mimikittysblog

[mimikittysblog]

WHY IS WOOYOUNG NAKED ON STAGE?!?!!

[mimikittysblog]

She never believed the rumors about the quiet boy behind the café counter—not even when others whispered about gangs and trouble. What she didn’t expect was how much warmth she’d find in him, or how easily he’d let her see the softness beneath his intimidating exterior.

Pairing: Jeong Yunho (ATEEZ) × Reader (f)

Trope(s): strangers-to-lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, “bad boy” with a soft heart, sunshine × misunderstood

Genre: romance, fluff, light angst, slice of life

Featuring: ATEEZ OT8 (supportive chaotic besties), café setting, autumn vibes, occasional reader’s friends adding chaos

Warnings: mild language, heavy kissing, mentions of false rumors, slight sexual content in later chapters, physical abuse and violence

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

The night was quiet as you walked your bike along the narrow street, your scarf tucked snugly against the autumn chill.

It was late, but not uncomfortably so. The air smelled faintly of woodsmoke, and your mind felt… lighter somehow, even after hours of wrestling with stubborn illustrations.

You thought of Yunho staying late to clean and linger near your table. Of the way he’d said, “Text me when you get home.”

Your lips curved faintly.

You were so caught up in the memory that you almost didn’t hear it at first—the sound of laughter.

Sharp. Loud.

It cut through the night like broken glass.

You slowed instinctively, your fingers tightening on your bike handles.

And then you saw them.

A group of guys up ahead, gathered under a flickering streetlamp. Their voices carried easily in the still air, too familiar for comfort.

Your stomach dropped.

Minho.

You’d recognize his smug posture anywhere—the same one from the café weeks ago when he’d shoved Yunho and his friends, when his grip had left a darkening bruise on your shoulder.

And now he was here. Blocking your path.

“Well, well,” Minho drawled as you came closer. His grin was all sharp edges as his eyes raked over you. “If it isn’t Yunho’s little cheerleader.”

You stopped walking but didn’t step back.

“Let me pass,” you said calmly.

“Oh? Polite and brave,” Minho mocked. “But you’re not going anywhere yet. I think you can deliver a message for me.”

You gripped your bike tighter, your heart pounding, but your voice stayed even.

“What message?”

His grin widened, almost amused at your composure.

“Tell your friend Yunho and his little ‘gang’ to watch themselves. They’re playing tough, but it’s only a matter of time before someone teaches them a real lesson.”

You exhaled slowly, forcing your shoulders to stay loose.

“You don’t know them,” you said.

Minho raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t know them,” you repeated. “You’ve already decided what kind of people they are because of rumors and appearances. But if you ever actually took the time to talk to them—”

“Oh, here we go,” Minho interrupted with a scoff, his grin turning sharper. “You’re going to give me a lecture now? About being fair? Cute.”

“I’m saying judging people solely on stereotypes is lazy,” you continued, your tone quiet but steady. “If you really think you’re better than them, maybe act like it. Otherwise, you’re no different from the rumors you’re so eager to spread.”

His eyes narrowed slightly at that, but his grin didn’t falter.

“Wow,” he said mockingly. “You really drank the Kool-Aid, huh? Defending your little boyfriend’s honor.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you said quickly, though your chest betrayed you with a pang. “But at least he and his friends don’t go around intimidating strangers for fun.”

Minho laughed, the sound cold and sharp.

“You’re feisty. I like that,” he said. “But don’t think words will save you.“

“You know,” Minho said, his gaze raking over you in a way that made your skin crawl. “You’re kind of pretty under all those overalls. You could do better than playing house with Yunho’s wannabe gang.”

Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t say anything.

Minho chuckled low in his throat.

“You could be my girlfriend instead,” he said, stepping closer. “I’ll show you what a real man is.”

“Minho…” one of his friends said nervously. He was younger, thinner, his eyes darting between you and his leader. “You’re going too far. Let her go.”

Minho’s grin snapped.

“Shut your mouth.”

The friend opened his mouth again, but Minho swung without warning—his fist connecting with the guy’s jaw with a sickening crack.

The friend stumbled back, clutching his face with a muffled cry.

“Anyone else want to interrupt me?” Minho hissed, his voice low and dangerous.

Your pulse thundered in your ears.

You didn’t flinch.

“You’re proving exactly the kind of person you are,” you said quietly. “And it’s not impressive.”

Minho’s grin returned, sharper than ever.

“You’ve got a mouth on you.”

He took another step closer, so close now you could smell the sharp tang of cheap cologne.

“You really think Yunho and his boys are gonna save you?”

The two other guys flanked him, their presence closing the circle tight around you.

You tightened your grip on your bike, your fingers aching.

Your pulse roared in your ears as Minho stepped closer, his shadow falling across your face in the flickering lamplight.

You saw the younger guy—the one Minho had punched—stumble to his feet, clutching his jaw. His eyes met yours for a split second, wide with something like guilt.

And then he ran.

His footsteps faded fast into the night.

“Scared him off,” Minho muttered with a humorless chuckle. “Coward.”

You tightened your grip on your bike, willing your voice to stay steady even as your heart thudded painfully.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Don’t I?” Minho murmured.

His hand shot out, gripping your chin firmly—not rough enough to bruise, but enough to make you flinch.

“Such a pretty little thing,” he said, his grin curling cruelly. “You’ve got fire, I’ll give you that. I like girls with fire.”

His thumb brushed your cheek like a mockery of tenderness.

“I could take good care of you, Y/N. Better than Yunho ever could. Why waste your time on some wannabe tough guy when I can give you the real thing?”

Your stomach twisted, but you forced yourself not to look away.

“You’re not a real man,” you said softly.

Minho’s grin faltered for a split second. Then it came back sharper, his fingers tightening slightly against your jaw.

“ I might have to teach you some manners.”

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

“Two months and you still haven’t asked for her on a date?”

Mingi’s voice was full of mock outrage as he sprawled across the café booth.

“Pathetic,” San said with a grin, sipping his iced coffee. “You’re hopeless, hyung.”

Yunho shook his head, trying not to smile. “You two are idiots.”

“Maybe,” Mingi said. “But we’re idiots who would’ve already asked her out.”

San wiggled his eyebrows. “You like her, admit it.”

Yunho sighed, setting down his rag.

Before he could answer, the bell above the café door clattered violently, banging against the frame.

Yunho glanced up from the counter just as a figure stumbled inside—barely more than a shadow at first. The guy’s breathing was ragged, loud in the quiet café, and the sharp tang of blood hit Yunho’s nose before his brain even processed the rest.

His clothes were rumpled, his lip split and bleeding, one hand pressed against his jaw as though holding it together. His chest heaved like he’d sprinted here.

“Holy shit—” Mingi started, already half-standing.

The guy’s wide eyes found Yunho instantly.

“You—” He gasped for air, his voice hoarse. “You have to—she—Minho’s—he’s—”

He broke off with a harsh cough, doubling over.

Yunho’s stomach went cold.

“What about Minho?” His voice was low, sharp.

The boy dragged in another ragged breath.

“The girl, this tiny one,” he choked out. “He’s got her. They—they’re cornering her. Minho’s—he’s lost it. You have to—”

The words hit Yunho like a punch.

The rag in his hand hit the floor unnoticed.

San’s chair screeched against the tiles as he shot to his feet. “What?!”

Yunho was already moving.

The door slammed behind him, the bell still swinging wildly.

“Hyung!” Mingi’s voice came from somewhere behind, footsteps pounding as both of them scrambled to follow.

But Yunho didn’t slow.

Each step on the pavement sounded like a gunshot in his ears, his blood pounding so loud he barely registered the cold night air slicing at his face.

He didn’t think.

He didn’t hesitate.

He only ran.

The air burned cold in his lungs as he ran.

Every slap of his sneakers against the pavement sounded too slow, too far apart, like the world itself had gone sluggish.

His hands were clenched tight enough for his knuckles to ache. His teeth ground together until his jaw throbbed.

He didn’t know what he’d do when he found Minho.

He only knew he was going to make him regret ever laying a hand on her.

“She’s down there!” Mingi’s voice cut through the wind like a knife.

Yunho’s head snapped up just in time to see the glow of a flickering streetlamp ahead. Shadows moved beneath it—three figures, then four.

And her.

Pushed back against the brick wall, her bike tipped sideways on the ground like a fallen shield.

Minho was so close it made Yunho’s stomach turn. One hand braced against the wall near her head, his body looming over hers like a predator.

Yunho didn’t remember crossing the last stretch of pavement.

One second he was still running.

The next he was standing at the edge of the alley, his chest heaving.

Minho’s voice drifted out—low, smug.

“You really think Yunho and his boys can save you, sweetheart? No one’s coming.”

Yunho’s nails dug into his palms so hard he thought he might draw blood.

He was three steps away from tearing Minho off her when—

Y/N’s voice cut through the air.

“Back off,” she said. Calm. Steady. Not even a tremor. “Or you’re going to get hurt.”

Yunho froze.

Minho let out a bark of laughter, his hand creeping closer to her jaw.

“You? Hurt me? That’s adorable.”

Then it happened.

Y/N moved like water—her knee snapping up hard and fast.

The sound Minho made as her knee connected with his groin was almost comical if Yunho hadn’t been so shocked.

Minho crumpled forward with a strangled gasp, hands flying to clutch himself as he collapsed to the ground.

One of his lackeys lunged for her with a curse.

But she pivoted sharply, grabbed his arm, and with a clean twist of her hips—flipped him over her shoulder.

The guy hit the ground with a heavy thud, groaning in shock.

For a heartbeat, the alley was silent.

Yunho’s lungs burned, but he didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

Mingi’s voice broke the spell first, barely above a whisper.

“Did she just…?”

San’s eyes were huge. “Holy shit.”

But Yunho couldn’t tear his eyes off her.

Off Y/N—standing there with her shoulders squared, her breaths even, her eyes blazing like she’d been ready for this all along.

Something shifted in his chest.

A quiet, dangerous mix of awe and anger.

Awe at the girl standing her ground against people twice her size.

Anger that she’d even been put in this position.

She shouldn’t have had to fight.

Yunho’s fists loosened as he stepped forward slowly, his voice low and controlled despite the storm raging inside him.

“Y/N.”

Her head turned slightly. For a second, her expression softened.

Minho groaned from the ground, rolling onto his side.

But Yunho didn’t look at him.

His eyes stayed on her.

For a long second, no one moved.

The alley was silent except for the faint creak of Y/N’s bike wheel spinning idly on the ground.

Yunho’s hands were still curled into fists at his sides, his nails biting crescents into his palms. He’d been seconds from pulling Minho off her—ready to do something he might regret.

But she hadn’t needed him.

She’d handled it.

Minho groaned, rolling onto his side. His narrowed eyes darted between Y/N and Yunho, but there was something in them now that hadn’t been there before. Fear.

“Crazy bitch,” he spat weakly, clutching his stomach. “You’ll regret this.”

Yunho’s jaw tightened. His voice came out low, controlled, but sharp enough to make the air feel colder.

“Leave. Now.”

Minho’s eyes flicked again—this time to San and Mingi, standing just behind Yunho like silent shadows—and his lips curled into a snarl.

Then he turned and bolted down the street, his footsteps fading into the night.

“Holy shit,” Mingi said finally, breaking the silence with a short bark of laughter.

San shook his head, still wide-eyed. “She just—kicked him. And then that takedown.“

Mingi snorted. “I swear, she’s like… what? One and a half meters of pure chaos?!”

Yunho didn’t laugh.

He was already moving, closing the space between them in three quick steps.

“Y/N.”

Her head snapped up, and for a second her shoulders stiffened like she wasn’t sure what he’d do.

Then his hands found her arms gently, tugging her forward.

Before he realized it, he was holding her.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice low but rough at the edges. “You’re okay now.”

She didn’t answer right away. For a moment she stood tense against him, then let out a shaky breath and let her hands rest awkwardly on his jacket.

“I’m okay,” she said softly, though her fingers curled slightly against the fabric like she wasn’t convinced yet.

Behind them, the boy Minho had punched shifted uncomfortably.

He took a few tentative steps forward, one hand pressed against his bruised jaw.

“I—uh—” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry. I tried to stop him before, but… I should’ve done more. I’m sorry for what he said. For all of it.”

Yunho’s eyes narrowed slightly—not at him, but at the faint swelling already blooming on the kid’s cheek.

Y/N pulled back just enough to glance at him.

“It’s not your fault,” she said gently. “But thank you.”

The boy gave a stiff nod before hurrying down the opposite street, his shoulders hunched.

San broke the tension with a low whistle. “Hyung… I think she just saved your ass this time.”

Mingi barked out another laugh. “No kidding. You didn’t tell us she was secretly a ninja!”

But Yunho didn’t smile.

His hands were still on her shoulders, his thumbs brushing lightly as he checked her over.

“You’re not hurt?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m fine.”

But Yunho’s chest was still tight.

Fine or not, the image of Minho pinning her against the wall wasn’t leaving his head anytime soon.

It happened the moment her hands unclenched from his jacket.

The adrenaline drained from her all at once, leaving her shoulders slumped and her knees wavering slightly.

“I—” Y/N’s voice broke before she could finish.

And then the tears came.

Silent at first. Then harder—her hands coming up to cover her face as the sobs shuddered out of her in uneven waves.

“Hey, hey…” Mingi’s voice was suddenly soft, his earlier grin gone as he stepped forward.

San knelt slightly to her level, his usual bright eyes serious now. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You did amazing out there.”

But Y/N shook her head, her fingers trembling against her cheeks. “I—I don’t feel amazing. I feel like… like I’m going to be sick.”

Yunho stayed where he was for a beat, his hands still hovering at her shoulders. He wanted to pull her back into his arms, but he didn’t. Not until she reached out first.

When her fingers brushed his sleeve, he didn’t hesitate.

This time, he held her tighter.

“Do you want me to take you home?” His voice was low, careful.

Y/N hesitated, then gave a small nod against his chest.

“Yes. Please.”

They walked in silence for a while, her bike rolling slowly beside them under Yunho’s steady hand.

“You surprised me tonight,” he said finally.

Y/N glanced at him, her cheeks still damp. “By crying like a baby after?”

“No.” His lips tugged faintly. “By kicking Minho’s ass.”

A shaky laugh bubbled out of her despite herself.

“My dad made me take self-defense classes before I moved to Seoul,” she admitted. “He was so worried about me living here alone.”

Yunho nodded. “Smart man.”

She huffed a small laugh. “That was actually the first time I’ve ever used it. I didn’t think I remembered anything.”

“You remembered plenty,” Yunho said softly.

They reached her apartment too soon.

Y/N fumbled with her keys, still sniffling slightly as she glanced back at him.

“Thanks… for walking me.”

Yunho shifted his weight between his feet, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets.

He wasn’t sure why his heart was pounding so fast.

“Do you…” His voice caught slightly. “Do you maybe want to grab coffee sometime?“

Y/N blinked.

“We see each other at a café every day,” she said, puzzled.

Heat crept up Yunho’s neck.

“I mean…” He swallowed hard. “Not at the café. Just us. Like a… date.”

Her eyes widened, her lips parting slightly.

“Oh.”

Yunho rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly unsure. “You don’t have to say yes. I just—”

“Yes,” Y/N said softly, surprising them both.

For a beat, they just stared at each other.

Then she smiled faintly, still tired but a little lighter now.

“I’d like that.”

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

You weren’t sure why your heart wouldn’t stop racing.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen Yunho outside the café before. But this—this felt different.

This wasn’t him walking you home after closing.

This wasn’t you sharing quiet conversations over your sketchbook while he wiped tables.

This was a date.

And the word alone made your stomach flutter every time it echoed in your head.

You spotted him near the park dock, leaning casually against the railing. Even from a distance, the picnic basket at his feet was unmistakable—wicker and everything.

Your steps slowed as you took him in.

He looked… calm. But his fingers tapped an idle rhythm against the basket’s handle, betraying a nervous energy that somehow made your chest tighten.

“Hi,” you called softly.

His head lifted instantly, eyes brightening when they met yours.

“Hey.”

The warmth in his voice made your stomach flip.

“You found it okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Your gaze flicked to the basket. “So… picnic?”

A faint flush crept up his neck.

“Yeah. I thought we could do the pedal boats first. Then eat.”

“You planned all this?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “I… yeah. Hope that’s okay?”

Something warm bloomed in your chest.

“It’s perfect,” you said softly.

The pedal boat wobbled precariously as you climbed in, earning a quiet laugh from Yunho.

“Careful,” he murmured.

“I am careful,” you muttered, gripping the edge like it was a lifeline.

Once seated, you planted your feet on the pedals, determination setting in.

“Okay. How hard can this be?”

Two minutes later, the boat was spinning in awkward circles.

“Apparently harder than I thought,” you admitted, wrestling with the tiny steering lever.

“Here.”

Yunho leaned closer, his long fingers brushing yours as he steadied the handle.

“Turn it slower. Like this.”

The boat straightened instantly.

“Oh.”

His hand lingered a fraction longer before pulling back.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you murmured, trying not to think about how close his shoulder had been to yours.

The ride smoothed out after that—mostly.

Your knees bumped once, then twice, and once your sneaker brushed his shin.

“Sorry,” you said quickly.

“It’s fine,” he replied with a faint smile.

By the third bump, you were both laughing.

When you docked again, Yunho carried the picnic basket to a shady spot beneath a tree.

The sun warmed your shoulders, but the crisp autumn air kept the heat at bay.

You watched as Yunho unpacked carefully—neatly wrapped sandwiches, fruit, small containers of pasta salad, and even chocolate-dipped strawberries.

“You made all this?” you asked, wide-eyed.

“Yeah.” He adjusted a container slightly. “I like cooking.”

“You’re full of surprises,” you said with a soft laugh.

“Guess so.”

Lunch flowed easily, your laughter mingling with the quiet sounds of the park.

At one point, you grabbed a strawberry, biting into it with a happy hum.

“These are so good,” you said, licking a smear of chocolate from your fingertip.

“Glad you like them,” Yunho replied, his voice soft.

Then his brows furrowed slightly.

“You’ve got…” He gestured vaguely at the corner of his own mouth.

You reached for a napkin, but his hand moved first.

His thumb brushed gently against your lip, wiping away the smudge of chocolate.

“There,” he murmured.

The touch lingered—just long enough for your breath to catch.

Your eyes met his.

Neither of you moved.

“Thanks,” you whispered.

He cleared his throat, his thumb withdrawing reluctantly. “Yeah.”

The two of you stayed under that tree for a while longer. The afternoon light softened into golden hues, and even when the conversation faded, the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable.

Finally, as Yunho began packing up, his movements slow, he spoke again.

“I’d like to do this again. If you want to.”

Your head turned sharply, surprise flashing in your eyes.

“Oh.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking anywhere but at you.

“I mean—no pressure. I just… liked this.”

You blinked at him.

Then smiled.

“I’d like that too.”

His gaze flicked back to you, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between you—warm and unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

Yunho didn’t know when spending time with Y/N had started feeling like this.

Like the air around her was softer somehow. Lighter.

It wasn’t just the way she laughed—or the way she tilted her head slightly when she was trying not to.

It was everything.

She walked a little ahead of him on the park path, her skirt swaying gently with each step. It brushed the tops of her sneakers, a pale color that matched the cropped cardigan she wore over a simple tank top.

There was nothing extravagant about it. And yet, she looked…

He swallowed hard.

She looked beautiful.

She turned back suddenly, flashing him a grin.

“You’re walking like an old man. Did I tire you out with the pedal boat?”

Yunho shook his head, forcing a laugh. “No. You just walk fast.”

“Sure,” she teased, adjusting her cardigan as the breeze picked up.

He could’ve sworn his chest ached.

There was something about her—her presence, her ease, her unassuming warmth—that made him want to stay like this.

Just walking beside her. Listening to her voice.

It hit him then with quiet certainty.

He really liked her.

A soft voice drifted from a bench nearby as they passed.

“Isn’t that him?”

Yunho’s stomach tightened.

Two girls sat huddled over their iced coffees, whispering not-so-quietly as their eyes flicked toward him and Y/N.

“Yeah,” the other said. “He’s one of those guys from the university. You know—the scary group.”

“Poor girl,” the first murmured. “She probably doesn’t even know.”

Their words seemed to echo in Yunho’s head, sharp and cold.

He didn’t falter. His steps stayed even, his face carefully neutral.

But inside, something coiled tight in his chest.

What if this wasn’t just about him anymore?

What if Y/N became their target too—whispers following her the way they followed him?

He’d lived with the stupid rumors for years. Gang member. Troublemaker. Stay away.

But Y/N…

She didn’t deserve that.

“Yunho?”

Her voice broke through his thoughts.

He looked up to find her watching him, concern flickering in her eyes.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… thinking.”

But as they walked on, the warmth from earlier felt thinner somehow—like a cold breeze had slipped between them.

The walk back to Y/N’s apartment was quiet.

Not the uncomfortable kind.

The kind where your shoulders brush occasionally, where you catch yourself matching her pace without thinking.

The golden haze of the afternoon had faded into deep twilight, the air crisp with the faint smell of woodsmoke.

She tugged her cardigan tighter around her as a breeze swept past

“You didn’t have to carry the basket the whole way,” she said softly.

“It’s not heavy,” Yunho replied. His voice came out gentler than he intended.

They reached her door too soon.

She turned to him, her fingers playing absently with the hem of her skirt.

“Thank you… for today.”

Her eyes met his, bright even in the dim light.

He wanted to say something—anything—to capture what he felt.

But his chest ached with the weight of all the words he couldn’t speak.

She smiled softly, and his heart tripped over itself.

It would be so easy.

One small step closer.

One tilt of his head.

Her lips were right there.

But then the voices returned.

“Poor girl… she probably doesn’t even know.”

“Isn’t he from that gang?”

They echoed like static, sharp and cold.

Yunho’s hand twitched at his side.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t pull her into this.

Instead, he leaned forward slightly, his lips brushing her cheek in the faintest ghost of a kiss.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

He stepped back before he could see her expression.

Before he could let himself regret it.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

At home, San and Mingi were waiting on the couch, wide grins plastered across their faces.

“Well?” San demanded. “How was it? Don’t leave out the juicy details.”

“Yeah,” Mingi said, leaning forward. “Did you confess? Did she confess? Did anyone kiss?”

Yunho dropped the picnic basket by the door and rubbed the back of his neck.

“It was… nice.”

That was all he said before heading to his room.

The next morning at the café, Y/N came in like always.

She waved at him, her smile easy and bright.

But Yunho barely nodded before retreating to the back to “check inventory.”

He told himself it was for the best.

The less time she spent around him, the safer she’d be.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

It started small.

A missed smile.

A wave that went unanswered.

A polite but distant nod when you walked into the café.

You told yourself he was busy. Distracted. That it wasn’t about you.

But after a week of half-hearted greetings and Yunho disappearing to the back room every time you showed up, even your patience wore thin.

You weren’t imagining it.

You weren’t imagining the way his eyes lingered too long on your lips during the picnic.

Or the warmth in his voice when he told you he wanted to do this again.

Or the almost-kiss at your door that had left your heart pounding for hours.

You knew he felt it too.

So why was he pretending now like none of it had happened?

When you walked into the café that Friday, he was laughing softly with his friends at the corner table.

The entire group of them—San, Mingi, Seonghwa, Hongjoong, Yeosang, Jongho, Wooyoung … and Yunho.

For a moment, your heart ached at the sight.

But the moment his gaze met yours, the laughter died.

He turned away as if you weren’t even there.

That was it.

You walked straight up to their table, ignoring the sudden hush that fell over the group.

“Yunho.”

Eight pairs of eyes shifted to you, surprise flashing across their faces.

But yours didn’t waver.

“Why are you ignoring me?”

The words came out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t care anymore.

His lips parted, his expression unreadable.

“I’m not ignoring you,” he said finally. His voice was calm, too calm.

“Really?” you shot back. “Because it sure feels like you are.”

He glanced at his friends—at the way San’s mouth was slightly open, at Seonghwa’s furrowed brow—before looking back at you.

“I think you’re reading too much into things,” he said quietly.

It felt like a slap.

Your chest tightened, heat rushing to your face.

“Right.” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t let it falter. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

You turned and walked out before they could see the tears stinging your eyes.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

The silence left in your wake felt suffocating.

San broke it first.

“What the hell was that, hyung?”

Mingi leaned forward, his expression caught between disbelief and anger. “Seriously. What did you just do?”

Yunho stared at the empty doorway, his stomach twisting painfully.

“She’s already a target,” he said finally, his voice low. “People were whispering about her just for being with me. I can’t…” He trailed off, running a hand over his face.

“I can’t drag her into this. Not with all the crap people say about us.”

“Yunho,” Hongjoong said, his voice steady but firm. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Seonghwa nodded, his arms crossed. “So you’re hurting her now to ‘protect’ her from maybe getting hurt later?”

“Pushing her away isn’t protecting her,” San said bluntly. “It’s just cowardly.”

Yunho’s jaw tightened, but the weight in his chest didn’t let up.

“She deserves better,” he muttered.

“She deserves you,” Mingi shot back. “And you’re too blind to see it.”

--

The cold air stung your cheeks as you stepped out of the café, but it wasn’t nearly enough to drown out the burn in your chest.

You’d thought confronting him would bring answers. Closure, at least.

Instead, you got nothing.

“I think you’re reading too much into things.”

The words rang in your head like a cruel joke.

But then—

A voice from inside the café caught your ear.

“She’s already a target. People were whispering about her just for being with me. I can’t… I can’t drag her into this.”

Yunho.

Your breath caught as his voice drifted through the half-open window, low and heavy.

“Pushing her away isn’t protecting her—it’s just cowardly.” You recognized San’s voice now, sharp with anger.

“She deserves better,” Yunho muttered.

“She deserves you,” Mingi snapped. “And you’re too blind to see it.”

You didn’t wait to hear more.

Your feet carried you down the street, your hands curled into fists.

For days, the words echoed in your head.

She deserves better.

You couldn’t decide if you wanted to cry or scream.

Better than what?

Better than him?

But the thing that burned most wasn’t his silence or even his rejection.

It was knowing—knowing—that he felt something too.

The way his hand had lingered when he brushed chocolate from your lip.

The soft look in his eyes on the pedal boat.

The almost-kiss at your door.

You hadn’t imagined it.

You couldn’t have.

So why was he pretending?

When you saw him again later that week at closing time in an empty cafe, he was stacking cups behind the counter.

You didn’t hesitate.

“Yunho.”

His head jerked up, surprise flickering across his face before his usual mask slid back into place.

You didn’t give him a chance to retreat.

“Do you really not feel anything when you’re with me?” you asked, your voice low but sharp.

“Y/N—”

“Did I imagine it?” Your chest heaved. “Because I swear I didn’t. I know what I felt. I know what I still feel.”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t meet your eyes.

You stepped closer, your breath shaking.

“Look at me.”

He didn’t move.

“Do you really not want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you?”

His jaw tightened, but still he said nothing.

Your heart thudded wildly as the anger, the hurt, and the longing all coiled tight inside you.

“Fine,” you whispered. “Then I’ll do it.”

You surged up on your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his.

At first, he froze—his hands gripping the edge of the counter like a lifeline.

But then—

His fingers curled against your cardigan, pulling you closer.

His lips parted slightly against yours, the kiss deepening as the tension between you finally broke.

The world around you fell away.

When you finally pulled back, your breath came in short, uneven gasps.

His forehead rested against yours, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I’m sorry.”

But this time, you didn’t let him step back.

His lips were still against yours, his breath warm and ragged.

You could feel the tension in his body—the way his hands hovered, trembling slightly as if he was still trying to stop himself.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” you cut in, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Stop running from me.”

---

It took everything he had not to crush her to him right then.

He’d tried so hard to stay away. To protect her from the whispers, the stares, the weight of his reputation.

But now—

Now she was here, pressed against him, her lips swollen from his kiss, her eyes blazing.

And he was done fighting.

“I’ve liked you for months,” he confessed, his voice hoarse. “Since the first day you came into the café. Since you spilled your tea and laughed like it didn’t matter.”

Her breath hitched.

“Then why—”

“Because I was stupid,” he admitted. “I thought I was keeping you safe. I thought…” His throat bobbed. “I thought you deserved better than someone people call a thug.”

Her hands gripped his face suddenly, forcing him to look at her.

“You’re stupid,” she said fiercely, her eyes wet but unflinching. “Do you really think I care what anyone says about you or your friends? Yunho—” Her voice softened, breaking slightly. “All I care about is how you make me feel. And you make me feel safe. You make me feel seen.”

His resolve shattered.

He kissed her again—harder this time, his hands fisting in her cardigan as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

---

You barely registered when his hands slid to your waist, lifting you effortlessly and setting you down on the staff room couch.

The cushions sank beneath you as he hovered, his breath hot against your skin.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his forehead pressing to yours.

“Don’t you dare stop,” you whispered back.

His lips found yours again, urgent and hungry.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as weeks—months—of pent-up need broke loose between you.

Clothes were shed clumsily, kisses scattering across your jaw, your neck, your shoulders.

His hands explored with quiet reverence, every brush of his fingers sending heat surging through you.

---

She was everything.

Soft and fierce all at once, her nails leaving faint trails on his back as she whispered his name like a prayer.

For months he’d imagined what it might feel like to have her like this—to feel her move beneath him, to hear her breath catch as his hands mapped every curve.

The reality was a thousand times worse.

And better.

The couch creaked faintly as your bodies moved together, but neither of you cared.

All that existed was her warmth, her voice, her lips on his skin.

“Y/N…” he groaned against her throat, his control fraying.

“I’m here,” she whispered back, her fingers curling tight in his hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

When it was over, you stayed wrapped in his arms on the couch, his thumb tracing idle circles on your bare shoulder.

“I’m still angry at you,” you murmured sleepily.

“I know,” he said with a small smile, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I’ll make it up to you.”

---

You were still tucked against his chest, his arm draped loosely around your waist, when the thought hit you.

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

“What?” Yunho murmured, his thumb tracing slow circles on your bare shoulder.

You tilted your head to look at him, wide-eyed.

“Are you going to get fired? Because we—” You waved vaguely at the couch and your very much not dressed state. “—you know… in the staff room?”

He blinked at you.

And then—slowly—he laughed.

The sound startled you.

You hadn’t heard him laugh like that before—deep, warm, almost boyish.

“I’m not going to get fired,” he said, still smiling as his hand rubbed the back of his neck. “My aunt owns the café. She’s the one who lets me work here.”

You stared at him for a moment, your lips parting.

“Wait—you mean you’re not even a full employee? You’re like… the owner’s nephew?”

“Basically,” he admitted with a sheepish grin.

A giggle bubbled out of you before you could stop it.

“You’re telling me all those college kids whisper about you like you’re the head of a gang, and in reality you’re just… helping out at your aunt’s café?”

His cheeks flushed faintly. “I guess so.”

The laughter kept coming, soft at first and then spilling into the warm quiet of the room.

Yunho smiled down at you, his fingers brushing a stray hair from your face.

“I like when you laugh,” he said softly.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Oh.”

A beat passed before you remembered something else.

“So…” you began cautiously. “What are you actually studying? Or is that part of your mysterious bad boy persona too?”

He huffed a small laugh.

“I’m studying to be an elementary school teacher.”

You stared.

And then—burst out laughing again.

Yunho groaned, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

“Don’t laugh.”

“I can’t help it,” you managed between giggles. “The guy everyone thinks is running some underground gang is going to be teaching seven-year-olds how to spell?”

He pulled back just enough to give you a playful glare, his lips twitching.

“Are you done?”

“Not even close.” You grinned up at him, your chest warm and light for the first time in weeks.

The quiet settled again, but it wasn’t awkward.

You traced faint patterns on his chest with your fingertip.

“You’re really not what people think you are,” you murmured.

His arm tightened slightly around you.

“Neither are you,” he said softly.

You smiled, your heart thudding in a steady, content rhythm.

Maybe this—him, here with you—wasn’t what you expected either.

But it felt right.

___

Two months later, Yunho was still trying to wrap his head around how someone like you ended up with someone like him.

Not that you let him get away with that kind of thinking.

“You’re staring again,” you teased as you stirred sugar into your tea.

“Sorry,” he murmured, not looking away.

“Don’t apologize.” You smiled at him, eyes crinkling. “But you’re going to make people think I have something on my face.”

Maybe you did.

But he wasn’t staring at your face because of chocolate smudges or crumbs.

He was staring because he could.

Because you were here, sitting across from him in a booth, your cardigan slipping slightly off your shoulder.

Because you were his.

And he was absolutely, stupidly, irrevocably in love with you.

People still stared sometimes when you walked together over campus.

Yunho could feel their eyes flicking to him—taking in his broad shoulders, his height, the dark hoodie he’d pulled on without thinking.

Then their gazes would slide to where your small hand was tucked firmly into his, and confusion would ripple across their faces.

That can’t be the guy from the rumors.

He’s smiling.

At her.

The disbelief used to make Yunho tense.

Now, it made him squeeze your hand tighter.

His friends didn’t help.

“You’re disgusting,” Wooyoung said cheerfully one afternoon when he found you sitting on Yunho’s lap in the staff room, sharing a bag of gummy bears.

“Get a room,” San added with a grin.

“This is a room,” Yunho replied without missing a beat, earning a high-five from Mingi.

But their teasing was gentle, affectionate.

They liked you.

No—liked wasn’t strong enough.

You were part of them now.

Seonghwa had taken to bringing you little pastries whenever he visited the café.

Hongjoong offered to check out your illustrations for a project he was working on.

Even Jongho, usually reserved, smiled when you came by.

“You’re good for him,” Yeosang told you once as you wiped chocolate off Yunho’s cheek.

You blinked, startled. But then smiled.

Yunho hadn’t known it was possible to feel this settled, this content.

You leaned your head against his arm, humming a quiet tune that made his lips twitch.

He didn’t know the song, but it didn’t matter.

All he could think about was how warm you felt beside him. How natural it felt to have you here, matching your steps to his.

And how impossible it was not to say it.

He tried to fight it.

Tried to keep the words buried because this—this thing between you—felt fragile still.

But they clawed their way up anyway.

“I love you.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them, so quiet he wasn’t sure you even heard.

But you stopped mid-step.

Your head lifted, your eyes wide in the dim light of the streetlamp.

“You—what?”

Yunho swallowed hard. “I… I love you.”

For a second, you just stared at him.

Then your lips curved into a slow smile that made his heart stutter.

“You’re really bad at hiding things, you know that?”

His brow furrowed. “What do you—”

“I love you too, idiot,” you interrupted, standing on your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his jaw.

He blinked, stunned.

“You do?”

You laughed softly. “Since before you even asked me on that first date.”

He didn’t think his chest could hold this much warmth.

So he stopped trying.

His hands found your waist, pulling you in tight as he kissed you like the world had finally clicked into place.

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

[mimikittysblog]

I CANT WATCH YUNHO’S DRAMA (yet) BUT FROM WHAT IM GUESSING I DID GET THE VILLAIN ROLE I WANTED EVEN IF IT WAS THE LAST COUPLE OF SECONDS IDCCCC HES SO FUCKING FINE BROOOO

[mimikittysblog]

Please And Thank You

Summary: Working as a receptionist at a flower shop that serves as a front for organized crime, you find yourself falling for San. The family’s most polite and terrifyingly effective enforcer who says “please” and “thank you” and always apologizes for the inconvenience.

Fandom: ATEEZ

Pairing: Choi San x Reader

Genre: Romance, Dark Comedy, Mafia AU, Fluff with Dark Themes

Warnings: Violence (bone breaking/torture, not in detail), organized crime activities, dark humor, mentions of blood/injury, morally ambiguous characters

====================================

You’d been working as a receptionist at a quaint little flower shop, which used to be a regular flower shop, before the owner sold the business to the mafia. Then your employer changed from a 60 year old lady to 28 year old Mafia Don. You thought that would be the end, but apparently Kim Hongjoong, the boss, wanted the flower shop to keep it's business. So, your job continued being the same, the only exception being the back room being used for some meetings that you'd rather not be a part of.

You got used to the noise of bones breaking, nails getting pulled, scary threats being passed around by very scary macho men. That was until, Choi San got assigned to your flower shop's back room meetings.

Exactly three weeks later, you first witnessed San’s… unique approach to enforcement.

“Excuse me, sir?” San’s voice drifted from the back room, polite as always. “I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but could you please hold still? This will only take a moment.”

CRACK.

“Thank you so much for your cooperation! I do apologize for any inconvenience.”

You nearly dropped the bouquet of roses you were arranging. Through the slightly ajar door, you could see San, all broad shoulders and perfectly styled black hair, standing over a whimpering man whose leg was bent at a very unnatural angle.

“Oh! I’m so sorry you had to hear that,” San said, suddenly appearing beside you with that devastating smile of his. Not a hair out of place, not even breathing hard. “Please don’t mind the noise. Would you like me to turn on some music? I have a lovely classical playlist that you might like.”

You stared at him. He was still wearing his pastel pink apron that read “Bloom Where You’re Planted” in curly script.

“San,” you managed, “did you just”

“Break his kneecap? Yes, I’m afraid so.” He untied his apron with practiced ease. “He was three weeks late on his payment to Mr. Kim. Very inconsiderate, really. But don’t worry, I made sure to explain the situation thoroughly before proceeding. Consent is important, you know.”

“Consent? For breaking his-”

“Well, informed consent,” San clarified, hanging his apron on its designated hook. “I always make sure they understand exactly what’s going to happen and why. It’s only polite. Speaking of which, I know you're not supposed to, but Wooyoung is not answering my calls and I couldn't contact anyone else, would you mind helping me dispose of- I mean, escort our guest to his vehicle? Please?”

This was your life now, apparently.

====================================

Over the following weeks, you began to understand that San’s reputation in the family wasn’t built despite his manners- it was built because of them. There was something absolutely terrifying about a man who would apologize profusely while destroying your ability to walk.

“I’m really, truly sorry about this,” you heard him telling someone during a particularly busy Tuesday. “But you did threaten Mr. Kim’s daughter, and I simply cannot allow that to slide. I hope you understand. Could you please place your hand flat on the table? Thank you ever so much.”

The sound that followed made you wince and accidentally squirt floral foam all over Mrs. Chen’s funeral arrangement.

“Oh dear, are you alright out there?” San called. “I heard a commotion. Do you need assistance? I’ll be right with you!”

“I’m fine!” you squeaked back, frantically trying to clean up the mess before he could see.

But it was too late. San appeared in the doorway, surveying the disaster with concerned eyes. Behind him, two of Hongjoong’s other men were dragging out what appeared to be an unconscious body.

“Oh my, what a mess,” San tsked sympathetically. “Here, please allow me.”

He immediately set about helping you clean, his movements efficient and gentle. It would have been sweet if not for the fact that his knuckles were split and bleeding.

“San, your hands-”

“Oh, these? Don’t worry about it, please. Just a minor occupational hazard.” He smiled that bright, dimpled smile that made your heart do stupid things. “I should probably clean them up though. Wouldn’t want to get blood on the flowers. That would be terribly unprofessional.”

You watched him rinse his hands in the small sink, humming what sounded like a lullaby under his breath.

“Can I ask you something?” you said finally.

“Of course! Please, ask away.”

“Why are you so… polite? Even when you’re…” you gestured vaguely toward the back room. You already got used to the violence, that was regular occurrence. What caught you off guard was his very polite demeanor while perpetrating the said violence.

San considered this seriously, drying his hands with a clean towel. “Well, my mother always taught me that good manners cost nothing,” he said. “Just because someone has chosen to cross the family doesn’t mean I should abandon basic courtesy. Everyone deserves to be treated with respect, even if I do have to break their bones afterward. It’s not personal, you see.”

He said this as if it was the most logical thing in the world.

“Plus,” he added, hanging up the towel with precise care, “people remember politeness. If you’re going to send a message, might as well make it memorable, don’t you think?”

You had to admit, he had a point. You’d certainly never forget the image of San in his floral apron, apologizing sincerely while snapping someone’s wrist.

====================================

The day you realized you were completely gone for this ridiculous man was the day he brought you coffee.

“I noticed you seemed tired,” he said, setting down a perfect latte with a little foam heart on top. “I took the liberty of getting your usual from the café down the street. I do hope that’s alright? I can get you something else if you prefer.”

You looked up from the books you’d been balancing -because apparently your job description had expanded to include light accounting- and felt your heart melt a little.

“San, this is so sweet, but you really didn’t have to-”

“Nonsense! It’s my pleasure. Really.” He settled into the chair across from your desk, looking unusually hesitant. “Actually, I was wondering… that is, if you wouldn’t mind… could I perhaps take you to dinner sometime? Please?”

The way he asked, shy and hopeful and still somehow devastatingly attractive, made you forget momentarily that this man’s day job involved bone breaking.

“I’d love to,” you heard yourself say.

His face lit up like Christmas morning. “Really? Oh, that’s wonderful! Thank you so much! I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman. Would Saturday work for you? I know this lovely little place that does excellent pasta. Very romantic. Completely legitimate business, I assure you- no money laundering or anything of that nature.”

Only San would think to specify that a restaurant wasn’t a money laundering front.

“Saturday sounds perfect,” you said, taking a sip of your latte. It was exactly how you liked it. “But I have one condition.”

“Anything! Please, name it.”

“No breaking anyone’s kneecaps during dinner. It might ruin the mood.”

San laughed. A bright, genuine sound that made your chest warm. “I solemnly promise. Scout’s honor. Although,” he added thoughtfully, “I was never actually a scout. Is it still binding? I wouldn’t want to mislead you.”

God, you were so whipped for this silly guy.

====================================

Saturday arrived, and San picked you up in what was definitely a suspiciously expensive car for a flower shop employee but normal for an enforcer, wearing a perfectly tailored suit that probably cost more than your rent.

“You look absolutely stunning,” he said, offering you his arm like a proper gentleman. “Thank you for agreeing to this. I’m really quite nervous, to be honest.”

“Nervous?” You couldn’t hide your surprise. “You break people’s bones for a living.”

“Well, yes, but that’s different,” San said reasonably. “I’m very good at that. Dating, however… I’m rather out of practice. I do hope I don’t mess this up. I’d be absolutely devastated.”

He opened the car door for you with a soft “Please, after you,” and you were struck again by the surreal nature of your situation. This morning, you’d watched him explain proper bone setting technique to a very frightened loan shark. Tonight, he was worried about using the right fork at dinner.

The restaurant was indeed lovely and completely legitimate as far as you could tell. San was the perfect date; attentive, funny, and genuinely interested in everything you had to say. He asked about your family, your dreams, your favorite books. He told you about his own childhood, his love of cooking, his inexplicable fear of butterflies.

“They’re so unpredictable,” he explained seriously over dessert. “You never know which direction they’re going to fly. It’s deeply unsettling.”

“More unsettling than your job?” you teased.

“Oh, absolutely. At least with work, I know exactly what’s going to happen. Very straightforward. Someone doesn’t pay, I ask nicely for them to reconsider, and if they refuse, I break something non essential. Simple cause and effect. But butterflies? Pure chaos.”

You nearly choked on your tiramisu. “Non-essential?”

“Well, yes. I’m not a monster,” San said, looking slightly offended. “I always start with fingers or toes. Work my way up to more important joints only if absolutely necessary. It’s about graduated consequences, you see. Very important to be proportional in these matters.”

He said this while carefully adjusting your napkin because he’d noticed it slipping.

“You’re incredible,” you said, and meant it.

San’s cheeks turned pink. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say. I do try my best.”

====================================

Three months into dating San, you’d grown accustomed to the duality of your boyfriend. At home, he was soft and sweet, bringing you flowers from the shop (secretly putting the exact charge to the safe, of course) and cooking elaborate meals while humming off key. He remembered every little thing you mentioned, left you cute notes in your lunch, and once spent an entire evening braiding your hair while you watched movies.

At work, he remained the family’s most effective enforcer, just with slightly more spring in his step.

“I’m really sorry about this, Mr. Park,” you heard him saying one Thursday afternoon. “But you’ve been skimming from the family’s cut, and that’s simply unacceptable. I hope you understand. Could you please choose which hand you’d prefer to keep functional? I don’t want to make that decision for you, it seems presumptuous.”

You shook your head and went back to arranging the new shipment of lilies. Your boyfriend was absolutely insane, and you were completely in love with him.

“Darling?” San appeared at your side sometime later, somehow managing to look both dangerous and adorable simultaneously. “I’m finished with work for the day. Would you like to grab some ice cream? Apparently there’s a new flavor at that place you like- lavender honey. I thought you might enjoy it.”

“That sounds perfect,” you said, letting him help you out of your apron. “Good day at work?”

“Oh yes, very productive. Mr. Park has agreed to return the money he borrowed, plus interest. We came to a very amicable understanding.” San’s smile was bright and innocent. “He was surprisingly cooperative once we discussed the situation properly.”

You decided you probably didn’t want to know what “discussed the situation properly” entailed.

As you walked to the ice cream shop, San’s hand warm in yours, you reflected on how strange your life had become. Six months ago, if someone had told you you’d be dating a psychopath with manners who broke bones for a living and apologized for it, you’d have recommended therapy.

Now? You couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.

“Penny for your thoughts?” San asked, swinging your joined hands gently.

“Just thinking about how perfect you are,” you said honestly.

San stopped walking and turned to face you, his expression soft and vulnerable in the golden afternoon light.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For accepting me as I am. I know I’m not… conventional. But you make me want to be the best version of myself, even if that version still occasionally involves strategic bone breaking.”

“San,” you said, reaching up to cup his face, “you’re the kindest, most considerate person I know. The fact that you also happen to be a terrifying enforcer just makes you interesting.”

He leaned into your touch, eyes closing briefly. “I love you,” he whispered. “If that’s alright with you.”

“It’s more than alright,” you whispered back. “I love you too.”

When he kissed you, soft and sweet in the middle of the sidewalk, you could feel his smile.

Later, as you shared lavender honey ice cream and San told you about his plans on how to reorganize the flower shop’s inventory system, you decided that maybe unconventional was exactly what you’d been looking for all along.

After all, anyone could date a normal guy.

But how many people could say their boyfriend always apologized before breaking kneecaps and said please?

The End

[mimikittysblog]

Y/N is a shy transfer student navigating her first year at a university in Seoul, where everything feels too loud, too fast, and too unfamiliar. Assigned to tutor the campus heartthrob — Mingi, a wildly popular frat boy with a reputation as reckless as his laugh — she expects a headache, not heart flutters. But between chaotic study sessions, frat parties, anime confessions, and quiet snowstorms, something starts to shift. He’s more than just the loud guy in black. And she might be more than just his tutor.

Pairing: Song Mingi (ATEEZ) × Female Reader (Y/N)

Trope(s): College AU, Tutor x Student, Friends-to-Lovers, Opposites Attract, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, First Love Energy™, Plus-Size!Reader, Soft!Fratboy!Mingi supremacy

Genre: Romantic Comedy | Coming-of-Age | Slow Burn with Payoff | Soft Angst with a Happy Ending

Featuring: All ATEEZ members as part of Mingi’s chaotic frat house, Tender male friendships, Low-key commentary on body image, culture shock, and finding belonging

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

Y/N had never paid much attention to how Mingi moved through campus.

Until now.

Once she started noticing him, it became impossible not to. The way his laugh carried across the courtyard. The way he always wore his hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing forearms she had no business staring at. The way he greeted everyone like they were his favorite person in the world.

Mingi didn’t walk — he strolled, like the world was his to exist in, and people just happened to orbit him.

And they did.

Especially girls.

She’d watched them — from a distance, at first. Swarming him like moths to a flame. Flipping their hair, leaning too close, looping arms through his. Sometimes Mingi laughed it off, sometimes he didn’t notice. But most of the time, he smiled. Friendly. Effortless. Familiar.

Like he was used to being wanted.

And why wouldn’t he be?

He was tall, beautiful in that devastatingly boyish way, funny without trying, and — as if that weren’t enough — sweet. He held doors. Walked girls home. Offered you banana milk without asking if you liked it, like he just knew you did.

And Y/N?

She was just the tutor.

The quiet foreign girl with chubby thighs and a nervous laugh and a brain that sometimes got in the way of her feelings.

She wasn’t one of them.

She probably never would be.

She felt stupid for even feeling a certain way about it.

Because he wasn’t hers.

He was her tutor partner. Her friend. Her occasional ride to campus when it snowed. Nothing more.

Except she’d started to wish it was more.

Which was exactly why it hurt when she heard what she did.

The café was crowded, and her drink was taking forever, so she loitered near the pick-up counter, pretending to scroll on her phone. That’s when two girls sat at the table behind her, voices high and sugar-sweet.

“Did you hear about Mingi and Nari?”

“You mean that night? Yeah. She said he was unreal in bed.”

“God, I bet. He’s huge. Like… everywhere.”

“I swear, if I ever get a chance with him—”

Y/N felt her stomach twist.

She didn’t want to care.

She really didn’t.

But something cold and sour settled deep in her chest and refused to leave.

Their next tutoring session started as usual. Mingi greeted her at the door with a grin and a snack bag already opened.

“Okay, I actually studied this time,” he announced proudly, waving his notebook like a flag.

She gave a small nod and sat down.

He blinked. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure? You look like someone told you ramen got banned.”

“I’m fine, Mingi.”

She opened her notebook and pulled out the textbook, avoiding his gaze.

He tilted his head, obviously trying to read her mood. “Okay, uh… let’s do conditional probability then?”

Ten minutes passed. Mingi tried to keep it light—making stupid jokes about dice and hypothetical vampire attacks—but Y/N didn’t bite. She barely responded, just kept writing, eyes never quite meeting his.

He fidgeted in his seat. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No, Mingi.”

“Then what—”

“Can you please just take this seriously for once?”

That made him blink.

She snapped her book shut. “I came here to help, not to babysit. If you don’t want to study, just say so.”

He looked completely thrown. “Wait—what? I am trying.”

“Really?” she said, standing up and grabbing her bag. “Because it doesn’t feel like it.”

Mingi stood too, eyes wide. “Y/N, where is this coming from?”

“I don’t know,” she lied, heart pounding. “Maybe I’m just tired.”

She wasn’t even sure if she meant physically or emotionally.

Before he could stop her, she was halfway to the door.

“Wait,” he said, softer now. “Did something happen?”

She paused, hand on the doorknob.

Her back stayed turned. “I just need to go.”

Then she left—too quickly, too embarrassed, too confused to stay and explain the real reason she was unraveling.

Because deep down, she knew it had nothing to do with probability.

She knew she overreacted.

The moment she slammed the door behind her and felt the cold air sting her cheeks, she knew. But it wasn’t until she was curled up on her bed, hoodie still zipped up and backpack half-unpacked on the floor, that the guilt really settled.

It wasn’t his fault.

Mingi hadn’t done anything wrong.

He hadn’t asked to be the center of her emotional chaos. He hadn’t promised anything. He didn’t even know how twisted her thoughts had become.

All she wanted to do was cry into her pillow and forget how completely idiotic she’d been.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

She hesitated before grabbing it.

Mingi [7:18 PM]: Hey. If i did something wrong, i’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just don’t want you to be mad at me.

Her throat tightened.

He was apologizing.

For what? For being himself? For existing in the exact way that had made her fall for him without permission?

She typed slowly, fingers trembling.

You [7:21 PM]: You didn’t do anything. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. I just… had a bad day. Please don’t feel bad.

She hit send and then immediately curled up tighter, dragging her blanket up over her face.

“I didn’t come to Korea to fall in love,” she mumbled into her pillow.

Not with a giant, ridiculous, soft-hearted idiot who bought her snacks and waited for her after class and wore hoodies that made her heart race.

“Stupid. So stupid.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. Then another.

“I don’t know what to do with this,” she whispered.

And for the first time since she arrived in Seoul, the loneliness didn’t feel like a foreign ache.

It felt like heartbreak waiting to happen.

Mingi sat on the couch, phone in his lap, eyes glued to the three grey dots that had been blinking on and off for the past two minutes

When the reply finally came in, he read it twice.

She wasn’t mad at him.

But she’d left like she was.

And now he didn’t know what to do with the ache sitting behind his ribs.

“You look like someone kicked your puppy,” Jongho said from across the room.

“I don’t have a puppy.”

“You are the puppy,” Wooyoung added, dropping onto the armrest beside him. “And that pout is tragic.”

San peeked around the doorway. “Did your tutor finally snap and throw a book at you?”

“No,” Mingi mumbled. “She just… left.”

The room went quiet.

Hongjoong looked up from his laptop. “You fought?”

“I don’t think so?” Mingi sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “She just got mad. I mean, not mad-mad, but… upset. I think.”

“Over what?” Seonghwa asked gently.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not like her,” Yeosang said, frowning.

“Exactly.” Mingi slumped down into the cushions. “I tried to joke like usual. She just looked… done. Like I wasn’t taking her seriously.”

“Were you?” San asked.

“I thought I was!” Mingi groaned. “I don’t get it. Everything was fine until suddenly it wasn’t.”

The others exchanged looks but said nothing.

Mingi stared up at the ceiling.

“I don’t want her to be upset because of me.”

Wooyoung gave him a look. “You like her, huh?”

Mingi didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

They all saw it.

What he didn’t know—what he couldn’t figure out—was if she felt the same.

Mingi wasn’t nervous.

He was just… highly alert. Aware. Emotionally caffeinated.

And okay, maybe a little nervous.

He’d cleaned the living room. Twice. Rearranged the snack tray she always reached for. Worn a hoodie he was 80% sure she once said made him look “weirdly soft.”

Not that he cared.

He definitely didn’t care.

Until the door knocked.

And suddenly he cared a lot.

She stood there with her backpack slung over one shoulder, oversized scarf half-eaten by the wind, and her fingers fidgeting with the zipper on her sleeve.

“Hi,” she said, not quite looking at him.

He smiled. “Hey.”

She stepped inside, pulled her shoes off, and stood awkwardly in the entryway.

Mingi shut the door gently.

Then she turned to face him, cheeks already pink.

“I wanted to say sorry. Again. For… the last time.”

He tilted his head. “You already did.”

“I know, but I wasn’t really being honest. I just… I was having a weird week. And I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair.”

She looked up finally, and the second their eyes met, he forgot how to breathe for a second.

Because she looked so flustered. And so sincere.

And entirely too cute for his brain to handle.

He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s okay. Really.”

She gave a tiny smile. “Still. I’m sorry.”

Mingi smiled back. “You’re forgiven. But only if you help me understand how the hell standard deviation works because I swear it’s made up.”

Her laughter broke the tension like a window opening.

And for the first time in days, things felt okay again.

The session started like usual. Her voice soft but steady as she explained concepts. His handwriting messy as ever. But there was something different in the air this time.

A pause that lingered too long.

A brush of fingers when they reached for the same pen.

A glance that held a beat too much meaning.

And Mingi noticed.

Every bit of it.

It happened during a pause. She leaned over to point something out in his notes, one hand braced beside his on the table. Their shoulders touched. Just lightly.

But it sent a shiver down his spine.

He turned toward her without thinking.

And she turned at the same time.

Their faces were close. Too close.

Y/N froze, eyes wide, her breath brushing his lips.

Mingi’s heart thudded loud in his chest.

He could kiss her. Right now.

He wanted to.

But—

He pulled back.

Too fast. Too sharp.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to—uh—yeah.”

She blinked. “It’s okay.”

“Right. Cool. Okay.”

He cleared his throat, stood up, and walked to the other side of the room like he needed air even though he was indoors.

Think, idiot. Say something normal.

“Oh!” he said, turning back. “We’re having another party this weekend. You should come.”

She looked surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, you don’t have to, obviously. But you’re invited. Officially. Like, capital ‘I’ Invited.”

Her lips twitched like she was trying not to smile. “Okay. Maybe.”

“Cool. Yeah. Cool.”

Silence.

Then she returned to the notes, flipping to the next page.

And Mingi sat back down, heart still hammering, trying to figure out if he was relieved or disappointed.

Mingi wasn’t sure when her leaving started to feel like a deadline.

Maybe it was the way she’d said it — offhand, like a reminder while packing her notes after one of their study sessions.

“Next week’s our last official meeting, huh?”

“What?”

“The program ends next Friday.”

She’d said it so casually.

Like it wasn’t about to knock the wind out of him.

He saw her three more times that week.

Each time, she showed up with her laptop, her scribbled notes, and that same scarf she always tugged tighter when she got nervous. Each time, they sat closer. Laughed more. And every time she leaned over to explain something, Mingi’s brain short-circuited a little more.

He tried to play it cool.

He really did.

But it was like… everything about her had become his favorite detail.

The way she hummed softly when reading. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when concentrating. How she always called him “Mingi” in this specific tone when he made a bad joke, like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to scold him or laugh.

She hadn’t brought up the “end of the program” again.

But Mingi couldn’t stop thinking about it.

By the time the night of the party rolled around, he was a mess of nerves disguised in cologne and a slightly-too-tight black shirt.

The music was already pounding. The main room was full. Someone had brought a fog machine again, which was a terrible idea but now a tradition. Hongjoong was DJing. San was dancing like he had no bones. Jongho was judging everyone with a drink in hand.

And Mingi?

Mingi was staring at the door.

Waiting.

“She’s not here yet?” Seonghwa asked, appearing at his side.

“No.”

Seonghwa handed him a drink. “You’ve been staring at the door for twenty minutes.”

Mingi took the cup but didn’t sip. “I invited her.”

“I figured.”

“I don’t know if she’ll come.”

Seonghwa gave him a look. “You know this isn’t just about the party.”

Mingi sighed, rubbing his thumb over the rim of the cup. “She said the program ends next week.”

“It does.”

“She hasn’t said anything about seeing each other after that.”

“Have you?”

“No.”

“Maybe you should.”

Mingi looked at him. “I think I like her.”

Seonghwa smirked. “You think?”

“I—” Mingi huffed. “Okay. I do. I like her. A lot.”

“And?”

“I don’t know. I want to tell her. But I don’t want to ruin it. What if I tell her, and she ghosts me? Or feels weird? Or—”

“Or,” Seonghwa said gently, “what if she’s just waiting for you to say something first?”

Mingi didn’t answer.

He just looked back at the door.

And hoped.

She’d told herself it was nothing.

That it would pass.

That once the tutoring program ended, everything would go back to normal.

Except… she didn’t want it to.

Mingi had become something like gravity in her life. Constant, pulling her in no matter how much she tried to resist it. His smile, his ridiculous jokes, the way he always noticed when she was off — it had all tangled around her so gently she hadn’t even realized she was caught.

And now?

She couldn’t untangle herself if she tried.

But he would never like her like that.

Not when he could have anyone. And most days, it looked like he already did. Girls were always around him, laughing a little too loud, leaning in a little too close. She’d seen him smile at them, chat like it was easy. He was warm, magnetic, and just so much—and she was…

Just her.

Too quiet. Too foreign. Too soft in places Korea didn’t like.

And still, she’d fallen for him.

Hard.

So she made herself a deal.

She would go to the party.

Tell him how she felt.

And then walk away.

It would be over soon anyway.

One more study session. One last goodbye.

Better to just say it now — before she chickened out.

Getting ready took too long.

She tried on four outfits. All of them ended up in a pile on her bed. She settled on a soft sweater that hugged her figure and a flowy skirt that hit mid-thigh. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t flashy. But it was her. And it felt cute.

That was enough.

She fixed her hair. Put on lip gloss. Took a deep breath in the mirror and muttered, “Don’t be a coward.”

Then she left.

The frat house was buzzing when she arrived. Lights glowing through the windows. Music pulsing underfoot. She almost turned around twice before reaching the steps.

But she didn’t.

And the second she stepped inside, the warmth of the party hit her — noise, chatter, movement.

And then—

“Mingi.”

He saw her immediately.

His face lit up like someone flipped a switch.

She couldn’t help the way her breath caught.

Because he didn’t just smile — he beamed.

And then he started walking toward her, weaving through the crowd like she was the only person in the room.

Her heart flipped.

It did a full somersault when she realized his eyes were locked on hers the entire way. Like he hadn’t seen anyone else.

And God—his shirt.

Tight black cotton that clung to his chest and arms like it was barely holding on. His hair slightly messy, like he’d run his hands through it too many times.

She felt butterflies explode in her stomach, fluttering so violently it made her want to bolt.

But she stayed.

He stopped in front of her, grinning like she’d just made his whole night.

“You came.”

“You invited me.”

“Yeah,” he said, eyes softening. “But I wasn’t sure you would.”

“I almost didn’t,” she admitted.

“I’m glad you did.”

She bit her lip.

His eyes flicked there, just for a second.

And suddenly the music was too loud. The lights too dim. And her confession — the one she’d been practicing in her head for days — felt like it was caught in her throat.

But this was it.

She just had to say it.

One time.

And then she’d let it go.

She’d meant to tell him.

She really had.

But then she saw his smile — that brilliant, boyish smile that lit up the whole damn room — and her brain completely short-circuited.

Just like that, every practiced line, every late-night drafted version of her confession vanished.

And all she could do was smile back.

Because it hit her, in that moment — something so terrifyingly soft:

If this is the last time, I just want to enjoy it.

So she didn’t say anything.

Didn’t confess.

Didn’t ruin it.

Instead, she let herself stand there, soaking in the way he looked at her like she belonged in the crowd. Like she was worth noticing in a room full of prettier, louder, thinner girls. Like she was the only one who mattered.

And for now… that was enough.

God, she looked good.

Cute, obviously. She was always cute.

But tonight? There was something else. Something different. The skirt, the soft sweater, the way her hair curled around her cheeks, slightly flushed from the cold — it short-circuited his brain, too.

He wanted to stare forever.

But instead, he tried to act normal. Which, apparently, meant becoming a one-man comfort committee.

“Are you warm enough?”

“You want a drink? I’ll get it.”

“Don’t stand here. Come sit. You want to sit? C’mon, you’ll like the couch.”

She laughed and let herself be guided to the corner sofa, nestled safely between two armchairs. San gave Mingi a knowing look. Mingi ignored him.

“I’ll be right back,” he said to her, and she nodded with a soft smile that absolutely murdered him on the spot.

He weaved through the crowd toward the drink table, heart thudding, brain trying to remember how to mix anything at all. He was still deciding between soda and something stronger when a girl stepped up beside him.

“Hey, Mingi.”

He glanced over. Short skirt. Long lashes. Familiar face from his sociology class, maybe.

“Oh. Hey.”

“You’re looking good tonight.”

He offered a polite smile. “Thanks. You too.”

She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “I heard you’re single.”

Mingi blinked. “Um. I guess?”

“You guess?”

He laughed awkwardly. “I’m not really… dating right now.”

“Right,” she said, smile widening. “Just hanging out.”

Before he could reply, she picked up two cups and followed him back toward the sofa.

He sat down next to Y/N and handed her the drink he’d made. The other girl dropped onto the other side of him, way too close, practically draping herself across the cushions.

“So who’s this?” she asked, looking at Y/N with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Y/N stiffened.

Mingi opened his mouth to introduce her, but Y/N beat him to it.

“Just a friend,” she said quickly, taking a small sip of her drink.

“Oh,” the girl replied, voice syrupy. “That’s cute.”

Mingi frowned.

Something about her tone rubbed him the wrong way.

But then he heard San yell something about spilled wine and napkins.

“I’ll be right back,” Mingi said, getting up from the couch. “Someone spilled something on the table—I’ll grab some napkins before it spreads.”

Y/N gave him a small nod, wrapping both hands around her drink as she watched him disappear into the kitchen.

The girl beside her shifted, angling her body toward Y/N.

“You’re cute,” she said, smiling. “Really brave, coming here.”

Y/N blinked. “…Thanks?”

The girl sipped her drink and leaned in a little closer, voice soft but sharp.

“I mean, it’s kind of sweet. You must really believe in fairytales or something.”

Y/N’s stomach turned.

The girl tilted her head, feigning innocence. “But let’s be real. Guys like Mingi don’t usually go for girls like you.”

Before Y/N could respond—or crumble—another voice cut through.

“Excuse me?” Yeosang.

He’d walked past just in time to catch it. His tone was deceptively calm, but his eyes were cold.

“I didn’t mean it like—” the girl began.

“You meant it exactly like that,” he snapped.

Seonghwa appeared a moment later, his gaze sweeping over the scene with quiet understanding.

“I think you should go,” he said to the girl, voice even but laced with finality.

The girl faltered, then rolled her eyes and walked off, heels clicking against the floor.

Yeosang turned to Y/N. “You okay?”

Y/N stared at her drink.

“She’s right,” she said quietly. “It’s fine.”

“Y/N—” Seonghwa started.

“She’s right,” Y/N repeated, standing slowly. “Mingi would never look at someone like me like that. It’s not a big deal. I should go.”

Yeosang reached out, but she was already pulling away.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “But I’m fine.”

Neither of them believed her.

And neither of them tried to stop her as she walked out the front door and into the cold, her chest heavier than the night air.

Mingi returned to the sofa with a handful of napkins, ready to wipe up the spill and settle back into whatever this was becoming between him and Y/N.

But she wasn’t there.

Instead, the flirty girl from earlier was sprawled in her spot, twirling her hair and smirking up at him.

He blinked. “Where’d Y/N go?”

The girl shrugged, her smile too smug. “No idea. Guess she didn’t feel like competing.”

Mingi’s stomach dropped. “What?”

“You know,” she said, inching closer. “It’s kinda cute that you let her hang around. Makes you look nice.”

He stepped back slightly. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Mingi.” She laughed, like it was all some joke. “Are you really into chubby little gremlins like that? Or is this some weird frat charity thing?”

Everything in him went quiet.

Dead quiet.

And then something in his chest snapped.

“Get the fuck away from me.”

The girl blinked, startled. “Excuse me?”

He didn’t repeat it. Just glared, jaw tight, eyes hard.

Her smirk wavered. “Wow. Over her?”

Mingi’s gaze cut to the corner of the couch — and his heart dropped lower.

Y/N’s coat was still there.

She left without it.

Without him.

Shit.

He shoved the napkins into the girl’s hands without another word, snatched the coat, and turned on his heel.

Yeosang spotted him in the hall. “You okay?”

“Did she say anything to Y/N?”

Yeosang hesitated. “…Yeah.”

“What did she say?”

Yeosang’s jaw clenched. “Enough.”

Mingi didn’t wait for more.

He was already out the door.

The night air hit him like a slap — sharp and biting. He scanned the street, heart racing, eyes flicking between shadowed corners and passing figures.

Nothing.

He turned the corner.

Still nothing.

Another street. Then another.

And then—

There.

A block ahead, just past the intersection.

Her shoulders were hunched. Her steps slow. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself, clearly freezing.

And coatless.

Mingi took off running.

“Y/N!”

She didn’t turn.

“Y/N!”

This time she paused — just enough for him to catch up.

Panting, breath misting in the air, he reached out and gently caught her arm.

“You forgot your coat,” he said, holding it out like a peace offering.

She stared at him, wide-eyed, cheeks red from wind and something else.

“Mingi—”

“You left without saying anything.”

Her expression crumpled.

He held out the coat again. “You’re freezing.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

She didn’t take it, so he carefully stepped closer and wrapped it around her shoulders himself.

“Why did you leave?” he asked softly.

She looked away. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.“

He told her it mattered.

Those words echoed in her chest like a heartbeat she didn’t know was hers.

“It matters to me.”

It shouldn't have meant so much. But it did.

Because for a second—just one, stupid second—it made her think there was a chance. That maybe all the moments she thought she imagined between them were real.

That maybe she wasn’t crazy.

That maybe Mingi… liked her.

But reality was faster than hope.

And sharper.

She looked away before he could see too much. Before her face betrayed the small, desperate flicker in her chest that was already trying to grow.

“Thanks,” she mumbled. “For bringing me my coat.”

He didn’t say anything.

She pulled the fabric tighter around herself and took a step back. “You should probably get back to your party. Your… friend is probably waiting.”

“Friend?”

“The girl. The one who said—” She cut herself off, biting the inside of her cheek. “Never mind.”

She turned to go.

But his voice caught her mid-step.

“I don’t want to go back if you’re not there.”

She froze.

Wind tugged at the hem of her coat. Her fingers clenched the fabric tighter.

“Y/N.”

She turned her head slightly, just enough to see him. His breath was misting in the air. His brows were pulled together, his lips slightly parted like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

“I like spending time with you,” he said. “It’s not fun if you’re not there.”

And that—

That broke her.

Because he didn’t sound like he was just trying to make her feel better.

He sounded like he meant it.

Her shoulders dropped.

She turned fully, tears stinging at her eyes, throat closing before she could stop it.

“Mingi,” she said quietly, voice cracking. “Don’t say things like that.”

He blinked. “Why not?”

“Because…” She swallowed. “Because it makes me hopeful.”

He stepped closer.

She took a small step back.

“It makes me think you might like me too,” she whispered. “And I know that’s stupid, okay? I know you don’t. But when you say stuff like that…”

She pressed a hand over her heart like it could hold it together.

“…it hurts.”

And for the first time since they met, she let herself look at him with everything she was feeling written all over her face.

Raw. Vulnerable. Exposed.

If he didn’t feel the same, she’d survive.

But she couldn’t keep pretending it didn’t hurt when he said things that made her feel like maybe—just maybe—he did.

He hadn’t expected her to say it.

Not like that. Not with that soft, breaking voice. Not with those wide, watery eyes that looked like she was bracing for pain.

“Because it makes me hopeful… it makes me think you might like me too…”

She looked like she was waiting for a rejection.

Like she was already trying to swallow it.

And Mingi—

Mingi could barely breathe.

Because all this time, he’d been the one holding it in. Hiding it in jokes. Burying it under study notes and casual texts. Letting himself believe she couldn’t possibly feel the same.

But she did.

She liked him.

And she thought it was stupid.

His heart stuttered.

He opened his mouth—tried to form words—but nothing came out fast enough.

And then—

“It’s okay,” she said, voice quieter now, as she turned away. “I’ll see you next Friday. For the last session.”

She started walking.

Like nothing had happened.

Like she hadn’t just cracked her chest open in front of him and offered her heart on trembling hands.

Mingi blinked once—twice—

Then lunged after her.

“Y/N, wait!”

She stopped, but didn’t turn around.

He caught up to her, stepping in front of her this time. Blocking her path, heart pounding so loud he could barely hear his own voice.

“I like you,” he said.

She froze.

Mingi took a breath. Then another.

“I like you,” he repeated, more solidly this time. “I’ve liked you for months.”

Her eyes lifted, lips parted, stunned.

“I just…” He laughed once, breathless. “I didn’t think you felt the same. I thought I was just… the guy you had to tutor. Or maybe just a friend.”

“You’re not just anything,” she whispered.

Mingi stepped closer, gently brushing her hair back from her face.

“I thought you were too good for me,” he said. “Like, way out of my league.”

She let out a disbelieving breath. “You’re Mingi.”

“Exactly,” he grinned. “I’m a disaster.”

She laughed, half a sob caught in the sound, and Mingi felt the whole world shift around them.

He reached for her hand—slowly, carefully—and she let him.

And for a moment, they just stood there.

Breathing in the same cold air. Hearts exposed. Futures uncertain.

But hands finally held.

Together.

He didn’t let go of her hand.

Not when she looked at him like he was someone she’d only just started to see.

Not when the air between them buzzed with something fragile and new.

And especially not when she gave his fingers the slightest squeeze back.

Mingi smiled, cheeks flushed, heart so full it felt like it could lift him off the ground.

“Let me walk you home,” he said, still holding her hand. “It’s freezing.”

She nodded silently, still a little dazed, like she was walking in a dream.

They started moving slowly through the quiet street, her hand tucked warm in his, and Mingi felt like everything had shifted — like he wasn’t just some guy anymore. Like she wasn’t just some girl he thought about more than he should’ve.

Like this was real now.

A few minutes passed in silence — peaceful, but full of unspoken things. He could tell she was still sorting through what just happened.

Then, suddenly, she spoke.

“Why?”

Mingi glanced at her. “Hm?”

She didn’t look at him when she asked, “Why would you fall for someone like me?”

He stopped walking.

“Wait—what?”

She finally turned, expression soft but uncertain, like she wasn’t trying to fish for compliments — like she truly didn’t get it.

And that broke him a little.

“What do you mean?” he asked gently.

“I just…” she trailed off, shrugging a little. “I don’t look like the girls you usually talk to. I’m not confident like them, or cool, or… I don’t know. I’m not really—”

“Stop.”

Mingi’s voice was quiet but firm. His thumb brushed gently along her knuckles.

“I don’t think you get it,” he said, looking straight at her. “I didn’t fall for you despite who you are. I fell for you because of it.”

She blinked.

“I like that you’re honest,” he said. “That you’re thoughtful. That you actually listen when people talk.”

He took a step closer, still holding her hand.

“I like that you’re funny — not loud funny, but the kind of funny that sneaks up on people and catches them off guard. Like that time you roasted me in statistics and didn’t even realize it.”

She smiled a little at that.

“I like how you get all focused when you’re explaining something — your eyebrows scrunch, and you wave your hands around like you’re conducting a damn orchestra.”

She laughed, surprised, and that sound wrecked him in the best way.

“I like your laugh,” he said. “And the way you look when you’re trying not to.”

Her smile started to fade — not in a bad way, but like it was melting into something softer. Something vulnerable.

“And I like your hair,” he added, quieter now. “It always looks soft. I think about touching it more than I should.”

Her breath caught.

“I like how smart you are. I like how you make me want to be smarter.”

He swallowed, heart thudding.

“And I like how you make me feel.”

She was staring at him now. Eyes wide, lips parted, barely breathing.

“You make me feel like…” He let out a small, almost helpless laugh. “Like I’m not just some guy in a frat house.”

Y/N looked at him like he was a sunrise.

Like she didn’t know what to do with any of this.

So Mingi did the only thing his heart could manage.

He leaned in.

And kissed her.

Soft. Careful. Gentle.

Her lips were warm. She tasted like the lingering hint of cherry soda. She didn’t move for a second — frozen in shock.

Then she kissed him back.

Just once.

And it was perfect.

Their lips parted, but Mingi didn’t move far.

He kept her close — so close their foreheads touched, warm breath mingling in the winter air.

His hand gently brushed her cheek, thumb tracing the edge like it was the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

She looked at him like she still couldn’t believe this was real.

So he told her again.

Softly. Honestly. Everything that mattered.

“I like the way you see the world,” he whispered, eyes half-lidded. “You notice things other people don’t. Like how you always remember when one of the guys says they’ve got a test coming up… or how you bring snacks without being asked.”

His fingers moved gently, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“I like how you treat people. Even when they don’t deserve it.”

Her breath hitched.

“I like the way you talk about home. You always sound like you miss it, but like you’re proud too.”

She blinked quickly, and he saw it — the shimmer in her eyes. The way her chest rose like she was holding something in.

“And I like your voice,” he said. “Especially when you’re sleepy. You don’t even know how soft it gets.”

She let out a tiny laugh, barely there.

Mingi smiled.

“I could keep going,” he murmured. “I will, if you let me.”

She nodded.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Keep going.”

And he did.

Right there under the streetlight, hand on her cheek, forehead resting against hers — he gave her every reason he’d fallen, one after another.

Because she deserved to know.

Because he’d been holding it in for too long.

And because finally — finally — she believed him.

They didn’t say much on the walk back.

Mingi kept her hand in his the whole time, humming a little under his breath, smiling like a fool.

Y/N couldn’t stop glancing at him from the corner of her eye. He was tall and broad and so completely there, walking beside her like they’d done this a thousand times.

When they reached her building, she hesitated outside the door, thumb brushing over her keys.

“You wanna come up?” she asked softly, peeking up at him through her lashes.

Mingi’s head shot up like a puppy hearing a treat bag crinkle. “Really?”

She nodded.

His grin grew impossibly wide. “Only if I get to cuddle you to death.”

Y/N laughed — loud and unfiltered — and that only made Mingi look more pleased with himself.

“Come on, dork,” she said, unlocking the door.

Her place was small but warm — a mix of old posters, fairy lights, and a faint vanilla scent she hoped he liked.

“Here,” she said, tugging a drawer open. “These should fit you.”

She handed him a black oversized tee and a pair of grey joggers that used to belong to her cousin.

Without hesitation, Mingi peeled his hoodie off, then his shirt.

Right there. In her room.

Y/N blinked.

And blinked again.

Oh.

He was built.

Muscles under soft skin, broad shoulders, that dip where his waist narrowed — and absolutely zero shame.

He noticed her staring and smirked a little. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she squeaked, turning around way too fast. “Totally fine. Not combusting at all.”

Mingi chuckled behind her, clearly enjoying himself.

“Okay,” he said after pulling the shirt on. “Now come here.”

They curled up on her bed, under the fluffiest blanket she owned. Mingi clicked through his phone and pulled up a K-drama.

“This one’s kind of ridiculous,” he said. “But I love it.”

Y/N didn’t really care what they watched.

All she could think about was how warm his arms felt around her, how steady his breathing was behind her ear, how his hand lazily traced circles against her side.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured.

She made a sound — half laugh, half flustered whimper — and tried to hide her face in the blanket.

“No hiding,” Mingi said, nuzzling into her hair. “You’re mine now.”

Her heart stuttered.

He kissed her temple.

Then her cheek.

Then the tip of her nose.

And then — slowly, sweetly — her lips again.

He kept kissing her between sentences like he couldn’t help himself.

“I like you so much.”

Kiss

“I still can’t believe you like me back.”

Kiss

“You have no idea what you’ve done to me.”

Kiss

“Mingi,” she whispered, smiling too much to stop it.

He tucked her closer to his chest, resting his chin on top of her head.

They stayed like that, tangled and quiet, the drama flickering in the background and neither of them really paying attention.

Then, just as her eyes started to drift shut, she heard his voice again — softer, sleepier now.

“Hey…”

“Mm?”

“…Does this mean you’re my girlfriend now?”

Y/N opened her eyes slowly, turning her head enough to look at him.

His lashes were fluttering, cheeks pink, expression hopeful and half-asleep.

She smiled.

“I’d love that,” she whispered.

Mingi let out a long, content sigh, tightened his hold around her, and buried his nose into her hair.

And just like that—

They fell asleep.

Wrapped in each other.

Warm.

Happy.

Home.

Mingi didn’t want to move.

Sunlight was starting to peek through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room, and Y/N was still curled into him, one arm tucked under her cheek, the other slung across his waist. Her breathing was slow and steady, lashes fluttering just slightly like she was deep in a dream.

And Mingi just… watched.

Not in a creepy way. In a can’t-believe-this-is-real way.

Her bed smelled like vanilla and shampoo and something sweet that made him never want to leave.

But his phone buzzed.

He groaned and reached over carefully without waking her, squinting at the screen.

Joongie 💢 “Frat cleanup at 10. If you don’t show, it’s toilet duty for a week.”

Mingi scowled and tossed the phone gently onto the nightstand.

No way was he leaving without saying goodbye.

Instead, he settled back down next to her, wrapping his arm more tightly around her middle. She shifted slightly, nestling even closer, her nose brushing his collarbone.

And then — softly — she stirred.

“Mingi?” she mumbled.

He smiled and brushed her hair back from her face. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

She blinked at him, bleary-eyed and adorable. “You’re still here.”

“Of course I’m still here.” He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “You think I’d sneak out on my girlfriend the morning after our first cuddle marathon?”

She let out a little laugh. “Fair point.”

“I have to head back soon,” he said reluctantly. “The guys are doing a cleaning thing, and apparently my presence is mandatory if I want to avoid toilet duty.”

“Ew,” she said, scrunching her nose. “Okay, yeah, go.”

He laughed, then cupped her cheek gently, kissing her once — and then again, slower the second time.

“I had a really good night,” he said.

Y/N smiled sleepily. “Me too.”

“Like… stupidly good.”

“You’re just saying that because I let you pick the drama.”

“Okay, that too,” he admitted, grinning. “But mostly because of you.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she tucked her face against his chest to hide it.

“I’ll text you when I’m back?” he asked.

She nodded into his shirt. “You better.”

He gave her one last kiss — soft, lingering, pressed against the corner of her mouth — then gently slid out of bed and got dressed.

She stayed curled under the blanket, watching him with a fond smile, and when he looked back at her one last time from the door, she whispered, “Bye, boyfriend.”

Mingi’s heart nearly exploded.

“Bye, girlfriend.”

The frat house smelled like cleaning spray and regret by the time he got back. Mingi floated through the front door with the kind of dopey grin that made Yeosang pause mid-window-wipe.

“Why do you look like you just won the lottery and got kissed by Santa?” he asked flatly.

San turned off the vacuum. “Wait, what did I miss?”

Jongho squinted at him. “You didn’t come home last night.”

Mingi dropped his bag near the stairs and stretched, still glowing. “Yeah.”

Seonghwa emerged from the kitchen, towel over his shoulder. “So? You staying at Y/N’s or something?”

Mingi ran a hand through his hair and bit back a grin.

“She’s my girlfriend now.”

Dead silence.

Then—

“WHAT?!”

Busan was loud, bright, and full of salt-scented air.

Wooyoung had somehow convinced everyone to rent a beach house just outside the city, and it had turned into a mini vacation: full of sand, grilled meat, sunscreen wars, and too much iced coffee.

Y/N sat under a wide umbrella on the beach, her feet buried in the warm sand and a book open in her lap. She hadn’t read a single word.

Because Mingi was currently ten feet away, tossing a frisbee with San and Yeosang, shirtless and laughing in the sunshine.

And it was ridiculous how he still made her heart flip.

“Hey.”

She looked up and saw Mingi jogging toward her, cheeks flushed and hair damp with sweat.

He dropped beside her on the towel, breathless and smiling. “You’re not even watching me.”

“I was absolutely watching you,” she said, closing the book. “I just… also like pretending I’m being productive.”

He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I passed.”

Y/N blinked. “Wait, what?”

He grinned. “I just checked my final grades. I passed statistics.”

She squealed and threw her arms around him. “Mingi! That’s amazing!”

“Right?!”

“You were so sure you bombed the final!”

“I was sure I bombed the final.”

She laughed and kissed his temple. “I’m so proud of you.”

He pulled back, eyes sparkling. “You’re the reason I passed, you know.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please. I helped. You’re the one who learned it.”

“I would’ve dropped out crying if not for you,” he insisted, tugging her closer until she was practically in his lap.

They stayed like that — wrapped in each other, sun and breeze wrapping around them — until Mingi spoke again.

“I’m glad we came here,” he said, voice softer now. “I feel like I can actually breathe.”

She looked at him, surprised by the shift in tone.

“You okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Just… this past semester sucked, and now it doesn’t. Because you’re here. And I passed. And now I get to kiss my girlfriend in Busan under an umbrella while Wooyoung yells at Jongho for cheating at beach volleyball.”

As if on cue, a loud “You LIED, you absolute menace!” echoed from the court.

Y/N snorted.

Mingi laughed and rested his forehead against hers. “Thanks for believing in me.”

“Always.”

He kissed her then — sweet and warm, tasting like sunblock and soda, full of everything summer was supposed to feel like.

And for a few moments, the world was just them.

The beach house was quiet at night.

The others had trickled off to bed after hours of laughter, s’mores over the grill, and Yeosang’s surprisingly intense card game tournament.

Y/N stepped outside onto the back porch, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, the ocean breeze brushing against her skin. The sound of the waves was soft now — not loud or crashing, just steady.

A door creaked open behind her.

She smiled before even turning around.

“You always find the quiet spots,” Mingi said, padding toward her in his sweats and hoodie.

She held the blanket open wordlessly, and he stepped right into it, curling around her like he’d always belonged there.

They stood in silence for a moment, his chin resting on her shoulder, his arms warm around her waist.

“I was thinking about our first tutoring session,” she said eventually. “You kept asking if you could nap between chapters.”

He huffed a laugh. “You called me a statistical lost cause.”

“You were.”

“I still passed though.”

She leaned back into him. “You did.”

Mingi’s voice lowered, gentler now. “Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if we hadn’t met?”

She was quiet for a second.

“I think I still would’ve learned to love Seoul,” she said, honestly. “But I don’t think I would’ve laughed as much. Or felt this safe.”

He kissed the top of her head.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done,” he admitted. “You slowed me down. In the best way.”

She turned in his arms so they were face to face.

Mingi looked at her like she was the best thing he’d ever been given.

“You made me believe I could actually finish something,” he whispered. “And not just a class.”

She smiled, heart full.

“Next semester’s gonna be insane,” she said.

“Tell me about it.”

“But I’m not as scared anymore.”

He took her hands, lacing their fingers together. “You shouldn’t be. You’re amazing.”

“So are you,” she replied.

Mingi leaned in, pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that was less about fireworks and more about anchoring — grounding. Familiar. Home.

When they pulled back, he didn’t let go.

“I don’t know what’s gonna happen next year, or the one after that,” he said, voice low. “But if you’re in it, I already know it’s gonna be good.”

Y/N blinked fast.

“Don’t make me cry on a porch like a romcom extra,” she said, laughing softly.

Mingi smiled. “Too late.”

They stood there for a while longer, wrapped in the blanket, listening to the ocean — to the quiet beating of something that felt a lot like forever.

Not flashy.

Not perfect.

But real.

And that was more than enough.

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

[mimikittysblog]

Y/N is a shy transfer student navigating her first year at a university in Seoul, where everything feels too loud, too fast, and too unfamiliar. Assigned to tutor the campus heartthrob — Mingi, a wildly popular frat boy with a reputation as reckless as his laugh — she expects a headache, not heart flutters. But between chaotic study sessions, frat parties, anime confessions, and quiet snowstorms, something starts to shift. He’s more than just the loud guy in black. And she might be more than just his tutor.

Pairing: Song Mingi (ATEEZ) × Female Reader (Y/N)

Trope(s): College AU, Tutor x Student, Friends-to-Lovers, Opposites Attract, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, First Love Energy™, Plus-Size!Reader, Soft!Fratboy!Mingi supremacy

Genre: Romantic Comedy | Coming-of-Age | Slow Burn with Payoff | Soft Angst with a Happy Ending

Featuring: All ATEEZ members as part of Mingi’s chaotic frat house, Tender male friendships, Low-key commentary on body image, culture shock, and finding belonging

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

The first thing Y/N learns about Seoul is that nobody stops for lost people.

It’s her second day at university and she’s already late, her tote bag bouncing against her hip as she jogs across campus in a soft panic. The map app on her phone reroutes for the third time and she curses under her breath, praying to any higher power that Statistics 201 is somewhere—anywhere—near the giant red sculpture she’s now passed twice.

Back home, she was the one who always arrived early. But here, in a new country, a new school, surrounded by new everything, she feels like a puzzle piece from the wrong box.

When she finally reaches the classroom, it’s already half full. She slips into a seat in the back and tries not to make eye contact with anyone.

Not that it matters. No one’s looking. They’re all hunched over laptops or whispering in casual Korean she still can’t keep up with when spoken fast. She exhales slowly. Survive. That’s the only goal this semester.

Midway through the lecture, her professor pauses and adjusts his glasses. “Before we wrap up today, I have your tutoring pair assignments.”

Oh right. Peer tutoring. Required for those with high entrance scores to help students struggling with prerequisites. She vaguely remembers checking the box during orientation, thinking it would be simple.

She expected to help some quiet kid who just didn’t get formulas. Someone like her. What she got instead was:

“Y/N, you’ll be assigned to Song Mingi. He’s—ah—around somewhere.”

A few students in the front snort. One of them whispers, “Good luck.”

Another says, “Olympus will eat her alive.”

Y/N blinks. Olympus?

She finds out what they meant an hour later.

After receiving a message from someone named “🕺MINGZZZ” with nothing but an address and a „come hungry 😋“, Y/N stands outside an ivy-covered house near campus. Music thumps from inside, and a volleyball sails over the roof and onto the lawn where two shirtless guys are sword-fighting with foam pool noodles.

She hesitates.

Maybe she should turn around and say she got the wrong place. Maybe this is—

“Y/N?”

A tall guy with neon-orange hair bursts through the door and jogs toward her, waving both arms like an excited golden retriever. “You’re real!” he beams. “I thought the prof made you up to scare me into studying!”

Y/N opens her mouth. Closes it. “Are… you Mingi?”

“That’s me!” He leans in, looking at her like she’s a rare Pokémon. “Whoa. You’re not from here, right?”

She stiffens. “No. I’m—”

“Cool!” he says before she can finish. “Come inside! We’ve got food. Kinda. San’s cooking, so no promises.”

She’s dragged in before she can protest.

Inside the house is chaotic brilliance.

Shoes litter the entryway. There’s a guitar on the couch. A blender is running with no one watching it. On the wall is a large hand-painted mural of a Greek temple, and under it: „ΩLƱMPƱS – Since 2020“.

“Oh my god,” she whispers.

Mingi grins like a tour guide. “Welcome to Olympus, baby. The most elite frat on campus.”

“You painted this?” she asks.

“Hongjoong did. He was possessed by the spirit of Dionysus or something.”

Just then, a guy walks past with a paintbrush stuck behind his ear and no shirt on. “You’re late, Mingi. Stats Girl—hi, I’m Hongjoong—is not here to babysit you.”

Mingi rolls his eyes and gestures to the other guys walking in and out of the living room.

“That’s Seonghwa, our house mom. Yunho’s the tall one setting up Mario Kart. Jongho’s in the kitchen glaring at a protein shake. San’s setting something on fire. And that’s Yeosang. He’s probably judging your soul right now.”

Yeosang, sitting silently with a Rubik’s Cube and airpods in, offers a subtle wave.

Y/N swallows.

Mingi flops onto a bean bag and gestures at the floor beside him. “Let’s math.”

“You don’t even have your notebook,” she says, still standing awkwardly.

He shrugs. “It’s in my soul.”

The first session is a disaster.

Mingi interrupts every equation with questions like “Who invented square roots?” and “Why is P the symbol for probability when S makes more sense?” At one point he throws a chip in the air and misses catching it in his mouth. It hits her arm.

Y/N wants to scream.

But then… he surprises her.

When she re-explains how to identify distributions using sample size, he actually listens. His jokes stop. His eyebrows furrow. He writes something down. The moment is fleeting, but it happens.

He’s not dumb. He just has the attention span of a gnat.

And… he’s kind of weirdly charming.

Later, as she gathers her things, Mingi stands and walks her to the door.

“You’re not quitting, right?” he says. His voice is quieter now. More serious.

She pauses. “No. I said I’d help you.”

He nods, rocking on his heels. “Cool. Next week, same chaos?”

She hesitates. Then: “…Bring a notebook.”

He grins. “Yes, ma’am.”

As she steps out onto the sidewalk, the door closes behind her with a thud, and for the first time since moving to Seoul, Y/N feels something unfamiliar curling in her chest.

A tug.

And it’s pointing back toward that noisy, messy house filled with ramen, boys who shout too loud, and a boy who might just be smarter than he thinks.

Y/N stared at her reflection in the campus bathroom mirror, tugging at the hem of her oversized hoodie. She knew she shouldn’t care.

It was just a comment. One offhand sentence. Nothing dramatic. Nothing cruel.

“You have such a pretty face,” the girl in her intro Korean class had said as they packed up their books. “You’d be seriously stunning if you dropped a little weight.”

She’d smiled—tight-lipped, polite. Laughed even. The way you’re taught to when you don’t want to make a scene.

Now, two hours later, her skin still prickled with shame.

She wasn’t even surprised. Not really. Moving to Seoul meant adapting—fast—to a new language, new social norms, new fashion. And in a place where being “thin” was more than an expectation—it was practically law—it didn’t take long to notice where you fell short.

She just hadn’t expected the reminder to sting this much.

By the time she arrives at Olympus again, it’s already dark out. She told Mingi she’d come by after class since his schedule was a mess this week. The house is quieter tonight. No music blasting. Just the sound of someone yelling about a broken rice cooker from the kitchen.

When Mingi answers the door, he’s wearing plaid pajama pants, a shirt with a badly drawn shark on it, and a look of mock betrayal.

“You’re late,” he says, stepping aside to let her in. “I almost died of anticipation.”

“Tragic,” she mutters, kicking off her sneakers. “Guess you’ll have to suffer.”

He blinks at her. “Whoa. You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

It comes out too fast. Too practiced.

Mingi doesn’t push. Not yet.

Instead, he offers her a bag of banana milk, already poked open with a straw. “For the tutor. Payment in calcium.”

She almost cracks a smile. Almost.

They settle on the living room floor with their textbooks. Yunho walks by holding a stack of plates and nods at her like she’s a regular now. Jongho follows, looking like he just came from the gym and mumbling something about protein and macros. San waves a spatula at her before heading toward the kitchen yelling, “If the smoke alarm goes off, it’s not my fault this time!”

Y/N doesn’t respond. Her brain’s too noisy.

Mingi, of course, notices.

He’s doodling a graph in the corner of his notes, tongue sticking out in concentration, when he glances up.

“You’re quiet,” he says casually.

“I usually am.”

“Not like this.” He eyes her more closely. “You’re… sad quiet.”

She sighs, rubs at her eyes. “It’s been a long day.”

“Tell me?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not real,” he replies, voice gentler than usual.

She hesitates. Then: “It’s hard sometimes. Being here. Everything feels… a little off. Like I’m always just a second too late to get the joke.”

Mingi’s expression softens.

“And then,” she continues, pushing her sleeves over her hands, “there’s the way people look at me. Like I missed a memo on what I’m supposed to look like.”

He doesn’t interrupt.

“Someone told me today I’d be prettier if I lost weight.” Her voice cracks a little. “And they said it like they were doing me a favor.”

Mingi exhales through his nose. “Do I know them?”

She blinks at him. “What?”

“Whoever said that. Do I know them? Because I’ve got a Nerf gun and zero self-control.”

That earns a weak laugh from her. “You’re ridiculous.”

He leans in slightly, his tone suddenly serious. “Okay, but real talk? You’re already pretty. No ‘if,’ no ‘but.’ Just… fact.”

Y/N freezes.

Mingi doesn’t say it like he’s teasing. He says it like he means it. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I know I mess around a lot,” he continues, fiddling with the cap of his highlighter, “but I see stuff. You’ve got this… spark. You walk in and it’s like the air changes. You don’t see it yet, but it’s there.”

Her cheeks flush. “Now I know you’re lying.”

“I don’t lie. I exaggerate, embellish, and occasionally perform dramatic reenactments—but I don’t lie.”

She chuckles, looking down at her notes. “Thanks.”

He nudges her shoulder. “Anytime.”

They get through maybe half a chapter before Mingi’s attention span short-circuits.

“Okay,” he groans, flopping backward onto the carpet. “My brain is full. It’s leaking out of my ears.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow. “We’ve been at this for thirty minutes.”

“Which is thirty more than usual!” he protests. “I need brain fuel. Ramen?”

She blinks. “Now?”

“It’s midnight. Prime noodle time.”

Before she can stop him, he’s already yelling into the hallway. “SEONGHWA-HYUNG, CAN WE USE THE STOVE OR DID SAN BREAK IT AGAIN?”

Seonghwa appears in the doorway, arms crossed. “You’re lucky I love you. Wipe the counters after.”

“Yes, Mom.”

Mingi turns to Y/N with a grin. “C’mon. Cooking lesson. I’ll even let you stir.”

In the kitchen, he makes a mess of everything—spills seasoning, burns his hand on the pot, accidentally uses sparkling water instead of regular for the broth. Y/N laughs for the first time all day.

He’s ridiculous. And chaotic. But… it’s a welcome kind of chaos.

Something she didn’t know she needed.

Later, they eat in the kitchen while the rest of the house sleeps. It’s quiet, soft in a way that feels sacred. Mingi’s leg keeps brushing hers under the table, but he doesn’t move away. Neither does she.

She looks at him and wonders how someone like him—so big, so loud, so free—could ever understand what it feels like to shrink yourself for safety.

And yet, tonight, he’s given her space to be seen. Not as a project. Not as a problem.

Just… as a person.

When she leaves, he walks her to the gate again, hands in his hoodie pockets.

“Hey,” he says, just before she steps onto the sidewalk. “Next time, you should come early. Like, before tutoring. Just hang out.”

Y/N tilts her head. “Why?”

“Because,” he says with a shrug, “I like having you around.”

She doesn’t respond right away. But her smile, small and slow and real, is answer enough.

Mingi was not known for his academic prowess.

He was known for throwing a good party, ordering extra fries without asking, and knowing the lyrics to every K-pop girl group single from 2010 onward.

What he wasn’t known for was sitting still for more than ten minutes.

Yet here he was—on the living room floor with a stats textbook in his lap—voluntarily trying to understand binomial distributions.

Because Y/N was here.

She sat cross-legged across from him, her notes already color-coded and crisp, like she’d planned this session three days in advance. Probably had. She was that kind of person.

Meanwhile, Mingi had just found his notebook under the couch cushion five minutes ago.

He leaned back on his palms, watching her read something aloud. His eyes were meant to be on the formulas, but they drifted—first to her face, then lower.

God, she was hot.

Not in the usual flashy way girls tried to look at frat parties, all glitter and heels. Y/N was quiet heat. Soft, thick thighs in leggings. A hoodie that clung around her chest every time she reached forward. Curves that didn’t seem like she knew were a big deal—but they were.

At least to him.

But it wasn’t just that.

She was… different. Guarded. Not in a stuck-up way—just like someone who had to build her own space before letting anyone in. That made him curious. And the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to know her.

Not just what grade she got on last week’s quiz.

But like—what made her laugh? What did she miss from back home? What was her favorite snack at 3 a.m.?

“Hey,” he said suddenly, cutting into her sentence. “Can I ask you something?”

She blinked up at him. “Sure?”

“Where are you from? Like—before Seoul.”

She smiled a little, setting her pen down. “Germany. I grew up near Stuttgart.”

“Whoa. That’s cool.” Mingi nodded. “Do you miss it?”

“Sometimes,” she said. “The food, mostly. And my family.”

He tilted his head. “So you came here alone?”

“Yeah. I got accepted into the international program, and I’d always wanted to study abroad.”

“Damn,” he said. “That’s brave.”

She chuckled under her breath. “It doesn’t feel brave most days. Just overwhelming.”

That pulled him up short.

She said it so casually, like it was just a fact—like being overwhelmed and completely on your own in a foreign country wasn’t a huge deal.

He frowned. “Do you at least have a good group of people around you? Like, friends?”

Y/N went quiet for a second. “Not really.”

“What?” He sat up straighter. “You haven’t made any friends yet?”

She shrugged, not looking at him. “It’s hard. Most people already have their groups. And I don’t exactly fit in.”

Mingi stared at her.

That quiet pit in his stomach? Yeah. That was guilt.

Because he hadn’t even thought about that. He saw her as his tutor, the one who corrected his math and lowkey roasted him when he forgot what a histogram was.

But now, hearing her say she didn’t have anyone? That hit different.

“Wait—” he said quickly. “We’re friends.”

She looked up, startled. “What?”

“We are,” he repeated, voice a little firmer now. “You come here. We study. We eat ramen. You roast me when I mess up decimals. That’s friendship.”

She stared at him, unreadable.

Then: “You don’t have to say that just because you feel bad for me.”

“I don’t feel bad,” he said, shaking his head. “I just didn’t realize… you felt like that.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “Well. Thanks.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds. The kind of silence that wasn’t awkward—just full.

Mingi cleared his throat. “Hey, uh—speaking of friendship…”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What?”

“We’re having a party this weekend.”

She sighed.

“Wait! Before you say no,” he said, raising both hands. “You don’t have to dress up. Or dance. Or talk to strangers. Just… come hang out. We’ll keep it chill. You can even sit in the kitchen and judge everyone. I’ll bring you banana milk.”

That made her laugh—really laugh—and Mingi felt weirdly proud.

“I’ll think about it,” she said.

He grinned. “That’s not a no.”

“No,” she said, “but it’s not a yes either.”

He leaned back again, satisfied.

That was good enough for now.

Later, after she left, Mingi sat in the quiet living room, flipping through his notes.

They still didn’t make much sense.

But something else did.

Y/N wasn’t just someone interesting anymore.

She was someone worth paying attention to.

Later that evening, Mingi found himself still on the living room floor. The textbook was open on his lap, but he hadn’t turned a page in ten minutes.

The house was quieter now, the party plans on pause until the weekend, the usual energy diffused into pockets of laughter echoing from the upstairs hallway.

He should’ve been scrolling on his phone. Or snacking. Or yelling at San for using his favorite hoodie as a towel again.

Instead, he was… still.

Which was rare.

“Yo,” Yunho’s voice came from behind the couch. “You okay? You haven’t moved in, like, forever.”

Mingi blinked and looked up. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

That earned him a suspicious stare. Seonghwa appeared next, towel slung over his shoulder, a bowl of apple slices in one hand.

“Oh no,” he said dramatically. “He’s thinking?”

“That’s dangerous,” Wooyoung added, flopping down beside him. “Who broke you? Wait—was it the tutor?”

“Y/N?” San grinned from the kitchen doorway. “Mingi only gets quiet like this when a girl messes with his brain.”

“Or when he’s trying to impress someone he wants to take to bed,” Yeosang chimed in without looking up from his game.

“I don’t want to sleep with her,” Mingi muttered reflexively—then paused. “I mean—not like that. I mean—not just that—”

The guys burst into laughter.

“He’s malfunctioning,” Wooyoung gasped. “Reset him!”

“I think he’s in the interest-but-doesn’t-know-how-to-label-it phase,” Seonghwa said wisely, offering him an apple slice like it was therapy.

Mingi rolled his eyes and took it anyway. “She’s just cool, okay? And smart. And kind of funny, but in that deadpan, I-might-murder-you way. Also…”

His voice trailed off.

“Also?” San prompted.

Mingi sighed. “She’s hot. Like, actually hot. I don’t know why she doesn’t see it.”

The others went quiet for half a beat. Not in judgment—just in the way frat brothers got quiet when something real slipped into the room.

“Well,” Hongjoong said finally, coming downstairs with a sketchpad, “maybe it’s your turn to help her see it.”

Mingi didn’t answer.

But he smiled.

Mingi had never cared this much about the front door.

He leaned against the kitchen counter, drink in hand, eyes flicking toward the entrance every few seconds. Not that he was waiting—okay, maybe he was—but only a little.

The party was already in full swing. The house was packed, the lights were low, and Yunho had somehow convinced the DJ to play trot music for twenty straight minutes.

But even surrounded by friends and familiar chaos, Mingi kept glancing at the door.

Waiting.

Wondering.

Y/N had said she might come.

Not yes. Not no. Just “I’ll think about it.”

That was three days ago. And now every second she didn’t walk through the door felt like another tiny letdown he didn’t want to admit he felt.

He wasn’t even sure why he cared this much.

She wasn’t his girlfriend. She was barely even a friend until a few tutoring sessions ago. But there was something about her. The way she’d admitted she didn’t have many people here. The way she looked when she laughed. The way she never seemed to notice how pretty she was, or how those leggings hugged her hips in ways that drove him insane if he thought about it too long.

Not that he was thinking about it.

Much.

“Mingi.”

He blinked. A girl was standing in front of him, glossy lips curved into a practiced smile.

“I’ve been calling your name for, like, a minute.”

“Sorry,” he said, flashing an apologetic grin. “Zoned out.”

She stepped closer. He didn’t recognize her—tall, tight dress, heels way too sharp for their linoleum floor. Probably a guest of a guest. She tilted her head, looking him over.

“Didn’t expect to see you looking so serious at your own party. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he said automatically.

“Looking for someone?” she asked, playful.

“No,” he lied.

She laughed and placed a hand on his arm. “Well, whoever she is, she’s missing out. You’re way more fun than you look right now.”

Mingi gave a tight smile.

He wasn’t in the mood. She was pretty, sure, and clearly trying—but she wasn’t what he wanted tonight.

And she definitely wasn’t Y/N.

“You’re the one with the foreign tutor, right?” the girl asked suddenly, tilting her head like she just remembered something juicy.

Mingi straightened slightly. “Yeah. Why?”

“I saw her last time,” she said with a casual shrug. “She looked a little… out of place. Like she didn’t really belong here.”

Mingi’s grip tightened around his cup.

The girl didn’t notice. She was too busy sipping her drink.

“I mean, she’s cute in a, like, different way. Curvy girls can totally be cute if they dress right, you know?”

The air in Mingi’s lungs turned cold.

Yeosang was the first to appear at his side, silent and sharp-eyed. “What did you just say?”

The girl blinked, caught off guard. “What? I didn’t mean it in a mean way—”

“You did,” Seonghwa said, suddenly there, arms crossed, voice calm and deadly. “You just thought no one would call you on it.”

Mingi stared at the girl, jaw tight. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

The girl backed up half a step. “Jeez, it was just an observation.”

Wooyoung’s laughter cut through the tension, sharp and sarcastic. “Yeah? Well, observe your way out, then.”

The girl flushed, muttered something under her breath, and walked off.

The moment she was gone, the guys turned to Mingi.

“You good?” Yunho asked.

Mingi nodded slowly. “I didn’t like how she said that.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” Yeosang muttered.

“She doesn’t know anything about Y/N,” Seonghwa added. “But you do.”

Mingi didn’t say anything. He just looked at the front door again.

She didn’t show.

At least not that night.

But for the first time, he realized something important.

He didn’t just like having Y/N around because she was different.

He liked her because he liked her.

And maybe that was scarier than any midterm could ever be.

Y/N didn’t go to the party.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see Mingi—she did, probably more than she was willing to admit—but the thought of stepping into that house full of effortlessly cool people, loud music, and stares she couldn’t quite decode was too much.

She wasn’t scared.

She just didn’t want to feel like an intruder again.

So instead, she stayed in. Finished two chapters of her reading. Cleaned her apartment. Watched half of a show she couldn’t follow because her mind kept drifting back to what the night could’ve been like.

And then she told herself to stop being stupid.

Three days later, she was at the campus library, trying to force herself through a dense stats review sheet when she felt someone walk up behind her.

“Hey.”

She glanced up and nearly dropped her pencil.

Seonghwa.

Tall, striking, annoyingly perfect Seonghwa—Mingi’s friend, the one who had an aura like he stepped out of a luxury brand ad and smelled like wisdom and lavender—stood next to her table holding a coffee cup and looking entirely too ethereal for a weekday.

“I thought that was you,” he said, smiling. “Can I sit?”

Y/N blinked. “Uh… sure.”

He slid into the chair across from her and set his cup down. For a moment, it was just… quiet.

She tried to keep her eyes on her paper, but it was hard when she could feel the shift in the air.

Because people were looking.

Not at her, at first—but at Seonghwa. Girls at the nearby table were whispering. One guy actually tripped on a backpack because he was too busy sneaking a glance. And then the stares drifted to her.

Her stomach twisted.

This always happened when she was around guys like Mingi—or now, Seonghwa. People looked at her like they were trying to figure out why she was there. Like she was some puzzle piece jammed into the wrong box.

She shifted in her seat.

Seonghwa noticed.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

Y/N hesitated. Then, before she could convince herself not to, she said it.

“I don’t like how people stare when I’m around you guys.”

Seonghwa blinked. “You mean… right now?”

“Yeah.” Her voice was quiet, but steady. “I get it. You’re all… attractive. Popular. Loud. You fit. And I don’t. I stand out.”

He didn’t answer right away. She expected a brush-off or an awkward laugh. But instead, he nodded slowly.

“You’re not wrong,” he said. “You do stand out.”

Her heart sank a little.

“But not for the reasons you think.”

That made her look up.

“This country,” he continued, voice soft but serious, “has a habit of staring at people who don’t look like everyone else. Foreigners especially. Sometimes it’s curiosity. Sometimes it’s judgment. It sucks either way.”

She blinked, caught off guard by his honesty.

“I’ve seen it before,” he said. “At cafes. On the subway. Even in class. You didn’t ask for the attention, but it finds you anyway.”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Seonghwa leaned back slightly in his chair. “And for what it’s worth… you handle it with a lot more grace than most people I know.”

Her throat tightened a little.

“And if you ever need someone on your side,” he added, “I want to be that. Your friend, I mean.”

She stared at him.

“You want to be my friend?”

“Of course,” he said, like it was obvious.

Y/N didn’t know what to say.

She hadn’t expected that—not from someone like him, who had every reason to float through life surrounded by people who looked like magazine spreads.

“Why?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Seonghwa smiled. “Because I think you’re worth knowing of course,” he said, like it was the easiest decision in the world.

And it kind of was.

She was quiet, but not cold. Thoughtful. Sharp in ways most people didn’t notice unless they listened carefully. And despite the way she shrank in crowds or flinched at attention, she had this steady presence that grounded you just by being near. She was confident in her own way.

He could see why Mingi was drawn to her.

And maybe—just maybe—Seonghwa was beginning to understand that pull himself.

He’d never touch it, of course. Not with Mingi circling this slowly unraveling crush like a moth to flame.

But he was curious now. Watching.

Because the girl who sat quietly across from him, chewing her pen and pretending not to notice the weight of the world, wasn’t just “the tutor.”

She was someone.

And he wanted to see what happened next with Mingi and her.

By now, Y/N had learned exactly how many steps it took to walk from her dorm to the Olympus frat house: 3,124.

Not that she counted.

(Okay, maybe once. She was bored. And slightly anxious.)

But today, her footsteps felt heavier than usual.

Not because she didn’t want to be there—oddly, she did—but because something about skipping that party last week was still gnawing at her.

She hadn’t heard from Mingi since then. Not a meme. Not a “stats sucks, save me.” Not even a banana milk sticker.

It shouldn’t have bothered her. He wasn’t her boyfriend. He wasn’t even her real friend, not in the deep, lifelong kind of way. But still… something in her chest twisted with uncertainty.

What if he was mad?

Or worse—what if he stopped caring?

She knocked lightly on the door and let herself in. By now, the house didn’t feel quite as overwhelming. Still chaotic, still full of strange furniture and stranger smells, but… familiar. Almost warm.

Y/N peeked into the living room—and froze.

Mingi was sitting on the couch, arms folded, legs spread wide, hoodie up over his head. He looked like a sulking teenager trying to disappear into the cushions.

Except… he was six feet tall with broad shoulders and a sharp jawline that didn’t exactly scream “adorable.”

But somehow, he was.

When he looked up and saw her, he didn’t grin like usual. Didn’t say something dumb or loud or mildly inappropriate.

He just pouted.

“You didn’t come,” he mumbled.

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“To the party.” He sat up straighter, arms still crossed. “You said you’d think about it. I thought that meant yes.”

“I—” she started, startled. “I didn’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t have.”

She stepped further inside, letting the door click shut behind her. “You were busy. I didn’t think you’d even notice.”

Mingi scoffed. “Of course I noticed. I looked at the door every five minutes like an idiot.”

That made her pause.

He was serious. Genuinely… disappointed?

Before she could say anything, he added, “And then I find out Seonghwa saw you. In the library. Sitting together. Laughing.”

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up. “Were you spying on me?”

“No,” he said quickly. “He told me. I mean—he mentioned it. In passing.”

She couldn’t help it—her lips twitched. “Are you jealous?”

“What? No!” Mingi’s voice jumped half an octave. “I just… you hang out with him. But not me. Outside tutoring, I mean.”

His arms dropped, and suddenly he looked less like a frat boy and more like a deflated balloon.

“You never just… stay. Or come by for fun. I don’t get it.”

Y/N stared at him, stunned.

Because for all his size, all his swagger and volume, he sounded like a kid who’d just been told he couldn’t sit with his favorite person at lunch.

She burst out laughing.

Loudly. Without meaning to.

It echoed off the walls and into the kitchen, probably making San drop whatever weapon he was wielding today.

Mingi blinked at her, wide-eyed. “Did you just laugh at me?”

She nodded, covering her mouth. “You sounded so offended. Like a sulking puppy.”

“I do not sound like a puppy.”

“You kind of do.”

He scowled. “I have a deep, intimidating voice, thank you.”

“Exactly,” she said, still chuckling. “Which makes it even funnier.”

Mingi stared at her for a second. Then: “You’re mean.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re avoiding me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

They stared at each other, the air thick with challenge and something else. Something that made her heart beat just a little too fast.

“I didn’t come,” she said quietly, “because I didn’t think I’d fit in.”

Mingi’s brows furrowed. “You do.”

“No, I don’t. Everyone there is cool and confident and knows exactly how to exist here. I’m still figuring out how to order at cafés without messing up.”

“So?” he asked. “You think I knew what I was doing when I got here? I failed my first semester of calculus and thought ‘debit’ and ‘credit’ were types of kimchi. And I am Korean.”

Y/N blinked.

“Seriously,” he said. “You belong more than most people I know.”

Her chest tightened.

And before either of them could say anything else, Seonghwa walked in carrying a tub of laundry.

He paused when he saw them—Mingi with his hoodie halfway off and Y/N standing there red-faced.

“Oh,” he said. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Yes,” Mingi grumbled at the same time Y/N blurted, “No!”

Seonghwa smirked but kept walking.

Y/N looked back at Mingi and sighed. “Fine. I’ll stay after tutoring today.”

“Just because I sulked?”

“Because you asked.”

His face lit up.

And just like that, the knot in her chest started to loosen.

“Wait—wait, don’t tell me,” Mingi said, staring so hard at the worksheet she was half convinced he was trying to melt it with his eyes.

Y/N watched him chew the cap of his pen, mumble something under his breath, and scribble down a number. Then he paused.

“Okay. I’m either a genius,” he said, tapping his paper twice, “or I just calculated the surface area of my own shame.”

She leaned over to check. Her eyebrows lifted.

“That’s… actually correct.”

Mingi blinked. “It is?”

“Yeah.”

He let out a triumphant yell and threw his arms up like he’d just won the lottery. “Let’s goooo!”

Y/N laughed as he jumped off the couch and did a little spin that ended in a celebratory dab, because of course he still did that in 2025.

“Do I get a prize?” he asked, dramatically flopping back beside her. “For my brain excellence?”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “I’ll let you choose.”

His grin widened. “Okay. I choose… for you to hang out with me. Right now. For real. No tutoring.”

Y/N hesitated. Then slowly set her pencil down. “Okay.”

Mingi blinked at her. “Wait. Really?”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “I said I would, didn’t I?”

He looked at her like she’d just offered him free concert tickets and a hug from his childhood hero.

“…Cool. Cool cool cool.” He nodded rapidly. “I mean. Yeah. I just didn’t think you actually would.”

“Well,” she said, curling her legs up onto the couch, “you earned it. So. What do you want to do?”

Mingi looked at her for a moment, then tilted his head. “Can I ask you random questions?”

Y/N raised a brow. “What kind of questions?”

“Like… favorite movie. First concert. Weirdest fear. Stuff like that.”

She considered it. “Sure.”

He beamed. “Okay. What do you like doing in your free time?”

That one caught her slightly off guard.

“Uh… watching anime. Reading manga.”

Mingi’s entire face lit up.

“No way,” he said, eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

She nodded, suddenly shy. “Yeah. I started in high school and never stopped.”

“I knew I liked you for a reason,” he said, beaming. “Wait—what’s your favorite series?”

She named a few titles. With each one, Mingi looked more and more impressed. They slipped into a comfortable rhythm, tossing opinions back and forth, laughing over shared favorites and debating character arcs like they’d done this a dozen times before.

Mingi couldn’t stop staring at her.

He tried not to be weird about it—he really did—but something about the way she talked when she forgot to be self-conscious was magnetic. Her eyes lit up. Her hands moved when she got excited. And that laugh?

That laugh was still stuck in his head like a song hook.

It had caught him off guard earlier—loud and sudden and totally unfiltered. Most people didn’t laugh like that around him. They laughed at him, maybe. Or laughed because they wanted something.

Y/N laughed because she wanted to.

He watched her tuck her hair behind her ear, fingers brushing soft strands he’d started noticing more often. Her hair looked like it would feel like clouds—fluffy and light. And her cheeks flushed when she talked too fast, which was also something he kept noticing.

Damn it.

He was noticing everything.

He wasn’t supposed to. She was his tutor. His friend, at best. But the more time he spent with her, the more curious he became—and not just in a “what’s her favorite anime” kind of way.

He wanted to know what made her tick. What made her nervous. What would happen if she let him stay close long enough to matter.

And that thought?

That scared him a little.

But for now, he just leaned back and listened to her talk about a manga he hadn’t read yet—and smiled like an idiot the whole time.

Y/N was already regretting not checking the weather when she left the dorm that morning.

By the time their tutoring session wrapped up, fat snowflakes had turned into a full-blown snowstorm, swirling in chaotic sheets outside the frat house windows. She stood by the door, coat in hand, staring out at the whiteout with quiet dread.

“Nope,” Mingi said from behind her, tone final. “You’re not going out in that.”

“I can walk,” she argued, eyeing the slushy sidewalk. “It’s not that bad.”

“Y/N,” he said, stepping next to her. “You’re going to get yeeted by the wind and die in front of the convenience store. I’m not letting that happen.”

She blinked at him. “Yeeted?”

“It’s a serious meteorological term.”

“I’ll be fine—”

“You’re staying.”

She turned to argue again, but the look on his face—arms crossed, jaw set, eyes wide in that please-don’t-fight-me way—made her pause.

“Just until the storm passes,” he added. “Seonghwa’s already prepping the couch. You can steal San’s hoodie pile for a blanket.”

San, passing by with a bowl of cereal at 6 p.m., called out, “They’re freshly laundered!”

Y/N sighed. “Fine.”

Mingi beamed like he’d just convinced her to adopt a puppy.

A half hour later, she found herself in the kitchen with a bag of flour, a carton of eggs, and a group of curious boys staring at her like she’d announced she was building a rocket.

“You can cook?” Jongho asked, skeptical but impressed.

Y/N laughed. “Kind of. I mean, as long as you have the basics, I can make something.”

“What kind of something?” Yunho asked.

“Well… not Korean. Hope that’s okay.”

Wooyoung made a dramatic gasp. “We’re being culturally nourished?! I’m in.”

She opened the fridge, eyeing the available ingredients. Butter. Cheese. Eggs. Onions. Flour.

Not much.

But maybe… enough.

“I can make Käsespätzle,” she said slowly. “It’s kind of like German mac and cheese. With handmade pasta.”

Mingi leaned against the counter. “Did you just say handmade pasta?”

“I mean… it’s just flour and eggs. But yeah.”

Seonghwa looked intrigued. “We’ll help.”

“You’ll supervise,” she corrected. “I don’t trust any of you with raw dough.”

They gathered around as she mixed the dough, explained what she was doing, and then pressed the sticky batter through a makeshift grater into boiling water. She sautéed onions in butter until they were golden, then layered everything with cheese.

The kitchen filled with a smell none of them could quite name but immediately loved.

“Holy crap,” San said, sniffing dramatically. “Why does it smell like comfort and childhood even though I’ve never had this in my life?”

Y/N laughed.

And for the first time, it felt… easy.

Not performative. Not like she was trying to fit in.

Just real.

They ate around the low living room table, knees tucked together, paper plates balanced on laps, steam rising into the cozy chaos of laughter and second servings.

“This is insane,” Yeosang said between bites. “How is this better than anything we’ve made all semester?”

“Because none of us can cook,” Jongho pointed out. “We live off air fryers and frozen dumplings.”

“And hope,” San added.

Y/N chuckled as she took another bite of the cheesy pasta, warmth blooming in her chest. Not just from the food—but from the way they were talking around her, with her, like she belonged there. Like she’d always been sitting on this floor with them.

It was strange how comforting it felt.

Mingi nudged her shoulder lightly. “You okay?”

She glanced up and smiled. “Yeah. This is just… nice.”

“‘Nice’ is the highest possible compliment from Y/N,” Wooyoung said sagely.

Yunho raised his cup. “To Y/N. For feeding us. And not poisoning us, which, honestly, we deserved.”

She laughed and shook her head as the others chimed in with playful toasts.

Then Seonghwa, quieter, offered, “It must be weird, though. Being so far from home.”

The room dipped into a softer stillness. Not awkward—just curious.

Y/N hesitated, swirling a fork through her noodles. “Yeah. It is.”

“What’s the weirdest part?” Hongjoong asked, not pushing, just gently prompting.

She thought about it, then said, “It’s not one big thing. It’s a lot of small things. The way people look at you on the street. The awkward pauses when you say something slightly off in Korean. Sometimes it’s just… hard to tell if you’re doing anything right.”

No one interrupted.

“And even when you do everything right,” she continued, “you still feel like you’re… separate. Watching everything happen instead of being part of it.”

There was a pause.

Then Yunho said, “That sounds exhausting.”

She smiled a little. “It can be.”

“Do you ever feel like leaving?” Seonghwa asked quietly.

Y/N looked down at her plate.

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “But then moments like this happen. And I remember why I came.”

She looked up—and Mingi was watching her, something unreadable in his eyes.

“You’re part of this,” he said firmly. “Like, actually part of it.”

She blinked. “What?”

“This house. This group. You’re not separate anymore.”

Y/N felt something tug behind her ribs.

“I mean,” Wooyoung added, “if you’re cooking for us, that’s basically a blood pact.”

“You’re stuck with us,” San said, nudging her leg with his foot.

Y/N laughed—and this time, it didn’t feel like she was on the outside looking in.

It felt like she was home.

The snow hadn’t let up.

If anything, it had doubled in intensity since the sun went down. Mingi stood by the front window with a steaming mug of instant cocoa, watching the wind whirl fat flakes in every direction. San had opened the door ten minutes ago, stuck his arm out, and promptly announced, “Yep. Death by frostbite it is.”

Which meant Y/N was officially stuck here for the night.

And Mingi had absolutely no idea what to do with himself.

Not because she was here—okay, yes, because she was here—but also because he was suddenly very aware that she would need pajamas.

Sleepover logistics had never felt this emotionally loaded.

“You’re sure I’m not imposing?” Y/N asked for the third time as she followed him toward the hallway.

“You cooked for us,” Mingi said over his shoulder. “You’re officially family. We’re probably gonna frame your spätzle recipe.”

She laughed softly. “Still. I wasn’t planning to sleep here.”

“Well, it’s either the couch or becoming a snow zombie. Your choice.”

She wrinkled her nose, clearly not thrilled about either.

“I’ll grab you something to wear,” he offered.

That made her stop. “Clothes? From you?”

Mingi blinked. “Yeah? I mean, I’ve got like twelve hoodies. Most of them clean.”

She hesitated. “They probably won’t fit.”

He turned around fully, raising an eyebrow. “You’re joking, right?”

She shrugged, suddenly sheepish. “You’re tall. I’m… not. But I’m not exactly tiny either.”

Mingi blinked again. Then frowned.

“Okay, first of all,” he said, stepping a little closer, “that’s bull.”

Y/N blinked up at him.

“You are tiny,” he said firmly. “You just don’t see it. And I’m huge. My shirts are basically tents. You’ll be fine.”

She opened her mouth, closed it again, and looked somewhere over his shoulder.

“Okay,” she mumbled. “But if I get stuck in your joggers, you’re cutting me out.”

He grinned. “Deal.”

Ten minutes later, he was back in the living room, blanket over his lap, trying to focus on his phone while pointedly not thinking about the fact that Y/N was in the bathroom changing into his clothes.

He failed.

Miserably.

Because the image of her in his hoodie was way too vivid in his head. Not even in a gross way—just in a “what the hell is happening to me” kind of way.

He liked her. He knew that now.

But he was also starting to notice her in a way that was making it hard to pretend this was just tutoring.

Soft lips. Warm eyes. Curvy in a way that made his brain short-circuit whenever she turned around.

Like that time she reached for a book and his entire thought process just… stopped.

Okay,” her voice called from down the hallway. “You were right.”

Mingi looked up—casual, totally normal, not freaking out—until she stepped into the living room.

And his brain short-circuited.

She was wearing his hoodie and joggers. The hoodie hung off her shoulders like a blanket, sleeves bunched around her hands. The sweatpants… well, those weren’t quite as oversized. The waistband was rolled twice and they were just a little snug in places they definitely didn’t hug on him.

Mingi looked away so fast his neck popped.

“See?” she said, plopping down on the far end of the couch. “Told you your pants would judge my thighs.”

He forced a laugh, eyes fixed on the TV—which wasn’t even on.

“You look fine,” he said, voice a little too high.

She raised a brow. “That convincing tone really sold it.”

“I mean—no! You look good. Not like—just—comfortable. Like… good-comfortable. Not that I was looking. I wasn’t.”

There was a pause.

“You’re panicking,” she said gently.

“I am absolutely not—okay maybe a little.”

She giggled, which only made it worse somehow. Worse and… weirdly better.

Because it was her.

And she looked so at home in his clothes that he suddenly couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like if she stayed like that more often.

He shook the thought out of his head.

“You want a blanket?” he asked quickly, standing and almost tripping over his own feet.

She blinked. “Sure?”

He tossed one at her and sat back down, a safe two cushions away.

Cool. Casual. Totally not sweating over a girl in sweatpants.

Except he was.

“You can take my bed.”

Y/N blinked at him from across the living room. “What?”

Mingi scratched the back of his neck, suddenly more aware than ever of the blanket he was holding and the way his heart was racing for no good reason.

“Well, I mean. You’re stuck here. The couch sucks. And I—I’m fine sleeping out here.”

“You sure?” she asked, voice gentle. “I don’t want to kick you out of your own bed.”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I’ve passed out on the floor of this living room more times than I can count. This is luxury compared to that.”

She hesitated, watching him for a beat longer than he expected. Then she nodded.

“Okay. But only if you’re really fine with it.”

“Totally.”

She stood and gathered the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Thanks, Mingi.”

He smiled. “Sleep well.”

“Night.”

When she disappeared down the hall, the sound of the bedroom door clicking shut behind her felt strangely loud in the quiet.

Mingi exhaled and flopped backward onto the couch, hands covering his face.

That should’ve been it. Lights out, brain off.

Instead, he lay there staring at the ceiling like it owed him answers.

Because everything about tonight felt… different.

It wasn’t the storm. It wasn’t the fact that she was literally in his bed wearing his clothes.

It was the way she laughed when she let her guard down.

The way she looked at him like he wasn’t just another loud idiot at a frat house.

The way he kept catching himself wondering how someone could make a borrowed hoodie look that cute.

He groaned into his hands.

He was screwed.

“You still awake?”

Mingi shot up halfway, nearly falling off the couch.

Seonghwa stood in the hallway entrance, arms crossed, followed closely by Hongjoong, who was sipping tea like this was some kind of midnight soap opera.

“Jesus,” Mingi muttered. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“You’re sitting in the dark,” Seonghwa pointed out.

“You’re also visibly spiraling,” Hongjoong added, walking over to sit on the arm of the couch.

Seonghwa raised a brow. “Is this about Y/N?”

Mingi froze.

They knew.

Of course they knew.

“I—” he started, then let out a sigh. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Hongjoong repeated.

“I don’t know, man. It’s not like I planned this.” Mingi sat up fully, dragging a pillow into his lap. “She was just my tutor. I thought she was cute. That was it. But now she’s here and we’re talking and she knows what Haikyuu!! Is and she makes food that feels like home and she laughs like she means it and she trusts me with the kind of stuff people don’t usually say out loud and—”

He stopped.

Seonghwa and Hongjoong stared at him.

Mingi stared at them.

Then Hongjoong smiled softly. “Oh, you’re in it.”

“Shut up,” Mingi muttered, hiding behind the pillow.

Seonghwa tilted his head. “Have you ever been in love before?”

Mingi didn’t answer right away.

Then, quietly, “No.”

Another beat passed.

“I think I am now.”

Seonghwa’s face softened.

Hongjoong let out a low whistle. “Damn. She really got you, huh?”

Mingi didn’t say anything.

He just smiled.

Because yeah.

Yeah, she did.

The strange thing wasn’t that Mingi kept showing up.

It was that he always found her.

At first, she thought it was coincidence. Seeing him across the quad. Catching him outside her building. Running into him at the convenience store three nights in a row.

But then it became a pattern.

Every time she stepped outside, it was like he was already scanning the horizon. His eyes would light up, he’d jog over—bounding like an oversized golden retriever—and fall into step beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey! You heading to class? I’ll walk with you.”

“You done for the day? I was just gonna grab a snack—come with?”

It didn’t matter how busy the campus was, how cold the wind bit at her ears, how hard she tried to look distracted—he always saw her.

He was like a walking reclamation board.

Warm. Loud. Impossible to ignore.

And completely hers.

That was the part she didn’t understand.

The whispers started a few days later.

She caught fragments of them between classes, in the café, even walking past study groups on the quad.

“Is that the girl Mingi’s always with?”

“Wait—isn’t she his tutor?”

“She’s not even… like, his type, right?”

Y/N tried to brush it off.

But it stuck.

Every glance felt a little heavier. Every laugh behind her a little more pointed.

And she couldn’t ask Mingi what it meant—because he didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he didn’t care. Or maybe…

Maybe she was just imagining it.

Until the library.

She had found a quiet table tucked in the back corner, headphones in but nothing playing. Sometimes she just needed the silence to be filled with something that wasn’t her own thoughts.

She was reviewing flashcards when she heard them.

Two guys, seated at the next table. Their voices hushed, but not enough.

“—you seen the chick Mingi’s always with? The foreign one?”

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

“Oh yeah. The tutor, right? The one with the thick thighs?”

She froze.

“Dude, what if he’s into chubby girls? Like… properly into it.”

“No way. I mean, maybe. But if he’s hittin’ that, it kind of makes me curious, y’know?”

“Same. I’d try it. Just once. See what it’s like to screw someone who’s got, like, actual meat.”

Y/N’s pulse roared in her ears. Her cheeks burned. She wanted to melt into the floor, to vanish completely.

They didn’t even know her. And yet, they talked about her like she was some experiment. A body to test. A curiosity.

Not a person.

She was still staring blankly at her open notebook when she heard a chair scrape sharply against the tile.

“Excuse me?”

Seonghwa’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

The two guys looked up, startled. Y/N turned her head just slightly—and saw Seonghwa standing beside them, arms crossed, expression icy.

“You want to run that last sentence by me again?” he asked, voice calm but deadly.

The guys fumbled, laughing nervously.

“Hey, man, we were just—”

“Talking like complete degenerates?” Seonghwa offered. “Yeah. I heard.”

Y/N felt her throat tighten.

“She’s a friend,” Seonghwa continued. “A good one. Smarter than both of you combined. So maybe next time you want to degrade someone for sport, you check your surroundings. Or better—just don’t be garbage.”

Neither guy responded.

Seonghwa didn’t wait for one.

He turned—and his eyes met hers.

Y/N didn’t even realize she was trembling until she saw the way his expression softened.

He walked over slowly, crouched beside her table, voice quiet.

“You heard all of it, didn’t you?”

She nodded.

He looked like it hurt him too.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wish I’d stopped it sooner.”

Y/N shook her head, blinking fast. “It’s not your fault.”

“It still sucks,” he murmured. “People like that don’t get it. They don’t see how strong you are just for showing up every day in a place that constantly reminds you you’re different.”

Her throat was tight, but she managed, “I hate that it still hurts.”

“Of course it does.”

He stood, gently tapping her notebook.

“Want me to walk you out?”

She nodded, and he waited while she packed up her things.

And even though she didn’t say a word on the way to the exit, the warmth of him walking beside her—quiet, steady, protective—helped her breathe again.

The walk home was quiet, but not uncomfortable.

Seonghwa didn’t rush her. He didn’t try to fill the silence. He simply walked beside her, matching her pace, hands in his coat pockets and eyes forward like he knew she needed the space just as much as the company.

When they reached the gate outside her building, she stopped and turned to him.

“Thank you,” she said, voice soft but steady.

He nodded. “I meant what I said back there.”

“I know.”

He looked at her a moment longer, then added, “I also know Mingi.”

Y/N’s brows lifted slightly.

“He’s… a lot, sometimes,” Seonghwa said with a small smile. “Loud, chaotic, occasionally confused. But he’s loyal. And kind in ways that don’t always make sense right away.”

She stayed quiet.

“I just want you to know,” he continued, “he’s not hanging around you because of what those guys said. Or because he’s trying to prove something. That’s not who he is.”

Y/N blinked, startled.

Seonghwa’s gaze softened. “He likes you. I don’t know if he realizes how much, but it’s not shallow. I promise.”

“I didn’t think it was,” she said slowly.

“You’re surprised I said it, though.”

“A little.”

He gave a small chuckle. “That’s fair.”

There was a pause.

Then Y/N said, “I know Mingi’s a good guy. He… he never made me feel like I had to be anything I’m not.”

Seonghwa smiled. “That’s how you know it’s real.”

He stepped back toward the gate, giving her a nod.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Night, Seonghwa.”

She stepped into her apartment and locked the door behind her before dropping her bag and letting her body sag into the couch.

Her brain, however, refused to rest.

The words from the library replayed in her head like a bad loop. The way those guys had reduced her to a body—like she was just a “type,” a curiosity, something to try and toss away.

Would Mingi ever think that way?

She didn’t believe it. Not really.

But the seed of doubt was already there, and once it took root, it was hard to shake.

Would Mingi ever want her?

She frowned, sitting up straighter.

Why was she even thinking about that?

He was her friend. Her chaotic, oversized, meme-sending, loud-laughing friend. Sure, he was handsome. And warm. And sometimes looked at her like she mattered more than she understood.

But he wasn’t… hers.

And yet, the thought of him being with someone else made something ugly twist in her stomach.

Her fingers curled around the hem of the hoodie she’d borrowed from him that night, still folded neatly beside her laundry basket.

Oh.

Oh no.

That was the moment it hit her.

She didn’t just like him.

She wanted him. Or, more accurately—she wanted to be wanted by him.

Not for tutoring. Not because she cooked once. But for her. All of her.

Curves and all.

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

[mimikittysblog]

BARK BARK WOOF WOOF BARK BARK BARK WOOF BARK

FINE SHYT RIGHT THERE

[mimikittysblog]

Yunho in the trailer: pissed off, punching people

Me:

[mimikittysblog]

Two of the sweetest men on earth met. My heart can’t take it ❤️

[mimikittysblog]

✨ romance ✨

[mimikittysblog]

Oops, Accidentally kidnapped a Mafia Boss

Summary: You and your friends accidentally kidnap the Captain of ATEEZ, mistaking him as your friend.

Fandom: Ateez

Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Romance, Crack treated seriously

Word count: 3k~

Warnings: Mentions of organized crime, kidnapping (accidental), mild language, brief mentions of violence (non-graphic).

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own ATEEZ or any of the members. This story does not reflect the real personalities or lives of the idols and is purely for entertainment purposes. Please don’t actually kidnap anyone🙏, even your friends.

“I’m telling you, something’s up with Minho,” Jisu whispered, leaning across the library table.

“He’s been sneaking around for weeks, and did you see that expensive watch he was wearing yesterday?”

You glanced up from your textbook, interested despite trying not to. Your friend group had always been close with no secrets, so Minho’s recent stealthiness has been unusual.

“Maybe he just got a part-time job?”

“A part-time job that has him getting picked up in luxury cars?” you scoffed. “No way. He’s definitely seeing someone rich.”

“Or dangerous,” Jisu added dramatically. “What if he’s gotten involved with the wrong crowd?”

The thought sent a chill down you and your friends spine. You’d all heard the rumors about organized crime in the city, though it seemed like something from movies rather than real life. But Minho had been acting strange lately, nervous and jumpy, always looking over his shoulder.

“We need to find out what’s going on,” you decided. “For his own safety.”

So, your friend group had hatched what you thought was a brilliant plan: stage a fake kidnapping to get Minho to spill about his mysterious endeavor. It may be idiotic, but if your friend group had one single thing in common, that’d be all of your stupidity.

That’s how you found yourself crouched behind Taehyun's van three days later, watching the entrance of a fancy upscale restaurant. “There’s the car,” Taehyun pointed to a sleek black car. “Same model he’s been getting into.”

Your heart hammered as a figure in a black hoodie emerged from the car. Same height, same build as Minho. This was it.

“Remember, we’re just going to scare him a little,” you whispered to your friends. “Get him to talk.”

The plan went surprisingly smoothly. As you and Taehyun bundled him into his beat-up van Jisoo was holding up a sign that said “We’re pulling a prank on our friend”. The hooded figure didn’t struggle much. He seemed almost… cooperative? You chalked it up to shock.

“Minho, we’re sorry about this, but you left us no choice,” you said, once you’d gotten your captive friend into Taehyun’s basement.

“We’re worried about you, and we need answers.”

Now, the figure sat calmly in the chair, hands zip-tied behind his back. Wearing a black pillowcase, he hadn’t said a word during the entire drive.

“Come on, stop giving us the silent treatment,” Jisoo pleaded. “We know you’re mixed up in something dangerous.”

When he still didn’t respond, you stepped forward. “Um, can someone tell me why we covered up Minho’s face?” you asked, looking at your friends, confused.

“I don’t know, that’s how they do it in the movies.”

You stared at him in disbelief for a moment. “Are you an idiot? They do that so the captive can’t identify the kidnappers. Minho already knows our faces- We’ve been friends for years!”

“Oh.” Taehyun looked sheepish. “Right. That makes sense.”

“Did you even thi- Is that my pillowcase?” you hissed.

“Yes, I panicked! I’ve never kidnapped anyone before!”

“None of us have!” Jisoo added weakly from the corner.

The captive’s shoulders shook slightly, and for a moment, you thought he might be crying. Then you realized he was… laughing? A soft, amused chuckle that somehow made the whole situation even more surreal.

You reached out and pulled off the pillowcase and his hood fell off on its own.

The face that looked back at you was definitely not Minho.

Unique features, blonde hair, and eyes so sharp that seemed to see right through you. The stranger’s lips curved into an amused smile. The man had an ethereal beauty in a dangerous way, the power of his aura making your blood run cold.

“Oh shit,” Taehyun breathed. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”

“Well, this is interesting,” the stranger spoke, his voice smooth and low. “I was expecting dinner, not dinner theater.”

Jisu’s eyes went wide with panic. “We need to call the police. We need to-”

“Jisu!”

You grabbed her arms, giving her a little shake.

“Calm down! Are we gonna call the police on ourselves? ‘Hi officer, we just kidnapped someone by accident, please come arrest us.’?”

“But we can’t just-”

“Think about it,” you said urgently. “We literally committed a crime. Multiple crimes. Kidnapping, false imprisonment, probably something else that I’m not even thinking of right now.”

“Oh god,” Taehyun whimpered. “We’re going to prison.”

You let go of Jisu’s arms to turn to the stranger.

“Who are you?” you managed to ask, though a part of you dreaded the answer.

“Kim Hongjoong,” he replied, as if that should mean something to total strangers.

But it did. Even you-who lives in a cave- had heard whispers of that name in circles around the city. Kim Hongjoong, Captain of ATEEZ, leader of the most powerful criminal organizations in the country.

You and your idiotic friend group had accidentally kidnapped a mafia boss.

“Well.... The police is not a problem anymore. We are so dead,” Taehyun whimpered. “We’re actually going to die.”

“Nobody’s dying,” Hongjoong said, sounding almost bored. “Though I admit, this is a first for me. Usually, when people take me somewhere against my will, they at least know who I am.”

You forced yourself to think clearly despite the panic clawing at your chest. “We apologize. We will let you go immediately. This was a mistake. We thought you were someone else.”

“Oh, I gathered that much.” His eyes glinted with amusement. “Minho, right? Friend of yours?”

The fact that he’d been listening carefully enough to remember all the names somehow made everything worse.

“Listen,” you said. “We’re just college students. We were trying to prank our friend.”

“By kidnapping him?” Hongjoong raised an eyebrow. “Interesting friend group.”

“We’re idiots,” Jisu said bluntly. “Complete idiots who make terrible decisions.”

“I can see that.” Hongjoong tested the zip ties around his wrists, and you had the distinct impression he knew how to break free whenever he wanted. “But I’m curious entertain me for a bit. What exactly did you think your friend Minho was involved in?”

You hesitated. There was something about Hongjoong’s calm demeanor that was more unsettling than anger would have been. “We thought… maybe he was seeing someone he shouldn’t be. Someone dangerous.” Taehyun spoke first. You gave him a look.

“Dangerous how?”

“Like…” you swallowed hard. “Like you.”

Hongjoong laughed, a genuine sound that transformed his entire face. “What made you think so?”

“The cars, the expensive things he couldn't buy from his paycheck alone, the way he’s been acting nervous and secretive.” You found yourself answering honestly, drawn in despite your terror. “We were worried about him.”

“Concern for a friend,” Hongjoong mused. “I respect that.”

“So you’ll let us go?” Taehyun asked hopefully.

“I didn’t say that.” Hongjoong’s expression grew serious. “You see, you’ve put me in an interesting position. My people are probably looking for me by now. When they find out some college kids managed to ‘kidnap’ me, well… it might damage my reputation.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

“What do you want then?” you asked.

“I want to see how this plays out,” Hongjoong said. “Consider it my entertainment of the day.”

Over the next few hours, you learned that having a mafia boss as a captive was nothing like what you thought. Hongjoong was patient, observant, and far too comfortable with the situation. He asked questions about your studies, your friends, your life, as if you were having coffee and catching up with an old friend rather than holding him against his will.

“You’re studying business?” he asked when Taehyun mentioned your major.

“Economics, actually. With a minor in psychology.”

“Useful combination. Ever consider applying those skills in a more… entrepreneurial environment?”

You stared at him. “Are you offering me a job?”

“I’m just making casual conversation.”

Your phone buzzed with a text from Minho: "Hey, thanks for covering for me with the study group. The date was amazing! I’ll tell you everything tomorrow." Your face fell reading the message. The irony wasn’t lost on you. While you’d been shitting bricks for kidnapping the wrong person, Minho had been on a happily innocent date.

“Bad news?” Hongjoong asked, noticing your expression.

“The person we were trying to kidnap is on a date,” you said weakly.

“Ah. And here I thought you were criminal masterminds.”

“We’re really not cut out for this,” Jisu muttered.

“No,” Hongjoong agreed. “But you’re not entirely hopeless either. You managed to get me here, after all.”

“By accident!”

“Still counts.” He tilted his head. “Though I am curious how you plan to get out of this situation.”

Before you could give an answer, the basement door burst open. A tall man with broad shoulders and sharp eyes descended the stairs, followed by two others. You take a guess that they’re members of ATEEZ.

“Boss,” one said, relief evident in his voice. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Hello, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong said calmly. “Meet my kidnappers.”

The tension in the room ratcheted up immediately. The newcomers’ eyes swept over you and your friends with professional assessment.

“They’re just kids,” younger-looking one said, with kind eyes that seemed at odds with his imposing presence.

“Kids who managed to grab me off the street,” Hongjoong pointed out. “I’m almost impressed.”

“It was an accident,” you said quickly. “We mistook him for our friend.”

Seonghwa’s expression softened slightly this time showing his confusion. “You kidnap your frie- Wait, you thought our boss was your friend?”

“Same car, same build, same hoodie,” Taehyun explained miserably. “We’re really, really sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t usually cut it in our line of work,” the second tall man said, though he didn’t sound particularly threatening.

“Jeong Yunho,” Hongjoong said sharply. “Stand down. All of you.”

The use of that name made you freeze. Yunho. You heard Minho mention that specific name more than once recently, hushed in phone calls and always with a strange expression.

“Hey guys,” you turned to look at your friend group. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but we haven’t heard Minho mentioning a Yunho, have we?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“Well,” Hongjoong said after a moment. “This just got interesting.”

“Excuse me but... Do you happen to have met someone named Im Minho recently..?” Jisoo asked

Yunho stepped forward, his expression sour. “My sister Yuna has been dating some guy named Minho. She made me promise not to tell anyone.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this to us?” Seonghwa asked dryly.

“I didn’t think it was relevant!” Yunho scratched his head.

“Your sister’s boyfriend’s friends kidnapping our boss isn’t relevant?” The third man, whom you now realized was there, looked incredulous.

You felt like you were watching a surreal comedy unfold. “I mean.. I don’t think anyone could have guessed that’s what would’ve happened, even we didn’t.”

“So Minho’s been nervous because he’s dating into a mafia family?” Taehyun said sounding defeated.

“She’s not technically in the family,” Yunho said quickly. “She’s just… adjacent.”

“Adjacent to murder and extortion,” Jisu whispered.

“We don’t actually murder people that often,” Yeosang said, then caught Hongjoong’s look. “I mean, we’re legitimate businessmen.”

“Right,” you said weakly.

Hongjoong was studying you with renewed interest. “You figured out the connection so quickly, I'm impressed. It could have been any Yunho. And most people would still be panicking to even think about it like that.”

“I’m panicking, alright,” you admitted. “But panicking doesn’t solve my problems.”

“No, it doesn’t.” He seemed to come to a decision. “Seonghwa, cut these ties. We’re done here.”

“For the record, we offered to untie him. It was completely his decision to stay like that.” Jisoo added quickly.

“Boss-”

“They’re not a threat. They’re barely competent criminals.”

“Hey!” Taehyun protested.

“It wasn’t meant as an insult,” Hongjoong said as Seonghwa freed his hands.

“Competent criminals would have researched their target. Also you should take my words seriously and stop kidnapping anyone ever again.”

As the zip ties fell away, you expected him to leave immediately. Instead, he remained seated, calmly rubbing his wrists.

“What happens now?” you asked.

“Now you forget this ever happened,” Seonghwa said firmly. “You go back to your normal lives, and we pretend this never happened.”

“What about Minho?” Jisu asked. “Is he safe?”

“He’s dating my sister,” Yunho said. “She’d kill me if anything happened to him.”

“Literally,” Yeosang added.

“Not helping,” Hongjoong muttered.

You thought that would be the end of it. A crazy story to tell someday, maybe, when the statute of limitations runs out. But as days passed, you found yourself thinking about Kim Hongjoong more than you wanted to admit. The way he’d handled the situation with calm authority. The intelligence in his eyes. The way he seemed genuinely interested in your thoughts and opinions, even while zip-tied to a chair. You slapped your cheeks for even thinking about him like that. That situation wasn't supposed to be grounds for developing a crush, even if he is someone attractive.

Minho, in the meantime, had finally came clean about his girlfriend. “Her name is Yuna,” he’d said, glowing with happiness. “She’s amazing, but her family situation is… somehow complicated.”

“Complicated how?” you’d asked, though you already knew.

“Her brother is a part of a business. A dangerous business. But he’s not what you’d expect; he’s just really protective of her, and he’s been nothing but respectful to me.”

You’d nearly choked on your coffee. The idea of that Yunho guy as a protective big brother was somehow both endearing and terrifying.

“Just be careful,” you’d told him. “Some complications are harder to untangle than others.”

But it was advice you apparently needed to take yourself.

You’d been walking home from your evening class when a familiar car pulled up beside you. The same one from that day at the restaurant. The window rolled down, revealing a familiar face.

“Get in,” Hongjoong said.

“Is that a request or an order?” you asked, though you were already reaching for the door handle.

“Does it matter?”

You slid into the passenger seat, noting the expensive interior and the subtle scent of his cologne inside the car. “Are you kidnapping me now? Because turnabout is fair play, I suppose.”

“For the records, this is not kidnapping.” he said, pulling back into traffic. “You came willingly.”

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere we can talk without interruption.” he said simply.

You studied his profile in the glow of the streetlights while he drove in comfortable silence, finally parking at a lookout point that offered a view of the city lights. It was beautiful and romantic, which seemed at odds with everything you knew about him.

“Why did you really let us go that day?” you asked.

“You were harmless,” he said simply. “Misguided, but harmless.”

“That’s not the whole truth.”

He turned to look at you, and you felt that familiar flutter of nerves mixed with something else–something that felt dangerously like attraction.

“You impressed me,” he admitted. “Most people would have been crying or begging or trying to bargain. You stayed calm, asked intelligent questions, and put your friends’ safety before your own.”

“I was terrified.”

“I know. But you didn’t let it control you.”

“Is that what you want to talk about?”

“I want to talk about whether you’d be interested in seeing more of it.”

Your heart stopped. “What?”

“I’m offering you a choice,” he said quietly. “Walk away now, go back to your normal life, and we’ll never cross paths again. Or…”

“Or?”

“Or take a chance on something different. Something dangerous.”

You stared at him, trying to process what he was saying. “You’re asking me to… what? Join your organization?”

“I’m asking you to get to know me,Not the organization” he said. “The real me. without the reputation or the rumors, but the person underneath.”

“And if I don’t like what I find?”

“Then you walk away. No questions asked, no consequences.”

It was insane. You knew it was insane. You also didn't believe his words about consequences and whatnot. But looking at him in the dim light of the car, you realized you’d already made your decision days ago, sitting in that basement, watching him turn a terrifying situation into something almost… fun.

“Okay,” you said.

“Okay?”

“I want to get to know the real Kim Hongjoong.”

His smile was soft and genuine, transforming his entire face. “Then we’d better start with dinner. Somewhere nicer than a basement this time.”

END

BONUS PART:

You and Hongjoong were at a small Italian place he’d discovered, tucked away from the main streets. The conversation was light, comfortable until his phone rang.

“I’m sorry,” he said, glancing at the screen. “I need to take this.”

He stepped outside, but you could see him through the window. His posture changed immediately. Shoulders tense, expression serious. When he came back, the easy-going atmosphere was gone.

“I have to go,” he said. “Something’s come up.”

“Work?” you asked.

“Yes.”

“The dangerous kind?”

He paused, meeting your eyes. “Potentially.”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Hongjoong,” you said firmly. “If we’re going to do this -really do this- then I need to understand your world. All of it.”

He studied you for a long moment. “You might not like what you see.”

“Then that’s my choice to make.”

After another pause, he nodded. “Okay. But you stay in the car, and you do exactly what I tell you. No questions, no arguments.”

“Agreed.”

The drive took you to a warehouse district you’d never seen before. Hongjoong parked outside a building that looked abandoned from the outside, but you could see lights in the windows.

“What’s happening?” you asked.

“A negotiation,” he said. “A business deal that’s gone sideways.”

“Do I wanna ask what kind of business?”

“Not really, no.” he said evasively.

He made a quick phone call, and soon Seonghwa appeared at the car window.

“Status?” Hongjoong asked.

“They’re being unreasonable,” Seonghwa replied. “Demanding twice what we agreed on, threatening to go to our competitors.”

“And our leverage?”

“Minimal. They know we need this deal.”

Hongjoong was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Options?”

“We could walk away, find another supplier. It would take time, but it’s doable.”

“Or?”

“Or we accept their new terms and eat the loss.”

You listened to the exchange with growing confusion. This sounded like any business negotiation, not the violent confrontation you’d expected.

“What about a compromise?” you found yourself saying. “If they’re demanding twice the price, maybe there’s a middle ground that works for everyone.”

Both men turned to look at you.

“What kind of compromise?” Seonghwa asked.

“Well, what do they want the extra money for?” you said. “If it’s just greed, that’s one thing. But if they have legitimate concerns like increased costs, higher risks, whatever. Then maybe you can address those directly instead of just paying more.”

Hongjoong smiled slowly. “That’s… actually not a bad idea.”

“It’s a great idea,” Seonghwa said. “Why didn’t we think of that?”

“So what’s the actual business?” you asked. “What are you buying?”

Hongjoong and Seonghwa exchanged a look.

“Information,” Hongjoong said finally.

The negotiation ended up being surprisingly straightforward. Hongjoong agreed to a modest price increase and a longer timeline, and everyone walked away satisfied.

“That was almost anticlimactic,” you said as you drove away.

“Most of our work is,” Hongjoong admitted. “The dangerous reputation is useful, but actual violence is usually a last resort. It’s messy, it’s expensive, and it tends to attract unwanted attention.”

“Are you disappointed?” he asked quietly.

“That you’re not a psychopath? Not really.”

“That I’m not as dangerous as advertised.”

You considered this. “You’re still dangerous,” you said finally. “Just in a different way.”

“How so?”

“You’re dangerous to my peace of mind. To my plans for a normal, boring life. To my heart.”

His hand found yours across the gear shift. “Is that a bad thing?”

“I don’t know yet,” you admitted. “But I’m willing to find out.”

Author's Note: I had a thought 👏👏 and wrote this sleep deprived also i don't have a beta reader so i had to check this myself. There might be lots of grammar errors so sorry about that. English is my second language and i have been focusing on learning korean so my english might have gotten rusty. I saw that reverse cliche tropes post and had to do something about it. ♡

🫟 If you enjoy this hot mess, reblog's are appreciated!

[mimikittysblog]

This is one of the funniest things I’ve ever read and the sweetest too 😭

“i like my own space, but I like being married to you more.”

OH JUST CHEW UP MY HEART WILL UOUA KDHDMDJS 😭😭😭

Two Apartments, One Heart

Summary: When the company housing policy forces married couples to share a single apartment, you and your husband Jongho come up with a brilliantly ridiculous solution: fake a divorce to get two apartments. What could possibly go wrong with pretending to hate the person you love most?

Fandom: ATEEZ

Pairing: Choi Jongho x Reader

Genre: Office AU, Fluff, Comedy, Romance

Warnings: Fake divorce, mild language, housing fraud

The fluorescent lights of the break room buzzed overhead as you stared at the company housing announcement given to the employees. Your coffee had gone cold in your hands, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the bolded text: “Employee Housing Program Detailed Info - One apartment per family unit.”

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered, crumpling the paper slightly. “We’ve been working at this company for nearly a decade and have been on the waiting list for two years, and now they’re saying married couples only get one apartment?”

Jongho appeared beside you with his usual quiet grace, his own coffee steaming in his hands. Even after three years of marriage, he still made your heart skip a beat with that gentle smile of his. “What’s got my angel so worked up?”

You pointed at the offensive announcement. “This. We both work here, we both deserve our own spaces, but apparently the company thinks married people are joined at the hip.”

“Hmm.” Jongho’s brow furrowed as he read over the policy. “That is pretty unfair. Especially considering Yuna and Jiyeon both got apartments last month, and they’re dating.”

“Exactly! And you know how thin the walls are in the company housing. I love you, but I also love being able to practice my presentations without you overhearing me mess up the same line fifteen times.”

Jongho’s lips twitched into a smile. “I don’t mind your practice sessions. Though you do tend to pace a lot.”

“See? This is exactly why we need separate spaces sometimes.” You slumped against the wall dramatically. “But there’s no way around it. The policy is clear with this one family, one apartment thing.”

A thoughtful silence fell between you as other employees filtered in and out of the break room. You watched Yunho grab three energy drinks from the vending machine (probably for himself, Mingi, and San, knowing their usual afternoon crash), and Seonghwa carefully prepare what looked like his fifth cup of tea of the day.

“What if…” Jongho started slowly, then stopped.

“What if what?”

He glanced around to make sure no one was listening, then leaned closer. “What if we weren’t married? On paper, I mean.”

You blinked. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

“A divorce of convenience,” he said quietly. “Just temporarily. Just on paper. We get divorced, apply for separate apartments as single employees, and then… well, we just keep living our lives as usual.”

The idea was so ridiculous that it just might work. You found yourself seriously considering it, running through the logistics in your head. “But wouldn’t people find it suspicious if we divorced and then immediately applied for housing?”

“Not if we sell it right. Make it seem like the stress of sharing a space was what broke us up in the first place. Very believable, actually.”

You stared at your husband -your brilliant, wonderful, slightly devious husband- with newfound admiration. “Choi Jongho, are you suggesting we commit housing fraud?”

“I prefer to think of it as… creative problem solving.”

Two weeks later, you were sitting in HR with divorce papers that felt surreal in your hands. Hongjoong, the HR representative, looked genuinely sympathetic as he processed your paperwork.

“I’m really sorry to see this,” he said, his usually cheerful demeanor subdued. “You two always seemed so happy together.”

You forced your face into what you hoped was a convincingly bitter expression. “Well, you never really know someone until you live with them.”

“She leaves her mugs everywhere,” Jongho added with practiced irritation. “And don’t get me started on the bathroom situation.”

“He’s a neat freak,” you shot back, trying not to smile at how seriously Jongho was taking his role. “Everything has to be perfect all the time. It’s exhausting.”

Hongjoong nodded understandingly, though you caught him glancing between you both with slight confusion. “Have you considered counseling? The company offers-”

“We tried,” Jongho interrupted. “Irreconcilable differences.”

“I see.” Hongjoong stamped the papers with an air of finality. “Well, your housing applications has been changed to two seperate single ones and have been approved. You should be able to move into your separate units by the end of the month.”

As you left the HR office, you caught Jongho’s eye and had to bite your lip to keep from grinning. Phase one: complete.

“You know,” Yeosang said thoughtfully over lunch the next day, “I never would have seen this coming.”

You looked up from your salad, trying to appear appropriately post divorce miserable. “What do you mean?”

“You and Jongho. You guys always seemed really solid.” Yeosang tilted his head, studying your face. “What happened?”

Time for your performance. You’d rehearsed this with Jongho the night before, both of you lying in bed and giggling as you came up with believable complaints about each other.

“He’s just… more different than I thought. I can't get used to it even when years passed since our marriage and I got sick of it,” you said with a carefully measured sigh. “Like, did you know he organizes his closet by color AND season? Who does that?”

“That actually sounds pretty practical,” Yeosang said.

“And he judges my cooking! I made ramen the other day and he had the audacity to suggest I was adding too much salt.”

“Well, were you?”

You glared at Yeosang. “Whose side are you on?”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just trying to understand.”

From across the cafeteria, you could see Jongho at his usual table with Mingi and San. Even from a distance, you could tell he was putting on his own show, probably complaining about your alleged messiness or your tendency to sing in the shower.

The hardest part wasn’t pretending to be angry with him; it was pretending not to be completely charmed by how seriously he was taking this whole charade.

Moving day arrived with all the chaos you’d expected. Since you had to maintain appearances, you and Jongho had agreed to make a big show of dividing your belongings.

“I’m taking the good coffee maker,” you announced loudly as Wooyoung and San helped carry boxes.

“I get the rice cooker then,” Jongho replied with impressive bitterness.

“Fine! You can’t cook anything except rice anyway!”

“I’ll learn!”

Wooyoung paused in the middle of carrying a box. “Are you two sure about this? You’re fighting over kitchen appliances like they’re custody of children.”

“Maybe because we actually use our kitchen appliances,” you snapped, then immediately felt bad for taking your fake irritation out on poor Wooyoung.

San, meanwhile, was looking increasingly uncomfortable with the whole situation. “Look, I know it’s not my business, but maybe you guys could try talking this out? Like, really talking?”

“We tried talking,” Jongho said, hefting a box with what appeared to be controlled anger. “She doesn’t listen.”

“I don’t listen? You’re the one who-” You caught yourself before you said something actually hurtful. The line between fake fighting and real fighting was thinner than you’d expected. And you have to be very careful not to cross any. “Just… let’s just get this over with.”

By the end of the day, you were in apartment 4B and Jongho was in apartment 4D, with 4C (occupied by a very confused Seonghwa) between you. Perfect.

Three days into your “divorce,” you were already missing Jongho terribly. Your morning coffee didn’t taste the same without him humming quietly as he got ready for work. Your evening routine felt incomplete without his gentle presence and terrible dad jokes.

So when you heard a soft knock on your door at 9 PM, you practically sprinted to answer it.

“Hey,” Jongho said softly, glancing around the hallway to make sure no one was watching. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” You stepped aside to let him in, drinking in the sight of him. Three days shouldn’t have felt like an eternity, but somehow it did.

“I brought dessert,” he said, holding up a bag from your favorite bakery. “Thought we could… debrief about our first few days of fake divorce.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Very professional of you.”

As you settled on your new couch (which was identical to his new couch, since company housing wasn’t big on variety), Jongho handed you a slice of strawberry cake.

“So,” he said, cutting into his own piece, “how’s the acting going?”

“Terrible. I almost told Yeosang that I missed your singing this morning.”

“You miss my singing?”

“I miss everything about you, you dummy. This plan is working perfectly, and I hate it.”

Jongho’s face softened. “I know what you mean. I had to stop myself from texting you about fifteen times today. Mingi asked why I looked so miserable, and I couldn’t exactly tell him it was because I missed my ‘ex-wife.’”

“We’re really bad at this divorce thingy.”

“The worst.” He reached over and took your hand. “But hey, separate apartments are pretty nice.”

You looked around your new space - identical to your old company housing but somehow feeling more spacious. “I do love having room for all my books.”

“And I’ve got space for my workout equipment now.”

“So the plan is working.”

“The plan is working,” he agreed, then leaned over to kiss your forehead. “Even if we’re the most unconvincing divorced couple in the history of divorce.”

The next few weeks fell into a strange rhythm. During work hours, you and Jongho maintained your cold war, complete with carefully orchestrated moments of tension whenever your colleagues were watching.

“Did you finish the quarterly report?” Jongho asked during a team meeting, his tone perfectly professional and just slightly stiff.

“Yes, I sent it to everyone except you,” you replied coolly. “I figured you were too busy reorganizing your desk drawer for the third time this week.”

Hongjoong winced. Yeosang looked between you both with concern. Mingi just seemed confused by the whole situation.

But the evenings were yours. Jongho would slip over to your apartment after making sure the hallway was clear, or you’d sneak over to his place with takeout and the pretense of “checking on him” if anyone asked.

“This is ridiculous,” you said one evening as you both crouched below the window level to avoid being seen by Seonghwa, who was taking out his trash. “We’re married adults hiding from our friends like teenagers.”

“Ridiculous but effective,” Jongho pointed out. “Hongjoong asked me yesterday if I was ‘coping well with the transition.’ I think he’s genuinely worried about my mental health.”

“Yeosang keeps trying to set me up with his cousin.”

“His cousin is nice.”

You smacked Jongho’s arm. “Not the point!”

Your system worked well until the morning you overslept in Jongho’s apartment and had to do the walk of shame back to your own place at 6 AM, only to run directly into Seonghwa getting his morning paper.

“Oh,” Seonghwa said, taking in your rumpled clothes and obvious just-rolled-out-of-bed appearance. “Good morning.”

“Morning!” you said with forced cheer. “I was just… returning a book!”

Seonghwa glanced at your empty hands.

“A digital book. On my phone. Which I left… in my apartment. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Seonghwa agreed, though his expression suggested he found nothing obvious about this situation.

You practically sprinted to your door, keys jingling frantically as you tried to unlock it before Seonghwa could ask any follow up questions.

Later that day, Jongho found you stress eating vending machine cookies in the break room.

“Seonghwa knows,” you said without preamble.

“Knows what?”

“He saw me leaving your apartment this morning. I told him I was returning a digital book.”

Jongho stared at you. “A digital book.”

“I panicked!”

“You told him you went to my apartment to return a file that exists on your phone.”

“It sounded better in my head!”

Jongho sat down beside you, rubbing his temples. “Okay, Maybe he could think that we're just hooked up on each other even when we got a divorced and started seeing each other again..? But we need to be more careful though. We should establish visiting hours or something.”

“Visiting hours for my own husband. This is my life now.”

Your friends, as it turned out, were more observant than you’d given them credit for.

“It’s weird,” Wooyoung said to San (loudly enough for you to overhear from the next table). “They got divorced, but they don’t seem actually mad at each other.”

“What do you mean?” San asked.

“Like, when Mingi and his ex broke up, they couldn’t even be in the same room. But those two are still… I don’t know, polite? It’s weird.”

You exchanged a panicked glance with Jongho across the cafeteria. Maybe you were being too civil.

That afternoon, you decided to stage a more dramatic confrontation. You cornered Jongho by the elevators, making sure Yunho and Mingi were within earshot.

“I can’t believe you’re still using my Netflix account,” you said, putting as much venom into your voice as you could manage.

“I forgot to log out,” Jongho replied, looking genuinely startled by your sudden attack.

“Forgot? Or you’re too cheap to get your own subscription?”

“It’s eight dollars a month!”

“Eight dollars you clearly don’t want to spend!”

Yunho and Mingi had stopped their conversation entirely, watching your argument with the fascination of people witnessing a car accident.

“Fine,” Jongho said, pulling out his phone. “I’ll cancel it right now. Happy?”

“Thrilled,” you snapped, then stormed off toward the stairs.

You felt terrible about it for the rest of the day, even though Jongho had texted you immediately afterward to say it was “Oscar-worthy” and that he’d already signed up for his own Netflix account anyway.

Unfortunately, your friends weren’t just observant, they were also meddlesome... And smart. Very smart.

“I think something’s going on,” San announced to the group during lunch. You weren’t sitting with them anymore (part of the act), but you could hear every word from your lonely table by the window.

“What do you mean?” Yeosang asked.

“With Jongho and Y/N. The whole divorce thing doesn’t add up.”

“How so?”

“Well, for starters, I heard from Seonghwa that he saw Y/N leaving Jongho’s apartment yesterday morning. At 6 AM.”

Your sandwich suddenly tasted like cardboard.

“Maybe she was returning something,” Wooyoung suggested.

“That’s what she said. But get this- she panickedly claimed it was a digital book.”

The table went quiet.

“A digital book,” Mingi repeated slowly.

“That she had to physically return to his apartment,” San continued.

“Maybe she’s not very tech-savvy?” Yunho offered weakly.

“She literally runs our social media accounts,” Yeosang pointed out.

You were seriously considering changing companies when Hongjoong appeared at their table, looking concerned.

“Are you guys talking about Jongho and Y/N?” he asked.

“Yeah, we think something weird is going on with their divorce,” San said.

“Actually,” Hongjoong said, lowering his voice, “I’ve been wondering about that too. Something about their paperwork seemed… rushed.”

Your blood turned to ice.

“What do you mean?” Yeosang asked.

“I probably shouldn’t say this, but… they filed for divorce and applied for separate housing on the same day. Most people take weeks or months to make decisions like that.”

“Unless,” San said slowly, “they had the whole thing planned out in advance.”

The pieces were falling into place, and you could practically see the lightbulbs going off over their heads.

You pulled out your phone and texted Jongho frantically: “Emergency meeting. Your place. Now.”

“They know,” you said the moment Jongho opened his door.

“What do you mean they know?”

You pushed past him into the apartment, pacing frantically. “San told Seonghwa saw me leaving, Hongjoong thinks our paperwork was suspicious, and they’re all putting it together.”

Jongho closed the door and leaned against it. “Okay, so what do we do?”

“I don’t know! Confess? Flee the country? Fake our deaths?”

“Those seem a bit extreme.”

“Do they, Jongho? Do they really?”

Before he could answer, there was a knock at the door. You both froze.

“Jongho?” It was Mingi’s voice. “Are you in there? We wanted to talk to you about something.”

You looked around frantically for somewhere to hide, but Jongho’s apartment was identical to yoursa nowhere to go except the bathroom or the bedroom.

“Coming!” Jongho called, then whispered to you, “Bedroom. Now.”

You sprinted toward the bedroom just as Jongho opened the front door.

“Hey guys,” you heard him say with forced casualness. “What’s up?”

“We need to talk,” San’s voice said. “About you and Y/N.”

“What about us? We’re divorced. End of story.”

“Are you though?” That was Yeosang.

“Are we what?”

“Divorced. Actually divorced.”

There was a long pause. You held your breath.

“Of course we’re divorced. You saw the paperwork.”

“Paperwork can be faked,” Wooyoung said.

Another pause.

“Why would we fake a divorce?” Jongho asked, and you had to admire his commitment to the bit.

“For the apartments,” Mingi said simply. “Two apartments instead of one.”

Game over.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jongho said, but his voice lacked conviction.

“Come on, man,” San said. “We’re not stupid. The timing, the way you two still act around each other, Seonghwa seeing Y/N sneak out of here…”

“She wasn’t sneaking-”

“And,” Yeosang interrupted, “I just got off the phone with my friend who works at the courthouse. Your divorce was never actually finalized.”

Your heart stopped.

“What?” Jongho’s voice cracked slightly.

“The papers were filed but never processed. You’re still married.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You could practically hear Jongho’s brain short circuiting.

“So,” Wooyoung said cheerfully, “want to explain why you and your wife are pretending to be divorced to scam the company housing program?”

More silence.

Then, quietly: “Y/N, you might as well come out. We know you’re here.”

With a deep sigh, you emerged from the bedroom, trying to salvage what little dignity you had left.

“Hi, guys,” you said weakly.

“Hi, Y/N,” they chorused back.

“So,” San said, settling onto Jongho’s couch like he was planning to stay a while, “this is awkward.”

“Okay, fine,” you said, slumping onto the couch beside San. “We faked the divorce. Are you happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Yeosang said dryly. “But I have to ask- why? You two are actually happy together. Why go through all this trouble?”

“Because the housing policy is stupid,” Jongho said, finally giving up the pretense. “We both work here, we both deserve our own spaces, but married couples only get one apartment.”

“So you decided to commit fraud instead of just… talking to HR about it?”

You and Jongho exchanged a look.

“When you put it like that, it sounds bad,” you admitted.

“It is bad,” Mingi pointed out. “Like, potentially fireable bad.”

“Are you going to turn us in?” Jongho asked quietly.

The group exchanged looks.

“Well,” Wooyoung said slowly, “that depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you’re planning to share those apartments.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Do you know how hard it is to get company housing?” San demanded. “Wooyoung’s been on the waiting list for eight months!”

“And I’m still living with three roommates,” Yunho added.

“Wait,” you said, understanding dawning. “Are you suggesting…?”

“We’re suggesting,” Yeosang said with a grin, “that maybe we all keep quiet about your little scam, and in exchange, we get to use your spare apartment for… let’s call it overflow housing.”

Jongho stared at them. “You want to blackmail us?”

“We prefer to think of it as… creative problem solving,” San said, echoing Jongho’s words from weeks earlier.

And that’s how you ended up with the most complicated living situation in the history.

Officially, you and Jongho were divorced and living in separate apartments. Unofficially, you spent most nights together in whichever apartment was free, while your friends rotated through the spare space based on a complex schedule that Yeosang had created in a shared Google calendar.

“This is insane,” you said one evening as you watched Wooyoung move his stuff into your apartment for his “three-day rotation.”

“Insane but effective,” Jongho replied, stealing a bite of your takeout. “Everyone’s happy.”

“Are we though? Happy?”

“Well, I get to live with my wife, you get your own space when you need it, and our friends also get their own space to rest for a while when they need it. I’d call that a win.”

You had to admit he had a point. The separate apartments thing was actually working out better than you’d expected. You had space for your hobbies, Jongho had room for his exercise equipment, and when you wanted to be together, you could be together.

Plus, the fake divorce had forced you both to be more intentional about your relationship. When you only had a few hours together each evening, you made them count.

“There is one problem though,” you said.

“What’s that?”

“We’re still not actually divorced. Yeosang said the papers were never processed.”

Jongho paused mid chew. “Do we… want to be? Actually divorced, I mean?”

“Do you?”

“I asked first.”

You considered it seriously. The original plan had been temporary, just long enough to get the apartments. But now that you had them, and now that you’d gotten used to the arrangement…

“I like having my own space,” you said finally. “But I like being married to you more.”

Jongho’s face broke into the soft smile that had made you fall in love with him in the first place. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Plus, if we get actually divorced, we’ll have to deal with Hongjoong’s paperwork again, and honestly, I don’t think my acting skills can handle it.”

“So we stay married.”

“We stay married.”

“But we keep the apartments.”

“We keep the apartments.”

“And we keep letting our friends use the spare space so they don’t turn us in.”

“That part’s non-negotiable,” you agreed.

THE END

BONUS PART:

“You know,” Hongjoong said, appearing beside you at the coffee machine, “I have to say, you and Jongho are handling this divorce remarkably well.”

You nearly choked on your coffee. Even after six months, you sometimes forgot you were supposed to be divorced.

“Oh, um, yeah. We’re very… mature about it.”

“It’s refreshing, honestly. Most divorced couples can barely be in the same room together, but you two are still friends. It gives me hope that people can be civilized about these things.”

“Mm-hmm,” you managed.

“In fact,” Hongjoong continued, “you’ve inspired me to revise the company housing policy. I’m recommending that we allow married couples to apply for separate apartments if they want them. Better for work-life balance, you know?”

You stared at him. “You’re… changing the policy?”

“Thanks to you two! Your situation really opened my eyes to how the current system wasn’t working for everyone.”

Across the break room, Jongho was getting a cup of tea and obviously trying not to laugh at your expression.

“That’s… great,” you said weakly.

“So really, your divorce has been a blessing in disguise for everyone. Sometimes things have to fall apart before they can come back together better than before, you know?”

If only he knew, you thought, catching Jongho’s eye and sharing a secret smile.

---

A/N: Don't worry everyone, Wooyoung finally got his own apartment after 3 months of bothering our couple. The others were also able to get their own ones after 6-7 months. So our couple got their apartments back in the end. I also have no idea what kind of company give out affordable apartments for their employees in this economy. 🤷 But for plot purposes we can make it so they work at a very rich real estate company..?

[mimikittysblog]

you barely make it halfway onto the bed before SAN collapses on top of you like a wwe wrestler. “san—” you gasp, trying to fight for air as his weight sinks into you, arms already wrapping snugly around your waist.

“i missed you.” his voice is muffled against your chest, his broad shoulders nearly swallowing your frame whole as he burrows deeper like a sleepy little kitten. “couldn’t sleep right last night, because my shoulders hurt again.”

you sigh upon hearing this, threading your fingers through his dark hair, it’s not the first time he is telling you this, but you are the only person that makes it comfortable enough to endure the pain. “i told you to try sleeping on your back, or stomach.”

“i can’t,” he groans, nuzzling against your collarbone. “my shoulders are too wide, and i just rolling over… i almost fell from the bed.”

he’s ridiculous, like literally utterly ridiculous, but at the same you can’t really blame him for not getting a decent sleep. “so what, i’m your pillow now?”

“the best pillow,” he murmurs, pulling you closer somehow. “so soft and warm, smells like strawberry chocolate cake, and you scratch my scalp just right—ah, there, like that…” he practically purrs under your touch, muscles relaxing beneath your fingertips as you gently massage his head. his biceps flex slightly as he shifts, dragging your leg over his hip like a possessive little monster. clingy, much?

you raise a brow, not because you are not used to this, simply because it comes out of nowhere, and very abruptly.  “sannie, you’re being needy today.”

“i’m always needy,” he says without shame, cuddling into your warmth, smiling against your exposed skin. “especially with you.”

rolling your eyes, pretending to be annoyed, however, your hand doesn’t stop moving through his hair, and your fingers trail down his bare arm, tracing the lines of his muscle with just enough pressure to make him twitch.

“also, i’d like to file a complaint.”

“hmm?”

“you’re making it really hard to focus on your face when your arms are out here lookin’ illegal.”

he lifts his head, a grin that reaches his eyes, even making his dimples come out of hiding. “oh? baby, do you mean these?” he flexes, just slightly, watching your eyes follow the movement.

you swat him, not hard enough, but just enough to make him stop teasing you. “san, stop that! you’re too pretty and you know it.” he laughs, before ducking back down to kiss the side of your neck: gentle, lingering, stupidly in love. “i love you, you know?”

you pause, fingers threading through his hair again. “yeah, i know, and i love you too.”

but it still hits you like it’s the first time every time. when san says those three words, you forget about everything, when you look at him, he is the only think about. he may be a lovesick idiot, but you are crazy in love. “and i love your stupidly wide shoulders,” you murmur into his hair. “even if they’re the reason i wake up squished half the time.”

at that moment, you felt him relax, and yes, he was asleep. san always falls asleep quickly when you are here next to him, can’t blame him, you do smell like strawberry chocolate fresh cream cake, oddly specific but that’s just san for you.

© KISSSAN do not copy, repost or modify my work.

[mimikittysblog]

Only Me

Summary: You’re starting to notice your best friend Yunho’s increasingly protective behavior; the daily tea deliveries, constant walking you to class, and his habit of scaring away any guy who dares to talk to you. You confront him about his possessive guard dog tendencies.

Fandom: ATEEZ

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x Reader

Genre: Friends to Lovers, College AU, Romantic Comedy, Fluff

Warnings: Possessive behavior (mild), jealousy, college setting, best friends to lovers trope, intimidation tactics​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

A/N: Short one before I kick-off the mafia series. I'm omw to my first literal holiday of the year so early update for today + I didn't check this one properly sorry for any mistakes.

====================================

You should have known something was up when Yunho started showing up to your morning classes with two cups of tea instead of his usual energy drink. You should have definitely known something was up when he began walking you to every single class, even the ones that were completely out of his way.

But the final straw? The final straw was when he scared away your study partner by looming behind you like a six foot tall guardian angel with a very intimidating scowl.

“Yunho,” you hiss, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him away from the poor guy who’d just wanted to review calculus notes with you. “What is wrong with you lately?”

His expression immediately shifts from intimidating to puppy like innocence. “Wrong with me? Nothing’s wrong with me. I’m perfectly normal.”

“Normal?” You gesture wildly at the space where your study partner had been sitting before he’d practically sprinted away. “You just death glared Kevin into another dimension!”

“His name is Kyle, actually,” Yunho corrects with a slight smirk.

“I don’t care if his name is Voldemort! You can’t keep doing this!”

Yunho’s face scrunches up adorably. “Doing what?”

You stare at him in disbelief. For someone so tall, he could be remarkably dense sometimes. “Following me everywhere! Bringing me tea every morning, which, by the way, is always exactly how I like it, which is suspicious, and glaring at any human being who dares to speak to me!”

“I don’t glare at everyone,” he protests, falling into step beside you as you start walking toward the library. “I didn’t glare at Mrs. Chen in the cafeteria yesterday.”

“Mrs. Chen is sixty five and married!”

“Exactly. Not a threat.”

You stop dead in your tracks. “Not a threat? Yunho, what are you talking about?”

His ears turn pink, and he suddenly becomes very interested in his shoelaces. “I just… I mean… you’re my best friend, right?”

“Right…”

“And best friends look out for each other, right?”

“Right…” You draw out the word, sensing there’s more to this.

“And you’re…” he gestures vaguely at you, his blush deepening, “you’re you, so obviously people are going to want to-”

“Want to what?”

“-steal you away from me!” he finishes in a rush, his voice cracking slightly on the last word.

You blink at him. Once. Twice. “Steal me away from you?”

“Yes! Like Kevin-”

“Kyle.”

“Kyle! He was definitely planning to ask you out after your study session. I could see it in his beady little eyes.”

“His eyes aren’t beady, Yunho. They’re actually quite nice.”

Yunho’s face goes through several complicated expressions before settling on something that looks suspiciously like a pout. “You noticed his eyes.”

“I notice everyone’s eyes. I noticed that Mrs. Chen has lovely hazel eyes too. Does that make her a threat now?”

“That’s different,” he grumbles.

You reach up and flick his forehead, making him yelp. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous! I’m being protective! There’s a difference!”

“Protective is making sure I get home safely after a night out. This is…” You wave your hands around, trying to find the right words. “This is like having a very tall, very attractive guard dog who thinks everyone is a burglar!”

Yunho’s pout deepens. “You think I’m attractive?”

“That’s what you got from that sentence?” But you feel your own cheeks warming. “The point is, you can’t keep scaring people away from me. What if I actually want to date someone someday?”

The look that crosses Yunho’s face is nothing short of tragic. “You want to date someone?”

“Hypothetically!”

“Who?” The word comes out sharper than you’ve ever heard him speak to you.

“No one! It was hypothetical, you giant possessive-” You stop, really looking at his face. At the way his jaw is clenched and his eyes are a little too bright. “Yunho…”

“Forget it,” he says quickly, turning away. “You’re right. I’m being ridiculous. I’ll stop bothering you-”

“Hey, no.” You grab his arm, surprised by how tense his muscles are. “You’re not bothering me. Well, okay, the scary guard dog thing is bothering me, but *you* don’t bother me. You could never bother me.”

He looks down at where your hand is wrapped around his forearm, and something in his expression shifts. “Really?”

“Really. You’re my best friend, Yu. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.”

“And if someone asks you out?”

You study his face carefully. “Are we still talking hypothetically here?”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Maybe not entirely.”

“Well,” you say slowly, “I guess that would depend on who’s asking.”

“And if it was someone you’ve known for years? Someone who brings you tea every morning and knows exactly what you like in your tea? Someone who walks you to class even when it makes him late for his own? Someone who maybe has been completely crazy about you for months but was too scared to say anything because he didn’t want to ruin the best friendship he’s ever had?”

Your heart does a little flip in your chest. “That’s… very specific.”

“I’m a specific kind of guy.”

You step closer to him, and his breath catches. “And if this hypothetical someone finally got the courage to actually ask me out instead of just scaring away the competition?”

“Then he would probably ask if you wanted to get dinner tonight. Somewhere nice. Like a date.”

“Like a date?”

“Exactly like a date. Because it would be a date.”

You pretend to consider this seriously. “And if I said yes?”

“Then he would probably be the happiest guy on campus. And also he might still glare at people who look at you too long, but he’d try to be more subtle about it.”

You laugh, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. “You’re absolutely insane, you know that?”

“Insanely crazy about you,” he agrees, leaning into your touch.

“That was terrible.”

“But you’re smiling.”

“I’m always smiling when I’m with you, you possessive giant.”

His grin is so bright it could power the entire campus. “So is that a yes to dinner?”

“That’s a yes to dinner. But Yunho?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time you want to ask me out, maybe just ask instead of becoming my self-appointed bodyguard?”

He laughs, pressing his forehead against yours. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“You’re impossible.”

He laughs and leans down to kiss you right there in front of the library, you can’t help but think that maybe having a possessive best friend isn’t such a bad thing after all.

Especially when he kisses like that.

THE END

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[mimikittysblog]

haaaaiiii !! im an avid reader of ur poly!ateez texts n oneshots !! i rlly love them n i wish to request one where maybe she's in her period n they all panic XD orrrrr maybe like another gaming content w her and she plays w them or anything rlly !! i js rlly wanna see new content hehe (if ur requests r closed pls ignore this then) TYSM!!!!!!! >w<

Haaaiii Anonnieee!!

First of all thank you sooo much for being a fan of my works!! It means so much to me! And I’m so sorry I haven’t been publishing anything recently! I’ve gotten kinda busy and my motivation for writing has been crap 💀

But this has inspired me a lot and I really wanna make it!! Especially the period one lol! Though Imm a bit confused if I should make this a texts or a oneshot! So I wanna ask to my lovely readers which you wanna seee!

Once again thank you Anonnie for loving my works! It means the world to me! And thank you too to my readers! Love y’all soooo much! 🩷

[mimikittysblog]

WHAT IS HIS PROBLEEEMMMMM?!?!??!!

this look and him are about to have me writing the most diabolical………

literally on my knees

[mimikittysblog]

꒰ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ꒱ hair clip ── park jongseong

꒰ details ꒱ — just jay teasing you about your hair clip collection and you putting a few on him.

Ი︵𐑼 ⌗ MORE JAY ⋮ ꩜ bf!jay x f!rea → drabble. fluff, pet names (baby), teasing (lovingly) and banter between two people in a relationship.

coco’s notes … i’ve been so motivated lately what’s happening AAAAAA? (this is a good thing) a mini jay drabble because they’re in the states and i’m screamingggg i won’t be seeing them sadly for this is for all my girlies who aren’t seeing enha but still wanna feel something lol. likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

“wait i don’t think i have this one yet,” you said, letting go of jay’s hand and grabbing a pompompurin hair clip, it was yellow and brown, just his normal face and that hat he always wears. the clip was plastic not plastic enough to snap if you bent it but plastic enough to know it was plastic.

jay turned around towards your direction standing close behind you, “this isn’t like the ones you usually collect.” he said, gently resting a hand on your lower back. “i know, but he’s cute.” you said, “he’s…?” he added “yes pompompurin is a boy, but fine i won’t get it.” you said gently straight up, jay grabs the hair clip and says “and why not?” “because you basically told me no…” you mumbled, causing jay to laugh slightly.

“baby i would never tell you no, i was just implying that all you other hair clips are like… different, you have some food ones i’ve definitely seen a ritz cracker hair clip in that collection.” he says softly kissing your cheek, “i just never seen you buy a sanrio…? did i say that right? one before.” you smile at his words “yeah you said it right,” you say pausing then continuing “maybe i just wanna start another collection with sanrio hair clips this time.”

he kisses your forehead then hands you back the hair clip, “and who am i to stop you?” he lifts his hand from your lower back slowly so that you can feel the warmth of his hand leave your body, he reaches for another hair clip this time it’s a ‘hangyodon’ one. “this is interestingly cute.” he says picking it up then putting it back.

you smile to yourself picking up the hair clip he just put back and said “mhmm, it is.” you grab his hand guiding him towards a little mirror hanging on one of the shelves. “squat for me really quick please.” jay doesn’t hesitate or ask any questions, he just does as you say, you slide the hangyodon hair clip out the packet and brush a few strands of his hair out the way of his forehead the clip the hair clip on to keep the hair in place.

“now this is interestingly cute.” you tease and he raises an eyebrow in the mirror, “wait you’re right…” he says in a mocked shocked way “but i am handsome so what did you expect.” he teases back.

“yeah yeah yeah,” you say rolling your eyes. he takes out his phone to get a better look at the hair clip before saying “alright let’s put this up and go pay for your pompompurin before i buy you the whole store.” he’s joking but he’s serious, if you told him that you wanted anything else he’d get it for you. simple. no discussions needed.

“baby, we have to buy that for you. you can’t just try it on look handsome and leave it here.” you say gently taking the clip out his hair and for a split second his eyes meets your and you look at but he sees the sparkle in your eyes, it’s always there. and how could he tell you no? “fine, but i want something in return.” he says lowly.

“mhmm… what?” you say, “i want you to put that apple hair clip on me as soon as we get home the green one, red is not really my color.” and you laugh not in a performative way but in a way that only jay makes you laugh and what he said wasn’t really funny but he’s cute.

“sure jay, i can do that.” he right hand comes and gently cups your face rubbing his thumb against your cheek gently, “i love you.” he says, softly almost like a whisper, like he was speaking only to you and he was. you smile at his words “i know.” you add back teasingly.

“you know?” he says any other time he would say back “good.” or “i never want you to feel any other way.” but the teasing in your tone made his blood boil, not out of anger but out of something else. something he couldn’t quite name or say aloud but he felt it.

and you were gonna feel it later.