods of being a recluse, but none of them anticipated how bad it was until you stopped responding to their texts and calls altogether. The meeting place felt like a barren wasteland in your absence, and none of them could start practicing without you chanting the counts before every song. Heeseung would come by with a slice of pizza from time to time, and it has become a ritual for them to leave you a slice even when you’re gone. It didn’t matter to them that the offering would turn into mold in a few days—what mattered was how the last slice or two was always going to be meant for you, almost as if you’d come back in the crappy basement to devour your slice and complain about how it’s practically inedible. 

  The band wasn’t the only group of people that felt your absence, though. Beomgyu never realized how important you were in the law society until you gave him a passive-aggressive email that relinquish all your responsibilities as president to him. While a part of him felt happiness at the thought of finally taking over, there was an inkling of guilt within him that felt too unqualified to assume your role. Yes, he’s often lamented to Heeseung that he would’ve been a better president than you, and he even told his parents in a bitter argument that he was doing more as one of the vice presidents than you actually were as president, he had to admit that your absence caused an impending upheaval that practically caused the law society to implode. At first, it started with self-fulfilling prophecies stated by the other executives that were anxious about Beomgyu’s ascension as the de-facto president. Some said he wasn’t suited for the role based on academic performance alone, and others have already made predictions about his eventual impeachment from the board of executives. Your rivalry with Beomgyu was a well-known gag in the law society, but now, it didn’t feel like an inside joke anymore. In your absence, nobody knew what to do—and Beomgyu began to realize that perhaps he didn’t have it in him to be an effective leader and a prolific communicator. 

In some ways, Beomgyu finally realized why you were so effective in a group setting. For one, your ability to make compromises with the rest of the team elevated your status and competence from a newbie to a reliable figure. The same could be said for your band. From what he’s heard from Heeseung, Geonu only recruited you because of your background in jazz. He never considered your dynamics with the group or if you were a difficult person to work with, and he chalked it up to luck that you were good at mitigating all sides of the argument whenever he and Sungchan would bicker. Your effectiveness as a team player was further highlighted in the dashing performances that you and your band would deliver as Joker In. Despite all the arguments and horror stories he’d hear from Heeseung, the Joker In he saw on stage didn’t evoke a single ounce of disagreement or discord. Once the four of you were on stage, it was as if you were a single unit with the rest of the band, seamlessly playing melodies as a natural instinct more so than hours of relentless practice and infighting. 

Rhythm is the pillar of music and poetry, he once heard you utter in your conversations with the band. Though he initially disagreed and tried to back up Sungchan’s lamentations of playing a bigger role in the group, your absence has instantly highlighted why you were a stable foundation in everything that you were involved in. Sure, you weren’t the flashiest of both the law society and Joker In, but your absence placed a large dent in the operations of both. Even if you were a quiet figure in the law society, often staying on the sidelines to approve or reject event proposals while everyone was fighting for credit, everyone would always look to you as a final figure of approval. Once you either accepted or rejected an event and started dispatching the organization committee to plan and make these events come to fruition, all elements of disjuncture ceased to exist. It was the same with Joker In. Sure, you were often in the background trying to maintain stability while Geonu and Sungchan played the lead in each performance, but he was willing to admit that the band’s sound was nothing without your invisible hand guiding each melody and verse into perfection. 

In a way that the band and the law society needed you, Beomgyu realized—albeit with denial and extreme hesitance—that he needed you as well. Without your presence, he couldn’t care less about his academic performance. Nothing mattered when the certainty of him being at the top was secured. The astonishing irony behind all this was that, in some ways, he did ask for this. He did ask to become number one in everything, and yet he failed to realize that perhaps being number one in itself was never something he could ever be. 

The reason he got this far was because of his intense rivalry with his brother. For as long as he could remember, he was always vying for attention from his parents—practically pleading to be seen as anything but his brother’s shadow. Then, it was the several rivals he’d encountered in school once his brother was off to university. They were no match against your unyielding nature, but he would be lying to himself if they didn’t push him to further heights. 

Competition was something that he was always surrounded with, and with you gone, he didn’t know where to start. Nothing mattered to him anymore, and he hated that feeling more than hating you. 

For someone that prided himself in intelligence, he certainly fell short of common sense. Throughout all his years of trying to chase after your success and your achievements, he wasn’t ready for the loneliness and emptiness that would overtake him once he reached the top. Maybe that was why you decided to play in a band, even if doing so would result in parental disapproval. Sure, he didn’t know your life story, but that was at least what stopped him from starting his own band in high school.

What the fuck are you thinking, you bastard. Starting a band? In high school? This is why your brother was always better, Beomgyu-yah. 

“Shut up, Dad,” He whispered, remembering all of the GPS trackers laced on his phone and the strict curfew he had to maintain in his teenage years. Even if he knew nothing about you, it was perhaps the freedom and carelessness you had in you that made him envious of everything you had. To him, you were the epitome of a life he could’ve lived had he not been born into his so-called family—a breath of fresh air that tempted him with the fruits of liberation and rebellion. 

In some ways, he loathed you because he idolized you. He wanted to be you in any shape or form. That was, of course, until he rested his eyes on each news headline that managed to damage your reputation bit by bit. 

KIM & LEE LLC’S GOLDEN HEIRESS DEMOTED AND DISOWNED FROM THE FAMILY TRADE: HER SECRETS ARE REVEALED

The news came out roughly three months ago, right after he caught a glimpse of your brother making a call to the university’s board of directors. A part of him wished that you would fight back the same way you did whenever Beomgyu would cuss you out or make your life a living hell—because to him, you were always a fighter. 

He was aware that hospitals could change a person from the moment they entered into its sanitized walls, but he wanted to believe that you weren’t privy to its wicked curse. Above all the families that wept and got their morale weakened by an undesired diagnosis, an incurable disease, or an exorbitant bill that took a lifetime to pay back, he was sure you were immune to it all, keeping a headstrong demeanor in any situation. 

But all rich children were doomed the moment they were born, and you were just like him, a victim of circumstance. 

All he could do now was to continue dialing your phone number, even if the reply he got was the same, automated, female voice that told him your digital existence was erased from its archives. 

I’m sorry, but your call cannot be completed at this time. Please try again later. 

What if he gave you a chance? What if he got to know you instead of letting his bitterness get the best of him? Could things have been different between the two of you? Or would the rivalry persist in a different, more amiable form? Flashes of images were reflected in the large, bathroom mirror that he constantly gazed at, and in these times of automated mundanity between attending classes and fulfilling his new duties as the de facto president of the law society, all he could see was your smiling silhouette imprinted on the chair that he occupied, telling him again and again that he didn’t belong there. 

He contemplated visiting your father, but the nurse at the reception would always get back to him about your absence. You hadn’t visited him since the day your family withdrew you from university, and now, he didn’t know where you were. The band refused to talk to him altogether, and Heeseung hadn’t been to the basement since he quit his job at the pizza place. Sungchan’s whereabouts were also unknown, and whenever he would bump into Geonu in the hallways, he was met with firm resistance. 

“Don’t talk to me unless you’ve figured out a way to fix this entire mess.” The lead singer’s voice looped in his head. 

Beomgyu didn’t believe in a lot of things, but now, he believed in one thing and one thing only: Pillars and foundations of a building can be broken, but they can also be repaired. If you were what kept everything from falling apart, then maybe it was his fate to be the carpenter that rebuilt all the things that he had managed to destroy. Donning the same, neon red hair dye and scuffed combat boots, he decided to live out his life as the boy who simply wanted to see his favorite band play one, final show in the place where he knew he could be himself, free of the shackles that bound him in a life of academic rigor, a lack of identity, and an endless battle of finally finding who he truly was.

“So you weren’t joking about Dad giving the trust to his secretary instead of us, his goddamn kids…” You remember saying to your brother when you saw your father laying unconscious in the hospital bed. To you, your father was a figure of utmost respect and order, someone who didn’t suit the strings and tubes of IV drips and an oxygen mask. He was an innovator, a natural leader that was always meant to stay seated right in the middle of everything—whether it was the dining table or the main meeting room of Kim & Lee LLC. It was your first time seeing him outside of his usual pristine, tidy suit, and you didn’t know what to feel about the sudden change in appearance. Sure, he has aged, but even in old age, you had at least expected him to live and fight for his life for ten more years, still donning a black, expensive suit with utmost pride. 

“Isn’t this ridiculous?” Your brother replied, crossing his arms. The one thing that separated you from your brother was how difficult his expression was to read. Even in the face of adversary and doubt, he always managed to carry with him an aura of unyielding demonstration, refusing to display his woes on his sleeve. 

“Yeah, I guess,”

“You know, I never wanted to consider you as a part of the family,” 

“I know,”

“But this is a crucial time for all of us, and—”

“So what? Are you gonna create a fucking coalition of sorts within the family and try to sue Dad? The current owner and founder of the firm?”

It didn’t even scathe you one bit that your brother had, for the first time, openly shown his disdain towards you. It was always evident in the way he would avoid you around the house, never uttering a single word to you unless it had something to do with your academic achievements or the future of the firm. When your father announced that his solid line of succession had been broken by your existence, your brother moved out to America, only coming back when news broke that your father’s health was waning. It had always been that way since the two of you were children; the two of you were only siblings by family name and nothing more. 

“If it’s several against one, old man, I’m sure we’ll win,” He coldly stated, flipping through several documents that outlined the future of the firm. There were many things you hated about your family, and your brother was the best example of why that was the case. Even if you refused to believe it, the opportunistic trait that carried your family’s name for generations was a genetic plight that even you couldn’t escape. 

“Don’t you even have a shred of humanity within you? That’s our Dad, and he’s dying!” 

“You didn’t look like you cared enough to arrive at the hospital on time,”

I was spending time with my friends! The only people who cared about me! You kept your mouth closed, demonstrating a pensiveness that only the law society and Beomgyu have seen you perfected. As always, your brother’s lips were pressed in a firm, thin line, eyes never acknowledging your existence. To him, the papers were more important than whatever was in front of him. 

“You didn’t look like you cared enough to even be there,” You retorted, mimicking the same nonchalance that soon became your family’s trademark. 

“My point exactly,” He hummed. “You know how terrible he was to us when we were children, right?”

“That doesn’t excuse ousting him from his position, though,”

“If his so-called leadership and stubbornness is what’s bringing the firm down, then I think it’s about time he left his post,”

“And you’re telling me that you’re the better alternative?” 

It was one thing to admit that your brother was right, but it was another to acknowledge him as the next best option in the line of succession. Despite your father’s rather tumultuous decisions that came as a result of senility and burgeoning egoism, he was a natural at micromanagement. Even in his old age, he still commanded an air of elitism that only leaders had. Your brother, on the other hand, lacked such charisma. For all his smarts and his efforts, he simply didn’t have it in him to wield the same charm and authority that your father did in his younger years. Even if he was a spitting image of him, there was no denying that the resemblance was only in the skin. For what your father had in terms of innate control and governance, your brother fell short of such defining qualities. While you had made a name for yourself as a promising air, he was forever tainted in the tabloids as your father’s shadow, forever chasing behind the outline of his pointed shoulders. 

“Well, I mean—”

“Shut the fuck up,” You spat. “I got better grades than you when you were a kid. I was first place in everything, and you were second at best. I attend the best school in the country, and, as always, you got rejected, opting for inferior schools. I’m already getting offers to attend law school in Ivy League institutions, while you had to beg your professors for a recommendation letter to even try to get into Columbia or Yale. You had your first internship at our company? Motherfucker, I worked at Morgan & Stanley Korea when I was nineteen. You think you’re the only alternative? You think you’re the next best option? Grow the fuck up and sit down. You’re just lucky to be where you are right now because you’re Daddy’s first.”

Now, three months later, you wished you could say more—not to your brother, but to your unconscious father lying down on his eventual deathbed. You wanted to cuss him out; you wanted to tell him how horrible he was; you wanted to plug his life support off then and there; you wanted to maul him into pieces; you wanted to slap him the same way he did when you would do every little thing to disappoint him; you wanted to take all his money and run away; you wanted him to experience the same pain and suffering of being a bastard child that should have never been born in the first place. 

But, by doing so, you were admitting defeat. You were succumbing to an ideal scenario of revenge that would leave you unsatisfied even when your father would die on the spot. As much as it tempted you to destroy him when he was chained by his disease, you were in the game long enough to know that there was a better life out there waiting for you—a life of a true winner. You’ve wasted your entire existence on being the perfect heiress, but now, it was time for change. Now that you were disowned, you were free, and in your eyes, this was a victory in disguise. 

And luck would have it that your pleas for freedom would be answered in a single phone call that sealed the deal. 

“We just got a deal from DooRooDooRoo, they got back to us about the record deal,” Geonu had called you a month later, when you were spending every single day under the comforts of your duvet. Back then, you couldn’t even tell that a month had passed, because everything had remained frozen in time. Each passing sunrise and sunset meant nothing to you when seeing your father’s bedridden image would always feel like yesterday. In a sense, time had been completely difficult to track, and you opted for stopping your clocks altogether, tearing off the calendar in your apartment, and replacing it with its original white walls. You didn’t think that the newfound sparseness of your apartment would worsen the lagging of time that hazed your entire being, but it didn’t matter to you. You were out of school, and you didn’t have a schedule to follow anymore. Why place a calendar on the wall when all the dates are merged into one? 

“What do you mean record deal?” You replied, keeping the phone on speaker to hear his voice. “Geon, we’re a cover band, I doubt they’d even want to sign us because we didn’t send them an original demo,”

Truthfully, the only thing that made the time pass was when you were in front of the electric drum kit in your room, replaying the same songs that once brought you joy in the basement that you managed to call your sanctuary. You contemplated leaving your apartment to visit it once in a while, but there was something in you that didn’t allow you to face Geonu, Sungchan, and Jeongin. What were you going to say to them? They already knew everything the moment the tabloids embarked on a journey of defamation, bearing their voracious fangs on another opportunity—a good story that would destroy the stronghold of your family’s empire. All they needed to know were in the headlines of each news article that was displayed on their television screens and their phones. If Geonu was right about signing a record deal with one of Korea’s biggest indie labels, then it would be bad press to have a fallen heiress as its core member. 

“I sent them the track you worked on,” He stated an amalgamation of static breaching your ears. He was definitely in the basement—most likely alone. The day you disappeared, Sungchan had also gone missing, turning off all his devices and blocking off any form of contact. The same could be said for Jeongin, sans the drastic effort to cut all ties with everyone else. You could still get a hold of him, but it would be in inconsistent lapses of time where he would either sound groggy or overtly happy—nothing in between, and especially nothing like his usual self when he was active in the band. Word had reached your ears from his roommate that Jeongin was admitted to the psychiatric ward a few weeks ago, the culprit being psychosis and his sudden relapse into the same, old habits that marred him in his younger years. 

Ironically, the news you would get from the people that you usually surrounded yourself with when you were a student didn’t come from themselves, but rather, from Beomgyu. Even if you didn’t answer his incessant calls, he would always leave you a voice note every day, detailing his new life as the president of the law society, the current status of your bandmates, and even little tidbits of his life. Without fail, he would always send these in at around six in the evening, making that hour the only way you could tell time. Before you knew it, you kept your watch active, setting an alarm with your smart home monitor to alert you whenever the hour was coming. Then, you would hide under your covers, pressing your cheeks on the cool, glass surface of your phone to hear his voice. Sometimes, you would close your eyes, watching fleeting images of a life that could’ve stayed intact had your father not succumbed to old age. Beomgyu had the voice of a narrator, and each description and detail he provided painted a picture of fragmented memories that felt distant yet so far away. 

“What?” You screeched. You didn’t know how to talk to Geonu, and it was a shame that someone you played music with every day suddenly felt like a total stranger. You were too used to Beomgyu’s soothing voice giving you a glimpse of the outside world, that it didn’t occur to you that the current phone call you were having wasn’t a product of one of Beomgyu’s scheduled voice messages.  

“The track that was in our drafts like, before you went MIA,”

“You mean Carpe Diem? That’s just something I wrote when I was bored, though,”

There were too many sessions in the basement that led to unfinished songs and fragmented drafts, but there was one, concrete product out of all the practices you’ve had as Joker In that never left your head. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact date of writing and actively composing the song, but it was certainly around your sixth or seventh night as Joker In when you began to voice more of your creative inputs into the musical journey that Geonu commanded. 

It was perhaps around the summer season when Jeongin had just replaced Felix as the new bassist of the band. You were sitting on a draft that you had carried with you since high school with your covert experimentations with the adolescent underground music scene. The song was obviously incomplete, but you had the drum track narrowed down to perfection after years of working on it and rearranging some of the fills and sections, experimenting with complex time signatures while retaining a certain sense of replayability that many radio-friendly songs had. At first, it was just a side project that you conjured up after Beomgyu had challenged you to write a song. It may have counted as cheating to repurpose a draft that you made before meeting him, but so long as you changed and updated the song, then it could’ve counted as a new song. By then, you were still on shaky terms with Sungchan, so you opted to ask Geonu to play both the rhythm and lead sections of the guitar. Felix had happily worked on the bass when he was still in Korea, changing a few things here and there to suit his rather intricate playing style. You had worked with Geonu for a few weekends to complete the lyrical bits of the song, but each draft left you in an uninspired mess. Being eloquent in your essays and your courses certainly didn’t translate well into poetry, and even Geonu’s longtime experience with writing lyrics couldn’t quell the dissatisfaction you had with the piece. 

That was until you decided to write your frustrations about Beomgyu, matching up each word, rhyme, and cadence with the tune that you believed you had perfected. You showed Geonu the first draft, solidifying your efforts with his nod of approval. He worked on rearranging a few words to fit the bridge and the chorus, and then, the song was suddenly scrapped. You didn’t know if it was because the band got busy with a surge of live shows and activities, or if you just didn’t want to work on the song any longer. All you knew was that by the time you decided to let go of the song, Beomgyu had replaced your brother and the rest of your family as enemy number one, making the song a daily reminder of him and his deplorable antics. 

“Well, Sungchan completed his bits and covered Jeongin’s bass parts. I sang through it with some of the lyrics I came up with when I was listening to the initial track,”

“Wait… you got a hold of Sungchan?”

Sungchan's whereabouts were kept under wraps since the day you left the hospital and your university for good. At first, you tried to call him, but his number was non-existent on the third ring. Text messages led to nowhere, and his account on Kakao had been defunct when you checked the band’s group chat. The only remnant of his identity was left in Beomgyu’s daily voice messages to you, where he speculated that he might have gone back home somewhere in Seoul.

“I saw someone who might have looked like Sungchan at the station near Mapo-gu today, but I could be wrong. These days, high schoolers are basically giants now, and it’s pretty hard to tell, but I’m still searching for him nonetheless. Did you know? He chased after me when I tried to go to the hospital to see you. We had a long conversation by the vending machine, and then, he just disappeared like that. I think I owe him a lot, really, and if it weren’t for him, then I doubt I’d have the conscience to make things right. Once again, I’m sorry for being a coward that could only apologize through these stupid voice messages. You deserve so much more than that, and even if you don’t wanna see me, the least I could do is try to make amends. You can forget about me after that, but I just wanted you to know that I never hated you—really. I did say that a lot, and Heeseung might disagree, but I don’t think I hated you. I think it was a bit of the opposite.”

You could vividly picture the outlines of Beomgyu and Sungchan by the vending machine near Jeongin’s apartment, sharing a drink or two as they talked about the sudden turn of events. Without Geonu, who often brought out the best and the worst in him, Sungchan was the diplomatic type who disliked conflict. You were aware of him giving warnings here and there to Beomgyu whenever you would storm off from a heated argument with him, but you didn’t know that he would go to such lengths to make things right—and now, the only trace you had of who you could finally call your best friend was in the images that Beomgyu would leave in his voice notes and an unknown text message that read I got rejected. 

“It’s a long story, but he signed the deal. You’re the only one that needs to sign it—of course, if you want to. I mean, I know how much your career and all that matters to you, so it’s no pressure. If you want, I can—”

“I’m signing it,” 

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m signing it,” You repeated without preamble. Back then, music was just a hobby for you—a way to escape the fast-paced, yet unchanging life of perfecting your image as the ideal candidate to lead your former family’s firm. In your younger years, the thought of pursuing music full-time and escaping the legal field to attend a music college in the heart of Seoul had plagued you, but you let the only thing you’ve known your entire life take over. Now that the foundations of your identity were shackled, you believed it was high time for you to rebuild everything you had lost in the process, facing forward to a newfound pursuit instead of constantly staying in the present. 

“Damn…” You could hear Geonu slowly sniffle in the distance as if he were right next to you. The empty walls of your bedroom had suddenly transformed into the decrepit, unpainted cement that lined the basement. The scent of rotting, molding pizza and lukewarm beer wafted your nose, bringing you back to the sanctuary that you would now call your one, true home. 

“What?”

“I just… You know… it’s been a while since we’ve last seen you, and I just didn’t expect you to sign the deal…”

Now, you could tell that Geonu was crying—something he never did in front of anyone unless he was drunk enough to let his tear ducts do the job. You took the phone away from your cheek, taking your comforter to dab a few splotches of wet tears that slowly trickled down your face. 

“Well, a lot can happen in three months. I’m not in school anymore, I’ve been disowned, and I’m out of the line of succession. I’ve been given an apartment and some hush money to do whatever the fuck I want, and my so-called family has nothing to do with me anymore. I’m free to choose whatever I wanna do, and I think I’d like to tour with you guys for the rest of my life. I never thought I’d be saying this, but fuck, man. I need you guys.” 

“I could say the same for you, asshole. Now quit moping around and get your ass in the studio. We’ll be recording and perfecting our debut album until we can all get a house in Europe and live with fast cars, big houses, and a nice life on the hillside.”

“Sounds like a cult or something,”

“Joker In is basically a cult, and we’re nothing without our founding member, so hurry up and get your ass to the studio. Now.” Before you ended the call, you could hear Geonu’s wide smile welcoming you back to the studio. You ended the call and tossed your phone on your bed, taking your bag of weary drum sticks with you. The map that led to the basement was entrenched in your head, and for the first time, you kicked your sneakers back onto the soles of your feet, jingling the keys to your apartment between your fingers as you heard the click that confirmed the safety of your house. You didn’t even check to see if the door was fully locked. None of that mattered when you were finally coming home.

Sungchan had told you personally that Geonu rejected him in the most “Geonu” way possible. A few days after the band’s reunion in the basement, he had invited you for coffee in one of the cafes near campus. At first, you wanted to change the location of your meeting. After all, being seen as a dropout was the last thing you wanted in your gradual return to life. However, the curiosity within you didn’t seem to die down when you breathed in the air of young adulthood and fast-paced trains. The cafe had always been there since you were a first year, and yet it had only occurred to you now to visit it and see what it had to offer. 

It was a quick, heartfelt conversation between slices of apple crumble and hot cups of warm, camomile tea. He didn’t even give you a greeting; he just sat you down and told you that Geonu didn’t like him back. 

“He said it was to keep the band intact, but I’m sure that’s just his way of telling me that he still wanted me in his life—you know? Even if he didn’t like me that way,”

You would’ve expected an underlying tension in the room during your first few practice sessions with the band, but the moment you entered the basement, everything was left as it was. The rotting boxes of pizza continued to collect mold and mildew, dyeing everything in a murky shade of green. All of the instruments collected dust—a remnant of a time when everything was actively used. Curled ends of guitar strings were strewn on the floor, uncleaned and unscathed since the moment everyone decided to take a break from the basement’s security. The only thing that struck you as a testament to time was how clean the abandoned house looked, perhaps due to a lack of usage. Conversations persisted the way they usually did, and before you knew it, everything was back to normal. Jeongin looked thinner than usual, but he had the same, bright aura of joy and the same passion for Eurovision that he did as before. Sungchan and Geonu continued to bicker in the same manner that they always did, letting the elephant in the room stay dormant. There was no awkward tension or uncomfortable silence that engulfed the entire band, and before you knew it, Joker In was coming closer and closer to perfecting their debut album. 

Today was a different story. There was an announcement by Geonu that practice would commence as usual, and it was granted that there would be a couple of sleepovers in the basement since the deadline to pitch your demo to the label was coming to a close. Being one of the more punctual bandmates out of the rest, you decided to show up an hour earlier, carrying several backpacks filled with toiletries, instant food, and a comforter that held you in your worst breaks. 

“Guys?” You called, only to hear your voice bounce back to you. 

It was normal to hold pranks in the studio, but hide and seek wasn’t the band’s forte. Even if Geonu used his height to his advantage and crept behind small cracks of furniture and large amplifiers, you would always manage to find his mop of hair sticking out in the distance. Sungchan’s footsteps were too loud to ignore, and Jeongin was terrible at keeping his laughter at bay. None of those remnants of your bandmates was present in the studio, and all you could do was heave a sigh at the fact that they might be late. 

Then, there was an eerie feeling that began to consume you. No matter how many times you’ve run up and down the entire house to see if anyone was there, you were left with an empty feeling of solitude, even if you were sure that you weren’t the only one in the building. There was an unshakable presence that made it too difficult for you to ignore, and after ceaselessly checking the same hiding spots again and again, you decided to halt your search altogether and give up. Heeseung often joked about the basement’s ideal location as a horror movie set, so maybe he was right about a few lost souls from the war that lurked in the corners of the basement. 

“You know, this place could have been a burial ground or something, right?” You remembered him saying amidst a flurry of smoke from his bong. Perhaps he was right, and it was about time that you coined yourself a believer of the paranormal. Dropping out of school and throwing away your potential degree was the last thing you imagined, so if the unpredictable managed to stir your life in a completely different direction, then maybe ghosts did exist. Right? 

“Hey…” A voice that only existed within your phone’s voice messages popped up behind your ears. You managed to let out a shrill shriek, quickly turning around to see a man with bright, red hair. His black nails were chipped to the edges, and his dark, grey jeans were distressed to reveal his protruding knees. The scuff marks on his combat boots were accentuated by the dull luster of leather that shone in the sunlight that seeped into the basement. 

“Oh, hi there,” You replied, clearing your throat as you collected yourself. It didn’t occur to you that three months could change anyone this drastically, but seeing your former rival in an outfit that didn’t suit him eased all of the apprehension that was built up in your system. 

“I know I’m the last person you want to see right now,” Beomgyu whispered. You weren’t used to seeing him so solemn, and you certainly couldn’t shake the dissonance in the calmness that he exuded. Even if you hadn’t seen Beomgyu in a while, you always associated him with a ball of anger that threatened to explode at any second, and now, the only thing that resembled his fiery passion was the bright, poorly dyed red dye that stained his head. 

“Well, not really. You’re up there, don’t get me wrong, but you’re definitely below my half-brother, my father, and basically every single person in my family.” You said with a small, awkward smile. 

“Oh, well, that’s good to know, I guess?” Beomgyu asked. He expected you to question his disguise or his presence, but perhaps you weren’t as dense as he thought. Maybe you knew who he was right from the start, even in your drunken state when you decided to send him home from a gig that felt like ancient history. 

“Did your brother tell you what happened?”

“No, but your face was all over the internet for a while. Some tabloids saying Kim & Lee LLC’s star daughter had been removed from the line of succession after it’s been exposed that you were in the underground music scene,”

“Jesus…” You couldn’t help but laugh. “Out of all the reasons that they could’ve chosen, they chose that,”

“Yeah…” His voice was barely a whisper now, and he stuffed his hands in his jean pockets, the same way he did when he nervously walked home with you from the bus stop. “I also heard that your band got signed.”

“Through Heeseung?”

“No, through Sungchan actually,”

“Wow, I never expected him to talk to you like that,”

“I know, right?” 

The light in Beomgyu’s eyes had disappeared, mellowing him out into a completely different person. Now that you had the chance to think about it, his newfound rebellious look suited him more when he would incessantly curse at you and call you by all of the profanities that the Korean language had to offer. The clean-cut, professional air of arrogance that he carried was reserved for the silent meekness that Beomgyu now exuded. 

“So, why are you here?” You asked. 

“The boys told me you were coming,”

“Ah…”

You checked the group chat and saw a flurry of texts from the rest of your bandmates detailing their tardiness. Geonu never went to the music shop since he would usually borrow instruments and equipment from his vast network of student musicians, and Sungchan was never the type to be late over a visit to the record store. Jeongin was a bad liar, and it was evident in his texting patterns that he tried his best to cover everything up with a rather believable excuse of waking up late from a nap. 

“They set us up, didn’t they?” You scoffed. Beomgyu slowly nodded—the confirmation that you needed to finally piece everything together. 

“I mean, three-ish years of basically wanting to kill each other needs to come to an end at some point, right? And it’s not like I’m graduating since I’ve already dropped out of uni…”

Beomgyu continued to fidget with the edges of his pockets, whistling a low, barely audible tune as he lightly kicked the can of empty beer that landed on the sole of his combat boots. When the can rolled over to your feet, you returned it to him with a stronger kick, initiating a simple game of soccer that allowed Beomgyu to display his years of practice in the varsity team. 

“I quit the Law Society, and I also quit the debates team.” Beomgyu interrupted, keeping the can to himself instead of kicking it back to you. He began to do a few tricks and keepy-ups, stopping at the fifth pass to kick the can back to you. 

“Oh,”

“I’m off student clubs for a while, and I’m just focused on getting my degree,”

“What happened to the Choi Beomgyu who wanted to be the best at everything?” You retorted with a grin, turning the can into an impromptu volleyball. 

“You get to a certain point where none of that even matters anymore, really.”

“Oh?” 

“Yeah…”

Now, the can was on the ground. You kicked it into a nearby corner and used your bag as a seat, taking your comforter out to wrap yourself around its soft surface. Beomgyu hesitated before joining you on the floor, maintaining a sense of empty space between the two of you. Your eyes traced the thin, sheer curtains that flowed back and forth with the gust of wind that cooled the basement, tracing its trajectory until your eyes landed on Beomgyu’s lonesome outline. 

“Wanna… you know? Talk about it?” You asked, wrapping the comforter tighter around your shoulders. 

“I think we should talk about you first,” He replied with a smile that used to be reserved for everyone else apart from you. 

“Right… Well, I’ve been disowned! Yay!”

“You’re a full-time musician now, though,”

“Another yay!”

The basement had always been a place where you would escape Beomgyu for the simple reason that people like him brought you back to the familial infighting that plagued your childhood. It was a place reserved for music and music only, not a place to recall the copious amounts of studying and perfectionism that you allowed yourself to suffer through in your three-year rivalry with him. You would’ve never imagined that one day, you would be able to share this place with someone like him, but something about having him sit a couple of spaces next to you as you caught up with him felt right, rendering the intensity and tension that you associated with him into an evaporating mist. 

“Man, you’re actually funny,” He said behind a light chuckle. 

“And you’re actually pretty nice behind all your stupid dick jokes,” You retorted with the same, gentle sentiment. You took a can of lemon seltzer out of your bag and tossed it in his direction. He caught it mid-air and gave you an even brighter smile, glassy eyes scanning through the can with awe and nostalgia as he opened it and took its nectarine contents between his lips. 

“Anyway, what about you? What’s going on?” You asked, taking a water bottle out and twisting the cap open. 

“I think I’m gonna stick to being a lawyer, but I’m definitely staying out of the family drama,” Beomgyu replied. The can of lemon seltzer was now on the ground. 

“I thought big pharma and the medical industry didn’t have as much fun as we do in the private sector,”

“After I kind of got over my brother being cut out for the job more than I did, I just felt the need to stop being bitter. I mean, it’s whatever. I don’t really care anymore about my parents telling me that I’m basically a disgrace to the Choi name. I overcomplicated my entire life by focusing on that the moment I started breathing, and I think it’s about damn time I act like a fucking lawyer and defend myself from them instead of constantly looking to them for approval.”

“That’s not a very Choi Beomgyu thing to say,” You laughed, rolling the water bottle until it knocked over his can of lemon seltzer. Its contents began pouring out into the wooden floorboards, and you knew Geonu was going to scold you about it later. 

“Well, the Choi Beomgyu now is not the same as the Choi Beomgyu three months ago,” He replied with a smile, as if to tell you that he’d stick around to help you clean up the mess once everyone else arrived. 

“I still don’t get why you hated me so much though,” 

If Beomgyu were to apologize to you at the hospital or right after the Eurovision watch party, you weren’t sure if you had it in you to forgive him. This wasn’t out of the bitterness and pent-up grudges that you managed to hold onto for so long, but rather, it was more so out of your own pride. You were sure that you would take his apology as is and never speak to him again out of a failure to admit that you, too, had crossed the line when you brought out the same traumas surrounding his own family and his brother. 

Three months of silence was all it took for you to admit that a three-year rivalry felt like a childish game. In essence, the two of you were one and the same, both marred by the heavy expectations of generational wealth and status. Even if there were slight differences in your respective stories, perhaps the intense hostility that characterized the two of you came from the same place—one that made it rather difficult to see each other as equals or separate people. You didn’t know if Beomgyu felt the same, but the peak of your aggression with him certainly came from a hidden, inner dilemma that came from seeing yourself in Beomgyu’s glassy, beady eyes. 

“I actually came down here to explain all that, to be honest—then again, I already feel like I did it pretty well when I talked about my brother and whatnot.”

“Some sort of innate, deep-seated inferiority complex since you were always compared to everyone around you?” You retorted and whistled, prompting Beomgyu to muster a dejected nod in your direction. 

“Yeah, that.”

You know, I had the same thing with my own brother too. Crazy, right? You thought but kept those words to yourself. Words weren’t needed between the two of you anymore; you knew him long enough to understand that he could probably guess what was on your mind. 

“Can I be honest?” You interrupted, taking your comforter and tossing it between his lap. You shuffled closer until the space between the two of you ceased to exist. Beomgyu reluctantly nodded again and took your blanket in his palms, feeling through its seams as he stared at the setting sun. 

“I thought you already were,”

“Well, I mean, really honest.”

“Shoot,”

“I actually knew you were sneaking into our gigs.”

A part of Beomgyu wanted to get up and run out of the basement, but another part of him knew that he should’ve trusted his gut from the start. Though he was aware of socially dense, book-smart academics, he was sure you weren’t of the sort. From managing the law society with impeccable leadership down to being a core member of a band, he knew deep down that adept communication and management skills came with social awareness. Nonetheless, he took the confession with ease, admiring the events at the night bus with a newfound perspective. 

“I played dumb because I didn’t wanna ruin things for you, you know? Music is something that brings people together, and I can understand that in some ways, being in this basement was a safe space for you—some sort of escape from all the bullshit that your parents put you through,” You explained, heaving a sigh as you kicked the now empty can of lemon seltzer towards the same corner where the crushed, dented beer can had landed. 

“And at first, I thought you weren’t so bad. I mean, you actively came to our shows even if, for whatever reason, you hated me at school. I think my thing about the entire ordeal is how I can’t wrap my head around you being so mean to me.”

He always knew you were honest, but he didn’t think you would be honest in such a raw, authentic way—especially with him. 

“Like I’ve said, the Beomgyu three months ago is a different Beomgyu. I didn’t really know how to process the grudges I’d held against my parents since I was kid, so I guess I took it out on the people I’ve been compared to,” He replied, after a few seconds of silent pondering. 

“Is that really it?” You asked, repeating his pensiveness with your own rendition of a long, drawn-out pause. 

“Yeah, that’s it, I guess,”

“Are you sure?”

“What are you trying to say?”

You grabbed your comforter and tossed it into his face, running behind the drum kit in anticipation of an attack. Instead of seeing your comforter fly across the studio, however, Beomgyu remained still, slowly taking off the cotton blanket and neatly folding it into a pile beside your backpack. 

“That you were obsessed with me,” You finally joked. The sun had completely set, and there were no signs of your bandmates coming into the basement anytime soon. Heaving a sigh of relief, you took a seat on the stool that saw the best of your musical abilities, grabbing a thin, 7A drum stick that was worn down in an amalgamation of splinters and cracks. You twirled each stick around your fingers, humming a light, jazzy beat on your head before hitting the ride cymbal and placing your feet on the hi-hat pedal. 

“You’re not entirely wrong,” Beomgyu retorted, taking a seat on one of the amplifiers as he watched you perform a small solo that reminded him of the bossa nova records that would often leak out of his maid’s earphones.  “I did find you pretty cute, I just wished you didn’t show your cards as a teacher’s pet in our first classes together,”

“Little boy couldn’t handle being bested by a girl?”

“No, more like little boy couldn’t handle being bested by a nepo baby,”

The crash cymbals rang in Beomgyu’s ears, but he didn’t step away from the noise. After hearing your band’s studio sessions on several online music streaming platforms for so long, he couldn’t resist the opportunity of watching you play live in such close proximity. To him, you were surely a one-of-a-kind musician, one that managed to turn senseless beats and fills into a melodic journey. 

“Not anymore!” You yelled, tapping your sticks to the side of the snare drum while kicking the bass drum’s pedal to accentuate each rhythmic interval with timed, yet deeply dispersed vibrations. 

“Ex-nepo baby,” Beomgyu corrected. He wanted to pick the acoustic guitar beside one of the larger amplifiers in the basement, but he resisted the temptation to play alongside you. 

“That’s more like it,” You said with a smile, halting your drum solo and slipping your sticks back into a small, slender bag. Pushing your weight off your stool, you leaned backward until you could reach the hilt of the acoustic guitar, gently handing it over to Beomgyu as you readjusted the towel that lined the entire snare drum. He took it and admired the woodwork, recalling the chords that he had taught himself when he was a teenager that had the ability to dream. 

“So, what do you wanna do?” He asked, bitterly scrunching his nose as the dissonance of untuned strings reverberated in his ears. You tilted your head to the side, but Beomgyu took his palm up in the air to stop you from getting up from your stool again.

Thom Yorke was right, everyone can play the guitar. 

“Can you sing?” You asked, leaning your chin onto your palm while keeping your elbows leveled onto the cotton surface of the towel on top of the snare drum. 

“Sorta?” Beomgyu replied with a shrug. 

“Can you set up the mic on your own?” 

“I think so?” 

“Great, show me what you’ve got. I’m sure being a big fan also means belting out notes like Geonu, right?” Once Beomgyu was confident enough about the tuning of the guitar, he started to strum the chords that lined each stanza to the song you wrote. Instead of playing along, you deepened your trance and kept your eyes on his slouched figure, watching a man that could’ve been a musician with you in a different world. The basement had always been a sanctuary for the two of you, and now, free of all the ills of wealth and familial obligations, you openly shared your secure liberation with him, watching him play a song that was written for him.

EPILOGUE: CARPE DIEM

Wе'll play our love against your hate

Don't you count on us to let you win today

Today

Through the corners of your eyes, you could see Beomgyu in his so-called disguise: bright, long, red hair sprayed on with less than perfect agility and accuracy, torn sleeves that revealed his stick-and-poke tattoos across his arms and chest, ripped jeans to match his long legs, and a pair of combat boots that made his walk turn into awkward waddles between the dance floor and the bar. God forbid you found him attractive in the daylight, but the nighttime brought out a different beast in him. He wasn’t the snobbish, prideful boy that you would bicker with during your law modules; he wasn’t the sharp-tongued asshole you wanted to fight in the middle of the hallways; he wasn’t the man that made you feel less than a woman whenever he unluckily graced you with his presence; he was just Choi Beomgyu—a lost boy under the dark, neon lights of the disco ball of fate that spun the two of you together in a distorted, complicated mosaic of trials and tribulations. 

You wouldn’t dare admit it, but you found him rather attractive from the start. That was the reason why you wanted to catch his attention when you first met him in your first-year orientation. Back then, he had sleek, black hair, trimmed to perfection to explicitly embody his status with a single look. While you presented yourself as the exact opposite of who he used to look like, there was no harm in trying, right? 

Who knew that your lack of courage to speak to him and befriend him from the start would spur a three—almost four-year—rivalry of academic battles and hurt? You certainly didn’t predict it, but perhaps fate worked in wonderful ways, as he was now doing two-steps to a song that you wrote, composed, and poured all your heart into. 

A song about Choi Beomgyu. 

We danced and played until the sun came

Writing a story using our names

About a generation not afraid to seize the day

Geonu’s voice was the perfect touch to the lyrical prose and intricacies you communicated through the song. It was sweet, yet packed a pang of pain in each syllable—something that you always applauded him for. What made his performance better was how it made Beomgyu’s wasted presence look like an angel—as if Geonu’s voice was the spell you needed to finally see the man as a divine, untouchable being in your eyes. The test lights of all different colors glowed like a halo on the crown of Beomgyu’s head, and with the last cymbal to end the song, you immediately got up and dove to the crowd, throwing your drum sticks behind as your lips grazed the man you’ve hated for the past three years. 

Beomgyu couldn’t tell if he was too drunk or if he’s waited for this moment since he saw you on the edge of the row at an introductory elective he chose to fill his schedule, but he took your arms in his in one, fell swoop, catching you in your fall with the sturdiness of his grip. In an instant, all of the feelings he had for you blended into a single word: love. 

Who knew that hate was not the opposite of love? He certainly didn’t. In a sense, he should’ve listened to Heeseung from the start and swallowed his stubborn pride—then again, he also knew that life didn’t work that way. At this moment, he thanked his unyielding nature for allowing him to be with you for three, long years. Even if there was an incessant voice within him that complained about the prospects of being with you earlier had he not been so difficult, there was an equal part of happiness within him that was completely satisfied with the way things were. Chance worked in wonderful, albeit unpredictable ways, and maybe if he didn’t hate you so much, he wouldn’t even know of your existence from the start. 

The crowd around the two of you cheered as they watched you engulf Beomgyu in another, languid embrace. Their voices were mere whispers filtered with the booming sound of Geonu’s speech in the microphone and Sungchan’s own guitar solos; all you could see was Beomgyu’s angelic face between your soft, sweaty palms. The rush of adrenaline that usually came with playing shows was now replaced with the gentle hums that echoed across the cages of your chest, aching with a pulsating pain that threatened to implode inside of you. 

“You’re such a loser,” Beomgyu whispered, taking the back of your hands in his as he caressed the surface of your knuckles with his thumb. You could feel his rapid pulse quicken by the amount of alcohol he consumed, but that didn’t matter. You didn’t need to be inebriated to feel a certain way. 

“Shut up,” You retorted, touching the tip of your nose on his before climbing back up to the stage to finish the song one and for all. 

With the band together, arm in arm, the four of you gave the crowd the last bow you’ll ever give them. Salty tears were shed, roaring claps and cries for an encore were heard in the distance, and the only person in your eyes was Beomgyu, who was sober enough to stand still and spill his drink in your face. In return, you blew him a kiss and threw a single drum stick in his direction, watching him effortlessly catch it and twirl it between his fingers. As the chants for an encore grew louder, you stared at each of your sweat-ridden bandmates—all of them nodding at the last request. 

“Alright, assholes,” Geonu began, taking the mic stand apart and throwing it to the side. “You asked for it, so we’ll give you one more performance. One more, yeah?” 

Sungchan didn’t even need to play the first chord to the song; Jeongin didn’t need to pluck the strings to his bass; you didn’t need to go back to your drum kit to strike the first beat; Geonu didn’t need a microphone to signal the first note of the song. Everyone knew what the next performance was going to be, and they crowded around the stage, forming a circle with Beomgyu at the center. 

This one’s for you, prick. You mouthed with a wide, ear-to-ear grin on your face. You took a can of lukewarm beer and pierced it right in the middle with your teeth, watching the crowd gaud you to finish it all in one go. Then, you crushed the empty can in your fingers and threw it to the side, rushing back to your band as they all sat on the edge of the stage. 

“You guys know the words to this one, right?” Geonu shouted. The crowd roared with approval and kept their feet still in anticipation despite the hazy inebriation that turned their vision into a mere collection of blurred movements. The alcohol had rushed past your bloodstream and circulated in your head, forming a telescope that pointed to Beomgyu as your one and only North Star. 

Look me straight into the eyes,

When I truthfully lie to you

For a graduation gig, this was perhaps one of the best gifts you could ever ask for. No amount of material desire could replicate the sense of community felt within the tiny, decrepit basement that your band has called home. Now that you’ve thought about it, this basement didn’t seem to belong to your band anymore. It belonged to everyone in the room. Those who wanted to escape a life of mundanity and academic pressures, those who wanted to forget about the time they fucked up their jobs, those who wanted to remember their youths with rose-colored lenses and shagadelic sad boy music, and those who just wanted a place where they could be themselves. The basement was a home—no, a sanctuary—that welcomed everyone with open arms—even the likes of Choi Beomgyu. 

Dreams are of your taste,

Mornings smell like you

You took control of the chorus and screamed to your heart’s content. Everyone’s voices blended into a harmonious blend of heartfelt solidarity. There were people making out in the corner of the bathroom, those that were too drunk to stand and yet muttered the lyrics in the best way they could, and the strongest soldiers of your long setlist remaining still, arm in arm with each other as they continued to sing the lyrics with you and your band. Beomgyu was still in the middle, eyes glued to your swaying figure as you slowly descended from the stage again with a microphone in your hand. 

The compass fails to listen to me,

My lost soul’s wandering,

And searching for the path that leads to you

Geonu, Sungchan, and Jeongin descended the stage too and started interacting with the crowd. You could see Heeseung in the distance waving at you with two joints between his fingers and a girl clad in a bright green apron in his other arm. He gave you a thumbs up and bowed before going to the bar, and you returned his gesture with a fervent scream of gratitude. You then took Beomgyu’s head and ruffled his hair, letting the residue of his red dye stain your palms. 

“So that’s what the song meant,” Beomgyu whispered right next to your ears, watching your panting figure gulp down an entire bottle of water in one go. He took the microphone from your hands and sang the last verse to the of his best abilities, letting his mind scavenge through all the times he’s secretly listened to your band’s discography on Soundcloud. There was no use in pretending he didn’t know any of the words when he’s spent every waking moment listening to Joker In on his commute to and from campus. 

“Yeah, kind of funny, right?” You replied, tossing the empty bottle to a nearby trash can. Beomgyu tossed the microphone back to Geonu, who was now being nursed back to health by Sungchan. You gave the two a nod and took Beomgyu’s hand to leave the confines of the basement. 

Now that the two of you were outside, you breathed in the fresh scent of grass and greeneries that surrounded the abandoned house. The night sky in hues of navy evoked divine iridescence with the hymns of the crickets and fireflies that sparked the outskirts of town into a bright, starlit grove of secrecy. You took another can of beer that you hid inside the pockets of your overalls and crushed it open, offering a sip to Beomgyu once you were finished taking a large gulp. He refused, leaning his tall frame on the unpainted walls of the house. The noise from the basement echoed into the vast, empty skies. Everyone’s voice seemed to repeat the chorus of the song in muffled hums, and you joined their choir with a quiet rendition of your own, humming the song that brought you to Beomgyu in a gentle lullaby. 

The compass fails to listen to me,

My lost soul’s wandering

And searching for the path that leads to

You stared at Beomgyu before finishing the last line of the verse, twirling the cool can of beer between your fingers. It was impossible to hate him under the moonlight. 

“Do you still think I’m that sexy stranger that you almost took home with you from the bus stop?” He asked, craning his neck to look at you with his glassy eyes. 

“Dipshit, we went over this a long time ago. Did you really think I was that stupid?” You replied, returning the rhetoric while fishing for a pack of cigarettes in your pockets. Beomgyu scratched his head and cleared his throat, averting his gaze to meet the destroyed leather of his combat boots. 

“Well, you’re still kind of dense…” 

“A face like yours is difficult to hide, you know? Even with your dumb excuse of a disguise.” 

A light chuckle escaped your lips. Beomgyu always wondered what you’d sound like if you laughed with him instead of laughing without him. Perhaps it was the remnants of alcohol that remained in his bloodstream, or perhaps it was the irresistible, honey-like tone in your voice that made him want to hear you laugh again. 

“Can we start over again?” Beomgyu interrupted. This time, he positioned himself at an angle that made him face you regardless of where his neck was aching to go. You gave him a small smile, followed by a middle finger as you let the fizz of beer emulsify within the confines of your mouth. 

“Seriously? I thought seeing your dumbass play guitar in the studio was already enough?” You replied, letting the embers from your lighter reflect its yellow flames in Beomgyu’s marble-like eyes. 

You were not one to waste a cigarette, but a single puff engulfed you in a woozy feeling of nausea and turbulence. As you stubbed the light out of the long, white stick on the dying grass around it, you turned your attention back on Beomgyu—the most patient he’s been since the two of you first met. Everything with Beomgyu felt long and drawn out, but this time, you didn’t mind. The night was long, and you wanted all the time in the world to start over, even if it meant confessing some of your deepest, dirtiest thoughts to him. 

Carpe diem. Seize the day. 

And so, you did. Beomgyu’s cheeks felt like satin feathers ruffling and tickling each of your fingertips, electrifying you with a gentleness that lulled you closer to him. There was nothing to be afraid of from the start, and even if it took you three years to overcome that unbridled, irrational fear that is Choi Beomgyu, you were nonetheless glad that it was all over. Another day was about to come, and who knows? Maybe Beomgyu wouldn’t be an enemy anymore.

—CREDITS: @writingmochi @gyvhao @chocorenchin @michipan @hsgwrld (hi meg !! also tagging you on this because this is a eurovision fic lMAOO this is vivian on her txt blog btw !!)