#(can’t even imagine what beomgyu might be like)

[delugyu]

holy shit now i NEED to see a part 5 of that drabble gawdamn

ask and you shall receive!!!

(wc: 3.2k / warnings: masturbation, beomgyu’s fantasies in detail [including fingering, gyu being mean, virginity loss (again, just a fantasy), choking (f rec.), guilt], jealousy, possessiveness, angst, gyu is SOOOO pathetic like i feel bad for him)

the world doesn’t end with a bang or a big flash, but with a single instagram post. you’re officially with taehyun now. beomgyu stares at the picture of you that his friend posted, and some ugly feeling forms in the pit of his stomach. you look stunning, smiling at the camera with a fondness that makes beomgyu feel sick. he can imagine how giddy taehyun must’ve been posting this, getting to flaunt you publicly however he wants.

beomgyu must not be a good person, because he can’t bring himself to feel an ounce of joy for you or taehyun. he doesn’t like his friend’s post or type out a cute comment in congratulations. he just stares at the picture of you and thinks about how cruel you are.

beomgyu knows you only ever wanted him to teach you some things about sex. he knows he should have never wanted more than that. he knows it all, and it aggravates him so badly that he still craves you beyond those short-lived moments.

you must’ve known how easily you can make a man’s heart flutter. you had to know you were driving beomgyu insane this whole time, you saw all the signs yourself. you knew, right? he looks at your picture again—your kind eyes, your soft smile, your pretty face that he’s kissed enough times to memorize—and feels bad for even thinking you would be so mean.

you’ve got a flower in your hair, and everything about you has a whisper of innocence. something in beomgyu’s chest clenches, and it feels as if he actually lost something. you were never his, he tries to remind himself, but it’s not convincing him.

he can’t ignore the truth: to him, you were his. he had you in his sheets, he held you in his hands, he watched you bare your skin. he’s more familiar with your body than taehyun could ever be.

at least for a few moments, your lips were beomgyu’s. his eyes catch sight of that smile you wear in the picture, a smile you wear for taehyun. there’s a dull ache that grows inside him, and he should shut his phone off and think of something else, but he can’t. what could beomgyu have done differently to get you to look at him like that instead?

for a few moments, your face was his to hold. your neck was his to kiss. your body was his to undress, your skin was his to explore, your air was his to breathe. he had you in ways more vulnerable than anyone else has before, and so you were his.

he’s felt the beat of your pulse beneath his tongue when he familiarized your neck with his mouth. he’s felt the tremble in your legs when your orgasm creeps up, felt your hips under his palm when he held you down to endure the feeling. he’s heard the way you cry when the pleasure’s too much for you, and he knows where to pepper his kisses to soothe you. he knows you better than anyone else does.

you’re wearing a very pretty dress in the picture. beomgyu would have loved to see you in it, but you saved it for taehyun. beomgyu decides that you just must not care about him, that he’s just been some pawn to use to get to taehyun. you don’t care about beomgyu’s feelings, or the things beomgyu likes, or what dresses he might find you pretty in.

his stomach twists, and there’s a knot growing in his throat. the hand that’s not holding his phone grips his bed sheets, like that’s going to do anything. there’s an anger he feels deep in his chest that he needs to get out.

he wants to bring you here, wants to throw you down on his bed and push up the skirt of that cute dress you wear. it’s beautiful, and you look beautiful in it, but he fucking despises it. he’d tear it to shreds, make sure you can never wear it again.

he’d hold your chin up and make you look him in the eye. you wouldn’t dare look away, he’d keep your eyes on him and level you with an unwavering stare. he can imagine how confused you be, how your eyes would be filled with so much regret and sadness. you know that only beomgyu is good enough for you, so why run off to other guys who aren’t half the man that he is?

“apologize,” he’d demand, leaving no room for excuses. he wants to see you shed tears, to see the proof of how sorry you are. you’re so nice, too. he’d forgive you so easily as long as you told him you were sorry, but he’d still have to reclaim every part of you as his own.

he imagines your pitiful voice. “i’m sorry,” you’d whimper, and he’d press his knee between your legs. you’ll show him how much you mean it, you’ll give him all of you this time.

his hand finds his cock as he thinks about the way you’d jolt when he smacks your thigh. you’d gasp, so shocked, so scandalized, before moaning when beomgyu pushes his hand beneath your panties. beomgyu groans and spits in his hand to lubricate the slide of his fist over his shaft.

he’d tsk at how wet you’d be already, wanting to embarrass you a little. you deserve it for making him feel like this right now. his fingers would slide through your folds before they find their way to his mouth. he can’t help how he fiends for your taste, swirling his tongue around the digits before returning them to your cunt.

he’d push two fingers in, and you’d squirm and whine like the little virgin you are, but he’d hold you down and make you take it. you’d look so cute digging your nails into his skin as your pussy clamps over his digits. he fists his cock a little tighter, grunting as he fucks up into his hand.

he wishes you were here to take care of this for him. your hand feels so much better than his—smaller, softer, prettier. but you’re probably with taehyun right now, and you’re probably not even thinking of beomgyu. how fucking evil. he should show you how much you’re hurting him.

“you’re only mine, right?” he’d ask. even as you’re gasping and barely thinking straight while he fucks his fingers into you, he’d make sure you give him an answer. you’d have so much trouble trying to form a sentence, but you don’t get to cum without telling him this. “you’re mine, mine, mine,” he’d grunt out, holding you in place when your body starts thrashing around.

would his fingers jackhammering into you be too much to take? what a poor thing, soaking wet but still too tight to fit his cock. he’d wait for your answer, but you’re stuck moaning and crying out, just like a dumb little doll.

“you’ll never look at another man again?” he’d ask, and if you can’t bring yourself to answer that, he’d take your jaw in his hand and make you nod your head. “that’s right,” he’d say, so proud of how fucked out he made you. “never again.” he’d lean in to kiss your cheek, and you’d finally cum on his fingers.

it’s not quite enough, though. beomgyu’s cock is leaking now, begging to reach his climax, but he’s nowhere near done with what he wants to do with you. he imagines you catching your breath, laying beneath him like you’re his pretty whore, and his dick twitches in his hand. he wants to ruin you. much worse ideas start flooding his mind.

he’d run a hand down your leg, soothing, gentle, make sure you’re not tense or scared. all he can think about is sinking into your cunt, but you wouldn’t know that yet. you’d look so tempting, hole fluttering like it’s begging to be filled. beomgyu’s hands shake, stomach tensing as if this is all actually happening.

is this too mean? a part of him feels bad, but clearly not bad enough—he’s stroking his cock with a lot more fervor as he imagines your moans when his tip breaches your entrance. you’d be crying out apologies, begging for beomgyu to forgive you for ever even speaking to taehyun. the thought has him squeezing the base of his cock, on the verge of cumming too soon.

he feels guilty. he gets meaner. he’d sink into you all the way, holding your throat in a possessive grasp. you’d stare at him like he’s the only person in the world—finally—and he’d feel good about himself again. he’d feel like he’s worth something again.

tears brim his eyes, and his hips snap up into his fist, imagining it’s your cunt he’s fucking into instead. you’d be so warm, so wet, so tight, and all his. no one else would ever be able to know how you feel.

he needs to feel you wrapped around him, needs to feel your walls spasm as you cum on his cock. he won’t survive without it. his thrusts get angrier as he imagines ruining your cunt for anyone else. he’d make sure no other cock could satisfy you, and especially not taehyun’s. you’re just so fucking mean to him, can’t even let him have you to himself.

beomgyu spills all over his hand, hips stuttering as his orgasm takes over. your name flies from his mouth, and a tear falls from his eyes as he clenches them shut. he’s shaking a little from how intense his high was, breathing hard from the aftermath.

if he thought cumming would make him feel better, it doesn’t. he’s still pissed, and he still feels like shit, and he still wants you to break up with taehyun. beomgyu has never been an irrational person, but his mind is slipping from him now, all because of you.

he’s a little embarrassed of how depraved his fantasies of you became. he’d never be that rough with you. he thinks you’re something fragile and delicate, but you just make him so angry. he couldn’t help but want to take it out on you.

he hopes you don’t hate him. he hopes you still think of him fondly, if you even think of him at all. maybe you’re not as hung up on him as he is to you. maybe he should text you right now—maybe he should see you right now.

he wonders how you’ve managed to make him lose all his pride in such a short amount of time. you’ve reduced him to a much more pathetic man than he ever was before; he knows this because he’s walking to your apartment, desperate to pry something sweet from you. he feels like shit, and he just wants to see your face, to hear your voice, to smell your perfume.

he wishes he could just stay in his bed and be okay with everything, but he’s not. he’s standing in front of your door, knocking his fist against the wood, body all jittery and antsy. it’s like he’s actually addicted to you. it looks like you’re the one ruining him, after all.

“oh, hi, gyu,” you greet when you open the door, sounding as sweet as ever. it makes him want to sob. “what are you doing here?” you ask, brows slightly scrunched.

“what happened?” he asks, incapable of saying much more than that. he’s scared his voice might break or that a tear might fall if he says too much. he steps into your apartment, not daring to take his eyes off you even as he shuts the door behind him.

“what?” your voice is laced with confusion, and beomgyu doesn’t understand how you don’t immediately see the problem. how could you do this to him so suddenly?

“tell me you don’t really like him,” he says, eyes wide and pleading as he stares at you. he hates your silence. he hates it, it’s driving him crazy. “please,” he begs.

“is this about taehyun?” hearing his friend’s name on your tongue is almost enough to make beomgyu fall to his knees. he needs you to hate that guy—and he’s awfully sorry to taehyun, but he’ll do just about anything to get you away from him.

he wants to take a step towards you and close the space between your bodies. it feels so unnatural to be standing so far apart. he can’t do that anymore, though, not when the threat of taehyun finding out hangs over his head.

he almost asks you again to tell him if you like taehyun, but he thinks he might collapse if your answer is anything but no. his heart pounds, and he can’t seem to calm himself down. why does this feel so drastic? he needs his brain to let his heart know that he’s not dying.

“what about us?” he asks instead. his eyes dart between yours, but it’s hard to find your answer in your face. you wear a slight frown, eyes barely able to meet his own. you stand so still that beomgyu wonders if this is just his imagination again.

“we'll just have to stop all the… you know. since i’m with taehyun now,” you answer meekly, as if you’re letting him down easily. that’s not the case—nothing about this is easy.

it’s not just about the sex for beomgyu, and he thinks you know that. the way you soften your voice, the way you avoid his gaze, everything just tells him that you know the truth. maybe you knew before beomgyu even did. he likes you more than a friend, more than somebody he just hooks up with. he likes you enough that you could break his heart.

beomgyu shakes his head, unwilling to accept it. he’s pouting, eyes pleading as he stares at you like that might convince you to comfort him. he wants you to come forward and touch him, to cradle his face in your hands and coo at him gently. he wants to lean his face into your shoulder and sob. he wants to cling onto your body and never let go, wants to drag you everywhere he goes so he’ll have you forever.

he waits for you to make the first move. if you move forward even an inch, beomgyu would make it easy for you and meet you the rest of the way there. you don’t move, though. what more do you need him to say?

“i don’t like taehyun,” he admits. you still don’t move. he continues, “but i want you to be happy.”

“thank you.” you give him a small smile.

“i just really don’t want you to be happy with him,” he says. you sigh and look away, and beomgyu feels bad for making you feel so awkward.

“i’m sorry. i don’t know what to say,” you reply.

you don’t have to say anything. you could just let him hold you right now and he’d feel a little better.

you speak again, “are we still friends?”

he looks at you for a long second. your brows are upturned, eyes dimmer than usual. he misses when they gleamed with curiosity and excitement. he fights back the urge to hold your face and kiss your eyelids.

he doesn’t want to hurt you. “yes,” he says.

“thank god,” you sigh, finally falling into him. your arms wrap around him, and beomgyu doesn’t hesitate to hold you in his embrace. he urges the earth to stand still for a moment, just so he can bask in your touch a little longer.

he holds you like you’re something precious, like he’ll be losing something when he lets go. beomgyu knows taehyun doesn’t cherish you like this. he just has to make you see that.

when you pull away, you linger in his proximity, close enough that beomgyu could lean down and kiss you. something in your stare tells beomgyu that you’ll miss him too, that you’ll miss what you used to have. it’s either that or beomgyu’s really gone crazy now, seeing whatever he wants to see. he’s too scared to mention it in case he’s wrong.

“let me stay tonight,” he whispers, as if talking too loud will break the moment.

you look like you consider it for a second. “you know i can’t,” you say. he wants to kiss the pout off your face.

“then let me stay five more minutes.” he grabs your hand, and you don’t pull it away. he brings it to his mouth to kiss it, then your wrist, then your inner arm. he’s soft and sweet and gentle; he wants to prove that he can be a good boyfriend, too. it’s not just a role taehyun could fulfill.

“i can’t,” you say. you step away just an inch, but beomgyu follows, not allowing the space to form between you.

“one more minute,” he insists, using his free hand to hold your waist. long enough for one more kiss, so he can remember your taste when he goes to sleep. long enough to draw one more gasp from your mouth as he lets his hands roam your body. he waits for your permission, ever so hopeful, but you don’t give it to him.

“good night, gyu,” you say as you break away from his touch. your hand is slow to retract from his, but maybe that’s just beomgyu’s mind playing tricks on him.

he wants to call you a lot of different things right now. mean. cruel. heartless. but the sour words don’t roll off his tongue when he’s around you; that would be impossible.

“good night, pretty,” he says. that feels a lot more fitting for you.

you laugh, “don’t call me that.”

“why? i always have.”

“no you haven’t,” you say, walking towards the door to open it for beomgyu. your tone holds mild annoyance, but your smile is the fondest one you’ve given him today. it gives him all the more reason to keep calling you that.

beomgyu steps out, and he etches your smile into his mind before you shut the door. the moment it’s closed and beomgyu’s left to walk back to his place, he’s finally hit by the weight of his actions. he made himself look so desperate and stupid. taehyun would never have to beg for your attention or your time.

he thinks about it the whole time he walks home. maybe you have a thing for strong guys. that’s fine, beomgyu can start working out. or maybe it’s taehyun’s intelligence that draws you to him, then beomgyu could pick up some books. he thinks of everything taehyun has that he doesn’t, and suddenly he feels competitive.

he stares at his ceiling once he’s back in bed, zoning out and wondering what he can do to get you back. he’s gone through a whirlwind of emotions today, but what he feels more than anything right now is fear. what if you’ll never think beomgyu is good enough? what if you fall in love with taehyun too fast, and beomgyu loses his chance? he can’t let you slip from his fingers.

beomgyu gets a notification, and he checks it too eagerly, thinking it might be from you. instead, he finds a text from taehyun—some link to a video he thought was funny or whatever. he huffs out in annoyance. now he’s just back to feeling pissed again.

taglist: @hyukarma @moaadiry @lilysiaaa @razsberrie (probably forgetting ppl who have asked before i’m sorry it’s been a minute 😭)

[heeology]

god, you're annoying | l.hs

synopsis → ever since you and heeseung have come into each others' lives, he has been asking you out and flirting with you nonstop. for years, the cycle of him confessing his feelings to you and you rejecting every single one of his advances seems as though it has gone on forever. being fed up, you develop a plan to pretend as though you already have a boyfriend (spoiler alert: it doesn’t end well). after years of continuously trying to get heeseung off of your radar, you just can’t seem to get rid of him and suddenly (to your surprise), you find yourself not being bothered as much by his presence.

feat. → yeonjun (txt), yunjin (le sserafim), beomgyu (txt), minjeong (aespa), jake (enhypen), sunghoon (enhypen), jay (enhypen)

genre → university AU, enemies to lovers, romance, smut

pairing → nonidol!heeseung x fem!reader

warnings → MDNI, kinda long but bear w me pls

w.c. → 9k

disclaimer!! → any other idols mentioned in this story (that I portray are dating) i do not ship irl; this story is a work of fiction a.k.a. something derived from my delusions and imagination, take this story lightly pls and thx.

!!DO NOT COPY OR REPOST!!

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Everyday you walk onto campus and make sure you avoid eye contact with a “certain someone” and even though the outcome always remains the same, you still hope that one day it will actually make a difference. Unfortunately for you, on your campus, there is only one way to get to your morning class which makes this “certain someone” rather happy to know that you practically have to see him everyday. Although you try your best, he never fails to call out your name, even if you try hiding behind other people; he can spot you from a mile away. This, you find to be annoying. He, however, looks forward to this moment every day because what other reason is there to get up early in the morning if it means he doesn’t get to see you?

You hear him call after you as you try to quickly make your way to your first class which, luckily for you, does not include him. You can hear his footsteps hurrying towards you making you break out into a light jog to your classroom door that is just ahead. You reach for the door handle and open it just enough to let yourself in and as you are about to close it behind you, a hand from the other side stops you, forcing it back open enough for you to be face-to-face with the one and only bane of your existence: Lee Heeseung.

He gives you a cocky smile receiving an eye roll from you as you can already hear his irritating voice begin to say a bunch of sentences and words that you couldn’t care any less about because you couldn’t care any less about him. Heeseung is fully aware about how you feel about him and although some most of his actions are–-yes, he’ll admit–-advertently creepy, he means no harm. You, of course, don’t see it that way, but that doesn’t stop him. 

“You didn’t hear me calling your name?” he asks, knowing that you did and also knowing that you ignored him, but he just wants to hear any snarky reply you have because that’s the only time when you actually acknowledge his presence. 

“Nope, must’ve missed it.” you say in a fake sympathetic tone. 

He lets out a “hmm” and you mock him. He smirks, leaning a little closer to you. You would move away, but then you figured he might take that as his chance to open the door more, so you decide to stay put. 

“I was just wondering if you wanted to go out to dinner with me. There is this restaurant that my family and I only go to on special occasions and I think you’ll really like it.”

There it is, him asking you to the same stupid restaurant that you have said no to many (and you mean many) times before. You know what restaurant he is talking about, some way overpriced place that only really rich people go to. You clenched your jaw as your hand gripped the edge of the door a little tighter. He smiled at you, which you thought was him being smug, but rather it was him anticipating your answer. He meant what he said and he just wants to be given a chance to show you how much he likes you. 

Him asking you out to this restaurant, always offering to buy your lunch, pay for your snacks, or buy you some other object just felt as him rubbing his money in your face, making all of his attempts seem as though they are a joke; that you are a joke. Ever since middle school, when you and Heeseung had first met, he made his “crush” on you apparent, which all of the other kids found to be funny and ridiculous. You know he doesn’t actually like you and you hate him for still acting like this even though you both are now grown adults and not eleven year old children who still ride in the car with their parent on their way to school everyday. 

“Well, if you think I’ll like it, then I’ll surely hate it.” you reply.

“You’re only saying that be-”

“No, Heeseung, I will not go out with you and for the last time: stop bothering me.” you say sternly.

You scowl at him and he can’t help but find you to be adorable. He knows you’re annoyed by him, but there isn’t anyone else he would rather spend his time with other than you, even if his only way to spend time with you is by pestering you constantly. 

“I’m just going to ask you again tomorrow.” he says with a smile.

You knew he wasn’t joking about that and that made your blood begin to boil. You hated having to be bothered by him, you hated feeling like a joke, you hated seeing his stupid face everyday, and you hated how it seems like he doesn't even care. You have to put a stop to this, you simply can’t take it anymore. But how? You’ve tried everything, what other way could there possibly be? Then it clicked. You stood up straighter, looking him directly in his eyes. He found himself a little taken aback by your sudden eye contact, but didn’t want to show it; to show how you make him flustered and blush just by simply looking at him.

“Heeseung, I have a boyfriend.” you say, trying not to smile.

You don’t know how you didn’t think of this before, but you’re overjoyed that the idea finally came. His smile drops–for a split second–as he felt the wind practically get knocked out of him like someone had just suckerpunched him in the gut. You were bluffing, you had to be…right?

“Pfft, I don’t believe you.” he says, letting go of the door, only to cross his arms and lean against the doorframe.

You feel your face become hot as you stand your ground, “And what exactly makes you say that?”

“I’ve never seen you with your “boyfriend”.” he says, making air quotes.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t have one.”

“Well it surely doesn’t mean that you do.”

“I know you stalk me because you have nothing better to do with your life, but that doesn’t mean you know what I do every second of the day.”

He shrugs his shoulders, not buying a word that you are saying. He keeps telling himself that you are lying, but what if that small percentage of possibility actually means you are telling the truth? He doesn’t want to think about that, he has to believe that you are lying.

“Okay, what’s his name, then?” he asks, confident that you won’t have an answer.

Shit. How do you answer that? You try not to show your worry in your expression and quickly try to come up with an answer. You open your mouth to speak, hoping the words that do end up coming out make sense.

“Yeonjun.” you reply.

Well, you said a name and that’s all that counts. Sure, it’s the name of your best friend’s boyfriend, but she won’t mind if you use him for a lie…right? Now it’s Heeseung’s turn for him to clench his jaw. He scoffs, rolling his eyes before looking back at you.

“Then how come I’ve never seen you with him on campus?”

“Because he goes to another school, idiot.”

“How did you two meet?”

“Through my best friend; they go to school together.”

You could see him become more annoyed with your answers as you tried to say them with as much confidence as possible. 

“I still don’t believe you.” he says, less certain of what he is saying than before.

You’re so close and you know it, you just need to say something that will make him back-off once and for all.

“I’ll have him bring me to school tomorrow.” you said, now being the one to cross your arms as you smiled smugly.

Heeseung felt his blood run cold, terror now coursing through his veins. Were you actually telling the truth? He didn’t want to see you with some other guy, most definitely not someone who you are claiming to be your boyfriend. The thought made him both upset and annoyed. What do they have that he doesn’t? He’s the one who has been trying to show how much he likes you for years now and some rando comes in and sweeps you off of your feet? Over his dead body.

“Okay,” he says while standing up from leaning on the door, “I can’t wait to see you and a bunch of air walk into school tomorrow.”

“You still think I’m lying?”

He shrugs his shoulders, looking away before looking back at you.

“I just find it hard to believe.”

“That I have a boyfriend?”

“You could say that.”

Man, you couldn’t wait to prove him wrong (even though he is technically right). You fake laugh at his reply and stop as you grab his hand. He feels butterflies erupt in his stomach from your sudden contact and is so distracted that he isn’t even paying attention to what you are doing, which is putting his hand on the door frame. You plaster on a fake smile before quickly swinging the door shut. He snaps out of his daze and moves his hand out of the way just in time before it could have been smashed by the door. 

-

Beomgyu didn’t think to even hold back his laughter once the words left your mouth and although the music in the club was blaring through the speakers, you could still hear his piercing voice. The others, however, were a little more surprised to hear what you had said, especially Yunjin and Yeonjun. You had a guilty smile on your face as you exchanged glances between the two and then Yeonjun scoffed. He raised his glass in a ‘cheers’ manner and Yunjin slapped his shoulder.

“It’s honestly not that bad of a plan,” Minjeong says, trying to defuse the tension, “Yunjin, you know better than any of us here how badly this guy bothers her.”

Yunjin sighs before she chugs the rest of her drink from her cup. “You can borrow my boyfriend on one condition: it doesn’t go too far.” She says, pointing between you and Yeonjun. 

You both look at each other and cringe. Yeonjun puts his arm around Yunjin and she smiles. He kisses her temple, “As if that would ever happen.”

“So how exactly are you going to convince him?” Yunjin asks.

You chug the rest of your drink, wincing as the alcohol burns your throat. “Is it cool if Yeonjun takes me to school tomorrow? I was thinking all he has to do is walk me to my class and just essentially tell Heeseung to back off.”

“He’s not going to do it unless he believes it.” Beomgyu points out as he leans back into the booth.

“He’s right, him walking you into school isn’t going to be enough to convince him; he sounds persistent.” Minjeong agrees.

“The most he is allowed to do is kiss you on the cheek to make it believable, but that’s it.” Yunjin says looking at Yeonjun to make sure he understands.

“I don’t get a say in whether or not I agree to this?” Yeonjun asks, looking at everyone, but landing on you.

“No.” the rest of you say in unison.

He laughs before finishing his drink. “Okay. I’ll pick you up at seven thirty.”

-

Even as Yeonjun pulls his motorcycle to a stop in front of your campus, he can still feel your fingernails practically digging into his stomach. 

He lifts up the visor on his helmet, “Can you please stop trying to claw your way into my intestines?”

You let go of him all together and he lets out the breath that he has been holding in. 

“Sorry.” you say, it sounding muffled under the helmet. He smiles, taking off his helmet after getting off the bike. He sets his helmet down and holds out his hand for you to take. You take it, him helping you off, before he helps you take off the helmet. “Thanks.” you say and he shrugs his shoulders as a reply. 

He glances over his shoulder, noticing people looking at him and you, whispering. “So, which one is the stalker?” he asks, trying to be discreet.

You turn your head to look, not seeing Heeseung anywhere, oddly enough. You scoff, “The one day he isn’t here is the day that you bring me.” you roll your eyes and Yeonjun shrugs.

“Well, see you later.”

“Woah-wait. I still need you to walk me.” you say, grabbing one of his shoulders to stop him from leaving.

“What? Why? You just said he isn’t here.”

“That doesn’t mean that I don’t need reinforcements.”

Yeonjun groans, but turns back around to face your campus. You clear your throat before reaching to hold his hand. You intertwine your fingers, looking at each other through the corners of your eyes, confirming that you’re ready to go. You walk hesitantly at first, but the further you get, Yeonjun releases his hand from yours to put his arm around you. Low and behold, once you made your way to the front of your class, Heeseung was there waiting right beside the door.

He, of course, hadn’t been there the whole time. He was pacing back and forth in the bathroom before working up the courage to actually make his way to your class, a part of him hoping he had just missed you so he wouldn’t actually have to see you with someone else. Yet there you are, walking up to him (well, your class), with some dude who looked like he was trying too hard to be cool with his arm around you. He felt sick and the closer you came, the more he felt like vomiting. 

You smiled, stopping in front of your class door with Yeonjun. 

“Oh Heeseung, you’re actually here, I thought you chickened out.”

He smiles, annoyed. His gaze shifts over to Yeonjun and Yeonjun smirks.

“So this is Heeseung?” He asks, eyeing him up and down.

Heeseung pokes his tongue in the side of his cheek. He looks back at Yeonjun and eyes him up and down before crossing his arms. Although he currently feels sick to his stomach, he’s still a little suspicious. 

“Am I supposed to believe you’re her boyfriend?”

Yeonjun scoffs, crossing his arms, “You can believe what you want,” he steps closer to Heeseung, leaning close to his ear making Heeseung tense up, “but you better stop messing with her regardless.”

He pulls back, smiling at Heeseung and patting one of his shoulders. Heeseung scowls, wiping off his shoulder as Yeonjun turns to you. You smile at him, ignoring Heeseungs glares.

“Have a good day, babe.” he says before kissing you on your cheek. He glances back over his shoulder before snickering at Heeseung and walking away.

You smile proudly at Heeseung while he looks at you in complete and utter shock. Did he just see what he think he just saw? He couldn’t believe it, he didn’t want to believe it. 

“Well,” you say, making him snap out of his thoughts, “you heard him: stop bothering me.” you say before going into your class.

-

“I heard from some people that he has a motorcycle and he brought her on it today.” Jake says while taking some food off of Sunghoon’s tray, earning a glare from him.

Heeseung rolls his eyes, clenching his fork harder in his hand. “I don’t get it, he’s not even her type.”

Sunghoon laughs and Heeseung scowls at him. “How would you know? You’re not exactly close with her.”

“I think it’s time for you to just leave her alone, you’ve been bugging her since we were kids.” Jay comments.

Heeseung goes quiet. Should he give up? He reminisces about the time he first saw you, laughing with your friend, and the only thing he could think about was how pretty you look when you smile. He isn’t the type to hide how he feels and he thought you would be pleasantly surprised by how open he is about how he feels about you, but when you rejected him after he bought you your favorite drink, he was confused. He didn’t want to give up, though, because all he wanted was to be able to make you laugh just like when he first saw you.

“Jay’s right, the joke has gone on for long enough.” Jake adds.

Heeseung looks up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Joke? What are you talking about?”

Before Jake can answer, a girl walks up and takes a seat in one of the open chairs at the table. Everyone’s eyes go to her as she smiles.

“Hi,” she says shyly, “Heeseung, can I speak with you privately?”

“No, thanks.” he replies, continuing to eat his food.

Jake tries to suppress his laugh and Jay kicks him from under the table. Jake’s smile falls as he kicks Jay back.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.” Jay warns.

“You started it.” Jake mumbles.

“Well, I was just wondering,” everyone looks back at the girl, momentarily forgetting she was even there, “if you would like to get coffee with me after school.” she says, moving some of her hair behind her ear.

“No, thanks.” Heeseung says in the same uninterested tone as before, not bothering to spare her another glance as he continues eating.

She sits there, a little taken aback as an awkward silence settles. Sunghoon clears his throat before taking another bite of his food. The girl stands up and walks away, not bothering to push back in the chair; Jay and Jake watch her as she leaves.

“She was cute, why did you say no?” Jake asks.

“We know why.” Jay says, drinking some of his water.

“You’ve been turning down every girl that asks you out for years, don’t you want to at least try and date someone?” Jake asks.

Heeseung groans and sets down his fork. “What’s the point? No one else is worth the time.”

-

“You all should have seen his face.” Yeonjun beams as you and your friend group continue roaming throughout the mall.

“So, it worked?” Minjeong questioned and you nodded your head happily.

“I didn’t see him for the rest of the day and he didn’t say anything else once Yeonjun left.” you replied happily.

“And there was nothing more than a kiss on the cheek?” Yunjin questioned.

“Of course.” Yeonjun says, kissing her quickly.

You and the others groan as they both just smile at each other. 

“Oh!” Minjeong says, grabbing your hand. You look at her and then the store she was looking at, “They finally restocked the perfume I was telling you about.”

“I can’t afford that.”

She rolls her eyes, “You can’t, but I can, now come on.” she says, pulling you with her.

“I’d rather not be stuck with you two sickos, so I’m going to go with them.” Beomgyu states to Yunjin and Yeonjun before heading off to follow you and Minjeong. 

Yeonjun grimaces and mocks Beomgyu as he walks off and Yunjin laughs.

As much as Heeseung would rather have gone home straight after classes than come to the mall to help Jake pick out a new keyboard, he came anyway due to his friend’s consistent pestering. 

“You’re paying me back for gas money, I hope you know that.” Heeseung mumbles.

Jake scoffs, “You’re richer than I am, besides, friends carpool other friends.” Heeseung rolls his eyes as he and Jake make their way to the store. Heeseung opens his mouth to say something, but is caught off guard by loud giggling coming across from where he and Jake are. Both of them look in the direction of where the noise is coming from to see Yeonjun and Yunjin laughing, her hitting his shoulder playfully and him scattering kisses on her face. Heeseung stops dead in his tracks. Jake stops walking and looks between Heeseung and the couple. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

Heeseung could feel anger surging through his body. Isn’t that guy your boyfriend? Why was he so publicly flirting with this other girl? Is he cheating on you? Unknown to him, Heeseung was walking towards the two, blinded by rage. Jake tries to call after him, but it just sounded like static to Heeseung. Jake rushes to catch up to him, trying to figure out what he was going to do and why he was even doing something in the first place. Heeseung stands in front of Yeonjun, making both Yeonjun and Yunjin turn their attention towards him.

“Shit.” Yeonjun mumbles.

Heeseung didn’t have the patience to ask any questions, he knew he was right in the first place. This guy had some nerve to hurt you like this, so before anyone had another chance to say a word, Heeseung clenched his hand into a fist and punched Yeonjun in the face.

“What the hell!?” Yunjin exclaims, grabbing onto Yeonjun’s arm as he falls to the ground.

Heeseung didn’t pay any attention to the throbbing pain from his hand and raises his fist to punch him again, but Jake stops him. Yeonjun touches his face, blood dripping from his nose as he looks up at Heeseung, clenching his jaw in anger.

“You son of a b-”

“Don’t start with that, you’re the one cheating.”

Yunjin scoffs and stands up to slap Heeseung. “You have some nerve to punch my boyfriend, asshole.”

“What the hell is going on?” Beomgyu questions as you, him, and Minjeong come out from the store.

You look around to see the chaos that has ensued as well as people starting to crowd around all of you.

“This idiot punched my boyfriend because he thinks he’s cheating on you.” Yunjin says shooting you a glare as she helps Yeonjun off of the floor.

“You did what?” you turn to Heeseung.

“Isn’t he your boyfriend? Why aren’t you upset that he’s cheating on you?” Heeseung asks, confused and starting to feel the pain from his hand as the adrenaline and anger start to subside.

You open your mouth to say something, but Yunjin interrupts you. “Maybe because he isn’t actually her boyfriend.”

Heeseung looks between you and her, confused.

“Bu-”

“They only pretended to be dating because she wanted you to back off.” Yunjin seethed.

Heeseung wasn’t sure how to process all of this information, let alone, he wasn’t even sure if he was.

“Yunjin-” you try to apologize, but she pushes past you with Yeonjun. You try to grab her hand, but she pulls away and turns to you.

“It went too far.” she says, trying to control her temper before turning around to walk away with Yeonjun.

You turn to look at Minjeong and Beomgyu, but they both just look at each other awkwardly. 

“We should probably go with them.” Beomgyu says.

Minjeong nods her head, agreeing, but before they both walk past you, she stops, “I’m sure if you try talking to her tomorrow, she’ll forgive you.”

You bite the inner part of your cheek as they walk away. The crowd starts to disperse, still earning a few questioning glances from those passing by. You glare at Heeseung and begin to walk away.

“Look, I didn’t-” he tries to explain, but you cut him off by turning around, now face-to-face with him.

Tears sting as they begin to brim your eyes. There are so many things you could say to him right now, so many things to yell, but for once you find yourself to be at a loss. He too, is also at a loss for words. Seeing you look at him this way, tears in your eyes, he feels so ashamed and embarrassed. 

“Just leave me alone.” you say through shallow breaths, trying your hardest not to cry in front of him.

You knew to him this was all some sick joke, so you doubt he would actually listen to you, but you hoped there was some small part of him that would finally see you never found any of this to be funny and that he has finally taken it too far.

-

You have never dreaded walking to your class this morning more than you do at this very moment; you just don’t have the energy to put up with Heeseung now or even ever again. You tried texting Yunjin, but she never replied let alone even opened the messages. You were so wrapped up in your emotions you didn’t even realize you made it to your class in peace. Relieved was an understatement about how you were currently feeling, but you also felt oddly sick. 

Although you didn’t want him bothering you, you couldn’t help but feel annoyed at the fact that he didn’t even try to apologize once while you were on your way to class. It was the least he could do, afterall. He pretty much destroyed your friendships with your closest friends and now that he’s had his fun, he no longer felt the need to keep up the act? The more you thought about it, the more angry you became. You knew you hated him before, but you’ve never been this furious with him, not even at his attempts to rub his wealth in your face by buying you things. No, this was a new low, even for him, but you keep trying to tell yourself you should’ve seen it coming.

-

“Oh hell no.” Yunjin mumbles before standing up from the steps she and the others were sitting on. Heeseung approaches cautiously as he feels their eyes burning into him with their intensive stares. “You really are a stalker, how did you even know what university I go to?” she asks, crossing her arms defensively. 

“It’s in our high school yearbooks, everyone put where they were going.” he replied. Yunjin scowls, hoping he would get the idea and leave once and for all. “I came to apologize. I just-” he pauses, looking away while clenching his jaw before looking back at them. “I’m sorry I punched you.” he says to Yeonjun. 

Yeonjun looks at him, unimpressed. 

“You suck at apologizing.” Yunjin states.

“I thought he was cheating! I didn’t know-” he groans, becoming frustrated. He tries to calm down, running his hand through his hair before speaking again. “All I want to say is that I really am sorry, I was just trying to look out for your friend, okay? She deserves better and when I saw who I thought was her boyfriend kissing someone else, I just…handled things poorly.”

Yeonjun gets up to stand next to Yunjin, draping his arm around her shoulders. “I get it, you didn’t know.”

Yunjin scoffs, “You’ve officially taken this joke of yours too far, so stop acting like you care about her and just admit it already.”

“Why does everyone think I’m joking?” he asks, both frustrated and genuinely.

“Everyone in school knew you were joking. I thought you took it too far back when you bought her a pair of some new, expensive shoes.”

Is that really how everyone saw it? Is that really how you see it?

“I bought her the shoes because she had her old ones for years and had bandaids for the blisters she was clearly getting. I also bought her extra bandages, did you forget about that?”

Yunjin stops scowling, “So you aren’t just messing with her because she rejected you?”

“Of course not, I really care about her. I know I annoy her, but I never thought she would think I was doing all of this just to hurt her feelings.”

Yunjin stands there for a second, questioning whether or not she believes him. 

“You’re right,” she starts, making eye contact with Heeseung, “she deserves the best.” It falls quiet again for a moment, mainly because Yunjin is wondering whether or not she wants to give him a chance to prove himself to you. “We’re going to meet at the club downtown around ten, if you really mean what you say, you should come.”

Heeseung stands there, stunned. Does this mean she believes him? Does this mean they all believe him? Does this mean you’ll believe him? As they walk away from the steps, they all look at him, but not the same way they did when he first came over; skeptical. They all looked at him like they wanted what he said to be true and tonight is the night he is going to prove it.

-

You walked into the club, anxious, yet grateful that Yunjin finally responded to one of your messages. You wanted tonight to be like any other night that you all hang out here, like everything was back to normal; like it was before the whole debacle with Heeseung at the mall. You made your way past the crowds of people through the darkly lit club, over to the booth you all usually sit at. 

“Hey.” you say, trying not to sound awkward.

Yunjin sheepishly smiles, “Hey.” she says.

“Are you guys going to kiss and make up now?” Beomgyu asks, honestly over all of the drama.

Everyone laughs and Minjeong hands you your usual drink as you all make your way to the dance floor. From there, you move your body to the music, just wanting to let go of all the stress you’ve been under lately. Dancing along with your friends, having a good time, is all you care about at this very moment. You were enjoying yourself, feeling confident in the outfit you chose to wear paired along with the light buzz from the alcohol you were drinking. You closed your eyes as you soaked it all in; it felt like nothing could disrupt this feeling.

“Wow…” you hear someone say before they trail off.

You open your eyes and freeze. You know this voice a little all-too-well. Your grip on the glass you are holding in your hand becomes tighter as you slowly turn towards the person who was speaking. Your eyes lock with Heeseungs as he looks at you in awe. You look stunning and he felt like all of the air from his lungs had escaped the second he saw you; breathless. You walk closer to him, so he wouldn’t get any crazy ideas and try to do something else to your friends, but as you got closer to him you couldn’t help but think about how nice he smells. You shake the thought from your head as you look up at him, your eyes meeting once again. 

All thoughts you previously had were now gone; he made your mind go blank. Have his eyes always been this pretty? No…what the hell are you thinking? Pull yourself together.

“Do you take nothing I say seriously?” you manage to blurt out.

He smiles, happy that you’re talking to him (and just because he’s happy to see you in general).

“For all the years you’ve known me, you should know better than anyone else that I can’t stay away from you.” he replies before smirking.

That smug attitude thankfully snapped you out of whatever weird thoughts you were having earlier and brought you back to reality: he’s a prick. You roll your eyes and push yourself past him as you head to the bar to return your glass. You set the glass down a little harsher than you anticipated and Heeseung follows you as you make your way out of the club. He calls after you, but you ignore him. Nothing is going to change, apparently. But as you’ve said to yourself before: you really shouldn’t be surprised.

Heeseung stops calling after you and instead catches up to you, grabbing your hand gently so you would stop walking away from him. You turn to face him, looking down at your hands for a split second, feeling a different kind of buzz result from it. You try to shake his hand away, but he doesn’t budge. You meet his eyes, feeling your heart begin to race. As much as you tried to stop, something was happening, and you were certainly not a huge fan. 

“I spoke with your friends earlier and apologized.”

He did what? Wait…have you been hallucinating this whole time? That would explain why you suddenly feel this way because you know, not in any lifetime, would you possibly have feelings for Lee Heeseung. 

“How?” is all you could manage to say. 

Your mind was running a thousand miles a minute, not really in any shape to hold any kind of conversation, but especially not one with Heeseung.

“I made a mistake. I have a lot of things I want to apologize to you for.”

He spoke so gently and sweetly; it was like he was hypnotizing you. The streets were oddly quiet, not too many people, but you could still hear the music from the club. You found yourself staring at him in amazement. The fluorescent lights from the signs of stores nearby and the streetlights felt as though they were shining on the both of you, like you two were the only people who matter.

“What?” is all you can think to say.

“I’m sorry I’ve been bothering you to the point where you felt like you had no other choice but to lie.” he says, taking a step closer to you. “I’m sorry I made you and your friend fight.” he takes another step closer to you. You felt your breath hitch as your eyes traveled along his figure. Has he always looked this good in a black button up and black pants? It doesn’t help that his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and you find yourself staring at his arms.

He waits for you. He waits for you while he clearly sees you checking him out and it’s turning him on. God, you look so beautiful and the way you are looking at him, slowly taking in everything about him as if you are seeing him for the first time makes him want to kiss you; it makes him want to do a lot more. When your eyes meet his again, he takes this as an opportunity to step closer to you, placing his other hand on your cheek, gently cupping your face. He wants to be gentle because you are one of the most precious things to him. He leans close to your face, each others’ breath scattering lightly along one anothers face. 

“And I’m sorry,” he whispers as he rubs his thumb back and forth on your cheek, still looking into your eyes, “for making you feel like a joke.”

You feel yourself tense up. “Was it? All a joke…” you trail off, not necessarily sure what you want to happen next.

He continues looking into your eyes, never looking away because he wants you to know that he is being serious; that he means every word he says.

“Not for a second.” he replies.

You think back to everything he has done for you in a new perspective. How he would leave your favorite snack on your desk on test days, notes telling you how well you did after a presentation, volunteering to be your partner because he didn’t want you to feel alone or left out, buying you your favorite drink if you forgot to bring money for it, and asking you out to a restaurant that holds a special meaning to him and he only wants to share it with you. 

You want to kiss him, but you find yourself pulling away instead. He looks at you, confused, as you separate yourself from him, letting go of his hand. 

“I should get home. You know how early my morning class is.” you say while looking at the ground.

“Are you walking home? This late?”

You step back a little bit, finally looking back at him and you smile nervously. “I usually take the bus, but I think I missed the last one, so yeah, I guess I am.” you say kind of bunched together. Are you nervous?

“I can just drive you home.” he says, not really offering, more like telling.

You shake your head as your eyes shift to one of the cars in front of the club. You recognized it as his since he drives it to school everyday. A small, small part of you would love to ride in it, but you can walk home yourself (even if you also know it’s a bad idea).

“Yeah, I’m not letting you walk home alone this late.” he says, no longer wondering why you pulled away from him, but more concerned for your safety. He reaches for your hand and you let him take it, even if you keep telling yourself you shouldn’t. You both walk over to his car and he opens the door for you to get in. You look at him and he looks back at you, not intending on budging from his offer. You roll your eyes playfully as you get into the car. He closes the door and walks over to get into the driver's seat. He gets in and closes the door before starting his engine. You sit there, a little surprised you were even in his car in the first place. “You kind of need to put on your seatbelt.” he says, nodding his head towards the seatbelt that you left untouched. 

You laugh nervously, but for some reason, you still don’t think to move to put it on. He sighs, smiling to himself at your cuteness, before leaning over to grab the seatbelt, slowly extending it over your body before clicking it into place. He looks at you, your faces inches apart, and you feel your breathing quicken once again. His heart begins to beat faster, but he can’t stop looking at you; you’re stunning. He manages to pull himself away, worried he might make you feel uncomfortable, before putting on his own seatbelt and putting the car in drive. 

“Do you want to tell me how to get to your house?” he asks as he pulls out of the parking spot.

Your eyes widen. Right, your house. A house that--you assume--is nowhere near as nice as his house. What if once he sees just how different you two are he will stop liking you? What if he was lying before and this was his final cruel attempt to make fun of you? You shake your head.

“I would rather not tell you.”

He steps on the brake, turning his head to look at you.

“You…don’t want to tell me?”

You shake your head, hoping he’ll give up and let you out of the car. You hear him let out a tut, making you turn your head to look at him.

“Would you rather I take you to my place?” he asks, trying not to sound nervous.

Not particularly, you kind of already planned on going to bed once you got back home, but you stayed quiet, leaving him to answer his own question. He sighs, releasing his foot off the brake.

-

Heeseung pulls up to a gate that guards a huge house behind it. Your mouth falls a little agape as you look at it, thinking about how the driveway is the size of your own home. He puts in the code, opening the gate, and driving up the huge driveway. He parks the car and turns off the engine, unbuckling his seatbelt before looking at you. 

“Do you need me to unbuckle it for you?” he asks while smirking.

You kind of want him to, but you opt for doing it yourself. You both get out of the car and he waits for you before he begins to lead the way. You can’t stop looking around as you two walk up the stairs leading to the (in your opinion) oversized doors, to which he opens and lets you walk in first. The house is even more luxurious on the inside than it is on the outside, which you honestly didn’t think could be possible. He shuts the door behind him and you both take off your shoes. You feel out of place, starting to feel insecure. The guy with all of this money to have this grand living room with a huge television, windows covering the walls and expensive furniture littered everywhere claims to like you? And has for years? You were starting to find it hard to believe again. 

“I hope this is okay.” he says, breaking the silence. 

You weren’t sure what he meant, but you assume he’s hoping it’s okay that he brought you here. He starts heading for the staircase and you follow behind, still taking in your surroundings. He leads you to his room, and you decide to stand by the doorframe. To you, it doesn’t seem like the downstairs even needs a living room since he already has a couch and t.v. in his room along with a big bed laying on a platform and more windows for walls. A beep is heard and the curtains for his windows start automatically covering them and the two lamps on his bedside tables turn on. He looks back at you, smiling at your expression that he finds to be adorable. 

“You can come in, you know.” he says as he rummages through some drawers.

You hesitantly walk into his room, somehow just noticing how nice it smells, and find the confidence to walk up the few steps to his bed to take a seat. You turn your head to look around some more and Heeseung looks up, stopping what he is doing upon seeing you on his bed. You are on his bed. Is he dreaming? He honestly never thought this day would come and he clears his throat to try and calm his nerves, making you look at him.

“What are you doing?” you finally ask.

He grabs what he came in for and walks over to you holding out the clothes he picked himself.

“The guest rooms don’t have any clothes in them, so you can borrow mine.”

Did he just say “rooms” as in plural, like multiple? 

“Right, naturally.” you tease.

He smiles and you stand to grab the clothes from him. You hold them as you look up at him, once again meeting his eyes. That feeling starts to form again, the one where you don’t want to stop looking at him and certainly don’t want him to stop looking at you.

“I forgive you.” you whisper.

He looks confused for a second before he understands what you mean. He smiles.

“You don’t know how happy I am to hear that.” 

You aren’t sure if it’s the atmosphere, the way he smells, the way he’s looking at you, or all three combined, but before you can even process what you are doing, you are tossing the clothes he handed you onto the floor and pulling him by the collar to kiss you.

Holy. Shit. You’re kissing him. You’re kissing him. One of your hands moves to hold the side of his neck while the other moves to the back of his hair as you start running your fingers through it, gripping it here and there. He moves his hands to hold your waist, squeezing them lightly from anticipation, as he kisses you back. He gains more confidence, pulling you as closely as possible to him, as he deepens the kiss. He is desperate for you, he is desperate to show you how he feels. He lifts you up and your legs wrap around his waist, him carefully carrying you and placing you onto his bed. He lays you down as you two continue to kiss, him pulling away from your lips and beginning to leave a trail of light, breathy, kisses from your jaw down to your collarbone. Your chest raises from the deep breath you take and he swears he is going to lose his mind from looking at you in your current state. The state he is currently leaving you in. 

His hands roam your body, wanting to feel every inch of you.

“Heeseung…” you say breathlessly, practically sending him over the edge.

He can feel his erection growing and you saying his name like that makes his cock ache harder. He pulls away from leaving hickeys along your chest, pulling you up by the waist so he can lift your dress off of you. He pulls it over your head and you help him, throwing the dress off to the side. He rests his forehead on yours, trying to calm his breathing and you begin to palm his erection. He whines, moving your hand away before laying you back down. His eyes scan your body, now realizing you were never wearing a bra. There you are, laying on his bed in nothing other than your underwear and he has to try and collect himself before he cums in his pants at just the mere sight of you. His right hand begins to travel up your leg, his fingers lightly running along your skin as he continues to look at you, look at every inch of you. His fingers travel past your hip up to your breasts where he cups one of them, earning a small gasp from you.

He bites the inner part of his cheek, trying to contain himself as he fondles your breast, playing with your nipple, watching how your face contorts in pleasure. He leans down to leave light kisses on your shoulder, looking at your face between each one, going down and stopping at your other breast before latching his mouth around your nipple. You bite your lip, one of your hands comes to grip his hair. He moans as he swirls his tongue around your nipple, occasionally flicking it. He felt drunk and so incredibly turned on. He stops fondling your other breast with his hand and lightly trails his fingers down to your underwear, sticking his hand inside. You gasp again, his fingers feeling a little cold as he runs them along your wet folds. 

Fuck he was making you feel good and you let out a moan, making him smirk. He sticks a finger in, making you grip his hair a little harder, and so he sticks in two. You moan again and he pulls away from your breast to kiss you as his fingers pump in and out of you. You’ve become so wet that you start to cover his hand in your wetness, the sound of his hand coming in constant contact with your pussy starting to fill the room. You feel yourself become close and your mouth falls agape. He stops kissing you and pulls back as well as pulling his fingers out of you. You open your eyes, the dim lights suddenly being so bright as you try to process what is happening.

He brings his fingers to his lips, licking off your arousal from them. His eyes close as he inhales deeply, consumed by the taste of you.

“Please, Heeseung…” you start to plead.

He opens his eyes and figures he can’t leave you without what you want. So, in honor of a fair trade since he feels intoxicated by your taste, he takes off your underwear and throws your legs over his shoulders as he positions his face in front of your pussy. You swallow harshly as you feel his breath on you before he licks a stripe along your core, causing your eyes to roll back a little bit and your back arch at the sudden contact. His hands grip the sides of your thighs as he indulges in you, licking up every last drop of you before making his way to your clit and sucking on it.

“Fuck, Heeseung…” you moan out breathlessly.

He’s too consumed by your taste to notice and he pulls you more into his face. He moans into you, one of his hands leaving your thigh as he starts to finger you again. He hears you moaning and gasping, prompting him to open his eyes and look at you. Just the sight of you causes him to pick up his pace, his fingers rapidly going in and out of you and the more you moan, the more turned on he gets. You feel yourself become closer, gripping the sheets as you call out his name. That mixed with the taste of you on his tongue makes him moan. You taste so good, you look so beautiful, he feels like the luckiest man alive to have you call out his name. He sucks harder and pumps faster as he moans into you, cumming in his pants. 

Your head falls deeper into the pillow you were laying on as you release yourself all over his fingers, mouth, and face. His movements begin to slow down as he calms down from his high and he pulls away, seeing your legs shaking a bit. He sits back, taking your legs off of his shoulders and you look at him. His face is flushed and shiny because of your cum, which he didn’t mind. He licked his fingers again, trying to catch his breath afterwards and you find the energy to sit up. 

You pull him in for a kiss and his hands land on your ass, squeezing it. You moan and reach your slightly shaky hands up to the buttons on his shirt, unbuttoning them. You pull away as you take the shirt off of him, throwing it to the side. This time, you leave a trail of kisses from his jaw to his neck, his mouth falling agape from pleasure. He was becoming hard again and so you started to undo his belt as well as the button and zipper on his pants. You can hear him let out shallow breaths, and he pulls you back to kiss him on the lips. You kiss each other with so much need, and as you start taking off his pants, he pulls away to take them off himself. 

You watch as he does, seeing his bulge through his underwear along with the cum stain from earlier. You smirk, which makes him feel a little shy.

“Come here.” you say, your eyes flicking back to meet his.

He listens, and you move each other so he is now the one laying back as you sit between his legs. He swallows harshly, completely turned on by the sight of your bare self looking at him in such a sinful way. Fuck, he wants you to ruin him. You keep eye contact with him as you lightly grab the edge of his boxers. His breath hitches as he becomes increasingly more nervous and he bites his lip as you run your pointer finger over his v-line. You smirk, slowly pulling his boxers off of him and finally letting his aching cock free. You cast aside his boxers, lightly running your fingers along his length, making him let out little moans, trying to decide what you want to do next. Seeing him like this, you decide you can’t wait any longer, so you position yourself over his cock, one hand holding onto his shoulder as the other guides it into your cunt. 

You both throw your heads back as you let out a moan in unison. You slowly sank onto his length and he watched in awe. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening and when you finally settled fully onto his cock, his mind felt fuzzy. You felt so fucking good and here you were, riding his dick with hickies all over your chest and neck made by him. Consumed by his thoughts, he gripped your hips a little bit harsher as he let out a stifled breath. You look at him, wondering what was happening, but feeling his cock twitch inside of you and him letting out a string of moans and apologies answered your question quickly as he came inside of you. 

His breathing settled after his release and he looks at you, eyes a little hazy, but full of pleasure; he looked so fucked out. 

“I’m so sorry.” he half whispers and half exclaims. 

He really meant it and to be honest, he was kind of embarrassed. You shake your head.

“Don’t be,” you say, starting to rock your hips, causing his eyes to roll back in pleasure, “it was hot.” You pick up your speed and call out his name from how good he is making you feel. “Shit…” you whine as you start to lose momentum from the pleasure. He notices and adjusts himself so he is laying a little bit lower to which he slings his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You let out a small yelp as he hoists his hips up, thrusting into you, fast and deep. “Fuck…” you call out into his ear, making him pick up his pace. 

Moans mixed with the sound of his cock rutting into you fills the room and you grip the sheets as you feel yourself clench around him.

“Fuck-” Heeseung starts, but is cut off by his own moans from being close to his climax.

He thrusts into you faster and you clench around him harsher, your legs shaking as you cum all over his dick. He grips your waist harsher and clenches his jaw, breathy moans still escaping through his teeth as he cums–once again–inside of you. He does a few more thrusts to ride out his high before pulling out of your throbbing cunt. You both lay there for a moment, you still on top of him, trying to catch your breath.

“So…” Heeseung starts. You lift your head slightly to look him in the eyes and he smiles sheepishly, “does this mean you’ll go on that date with me?” he asks, hopeful.

You roll your eyes, “God, you’re annoying.” you say before smiling.

[beomcharms]

moths to a flame ✧.*

pairings : beomgyu x reader

genre : childhood friends to lovers (idiots to lovers mostly)

warnings: a little bit of kissing but mostly just fluff, suggestive

wc : 1.6k

a/n : this is just a short and sweet fic for beomgyu because i miss talk x today :)

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

“And you thought this would be a good idea ?!” you huff out pulling on one end of the tent.

“Shut up” Beomgyu mutters from somewhere on the other side. “Tiktok made me believe it was a good idea to go camping with your friends”

The sun sat on top of your heads and the heat was unbearable. Beomgyu had picked you up today morning for a surprise hangout. Little did you know, he was trying to grill you alive.

“Gyu are you really pitching it back there ?” You shout at him.

“Yes you- ahhh” you hear him shout and you rush out to the other side, letting the tent collapse.

“What- what is it?” You ask frantically while Beomgyu jumps about.

“A big fucking giant ass bug just flew in- THERE IT IS” he screams hiding behind you. You look carefully and you notice a beetle making its way towards your boot. You give it a stomp and kick it away. Now, you were not one to kill insects but you knew Beomgyu wouldn’t calm down unless he was sure it was gone.

“There, it’s gone” you sigh while he continues to hover behind your shoulder.

“My saviour” he says and looks at you with such admiration that you feel less annoyed with him.

“Let’s watch that YouTube video again” you tell him and huddle over his phone together.

Somehow it’s always been like this. Beomgyu and you had been best friends since, god knows how long. You knew his fears and likes like the back of your hand. He was loud and obnoxious and annoyed you to no end, but Beomgyu had a sensitive side to him, which was why you stuck with him. Once Beomgyu liked you, he stuck to you like gum.

-.-

It’s almost evening by the time you set up the tent and you both sit outside completely exhausted.

“I can’t believe we will have to take it all down in a couple of hours” you mutter.

“Shh… let’s not talk about that and honestly I think it might actually collapse before we have to dismantle it” Beomgyu tells you placing a finger on your lips and you look at him.

Sometimes it hurts to see how beautiful he is, inside out. But Beomgyu always looked like he had no clue about it which irritated you. He could have girls and guys swooning over him and yet be completely oblivious to it.

College began in a week and the summer break was almost coming to its end.

Your friends would often joke about how Beomgyu and you would ‘breakup’ once college starts and sometimes it would get to you, you couldn’t imagine a life without him.

Beomgyu had surprised you with his college application though. He didn’t tell you but he had applied to your same college and had got in, for which you felt extremely grateful for. College in itself would be a scary experience, and you thank god you’d have Beomgyu by your side.

-.-

“What would you do without me ?” Beomgyu laughs as he grills the meat. You patiently wait for it beside him, your only job being cooking the ramen. You were a terrible chef and ramen was your only saving grace.

“Hey! I have all the other talents just not cooking” you huff out. “Besides I have you to grill my meat Chef Choi”

“Hmm” he murmurs “I’m going to ignore the inuendos there” and you slap his shoulder.

“Think about it, you can do the cooking and I’ll keep the bugs away” you tell him and Beomgyu smiles.

The sun was setting and despite your complaints you had a great view of the sunset. It was pretty and healing and you felt drunk in coziness.

“Have you talked to your roommate yet ?” Beomgyu asks you. You had gotten separate dorms and Beomgyu had already taken a liking to his roommate. You on the other hand was terrified of reaching out.

“I’ll figure it out” you mutter at him. You had seen her photo and she looked pretty intimidating.

“I’ll text her for you, hand me your phone” he tells you holding out his gloved hand.

“Fuck no” you say. You were a coward, not a loser. “Gyu don’t worry about it, I do much better in real life, than online” you tell him.

“Alright” he tells you going back to the grilling, “I don’t get it” he says.

“What ?” You ask him, opening the ramen pot. It was close to being done.

“You are shy around everyone else but me” he huffs out.

“That’s because I’ve known you since I was three” you remind him. It was true. Beomgyu was the only person around whom you could breathe easy and let yourself be. You had terrible social anxiety and if it weren’t for him you are pretty sure you wouldn’t have any friends.

Beomgyu cuts up the pieces of meat while you turn off the stove and pour the ramen into the bowls. You hand Beomgyu the chopsticks before sitting down beside him.

There is a few moments of comfortable silence as you slurp down your noodles. Beomgyu seems lost in thought and you let him be.

-.-

It’s almost 7 by the time you wrap up the dishes. You wait outside your tent, which had collapsed only once before you managed to put it up again, with your coffee.

“This was fun” you tell Beomgyu softly.

“Yeah” he says. He’s been awfully quiet since dinner and you wondered what happened.

“What’s wrong ?” you finally ask him nudging his shoulder so that he’d look at you.

“Nothings wrong” he tells you but you continue looking at him and he rolls his eyes. “Well, don’t I ever make you nervous?” he huffs out.

You blink back in surprise. He was still thinking about that ? Beomgyu didn’t make you nervous… he made you flustered.

“Uh… not really” you tell him, trying to diffuse the growing tension.

Beomgyu leans in closer and you look away, “Not even a little ?” he whispers and you shiver a bit.

“No” you tell him pushing him away but he doesn’t budge. Beomgyu leans closer still and you have no option but to look at him.

“Not even when I do this ?” He asks you cupping your cheeks and squishing them, making your lips pout while you shake your head in disagreement. You can feel the heat on your face.

“You can’t lie to save your own life” Beomgyu grins and you hide your face in embarrassment. Beomgyu pulls your hands away from your face, holding it in his own and you look down.

Beomgyu tips up your chin to make you look at him and he has the widest grin. “You are cute” he tells you before leaning away and you try to steady your rising heart rate.

“And I like you” he adds. “Maybe even disgustingly L word you”

“What?” You ask in surprise.

“I thought it was pretty obvious” he tells you in his own casual way, while you try to figure out what just happened.

“Wait” you tell him, turning his face so he’d look at you. “You like me?”

“Duh” he replies, trying to look calm and collected but you can tell he is nervous taking note of his pink ears. You smile at him and then nod your head.

“Aren’t you going to say it back ?” Beomgyu whines and you shrug your shoulder.

“Well if it’s so obvious, why should I ?” You tease and Beomgyu pouts at you, “Come on, just say it” Beomgyu huffs and you almost laugh.

Beomgyu turns away in annoyance and the sight is so familiar to you, that it fills you with warmth. Even when you were kids, Beomgyu would pout and turn away to not look at you when you fought. Sulky boy.

“Hey” you call him tapping his shoulder, but he refuses to look at you.

“Beomgyuu” you whine pulling on his jacket, “Ofcourse I like you too” you tell him shaking his shoulder.

“You are just saying that” he mutters looking at the trees.

“Come on look at me” you tell him pulling on his arm and he finally turns to you.

“I like you too you dork” you tell him, holding his face and the tiniest of smiles play on his lips.

“And do I make you nervous ?” Beomgyu asks you.

“You make me wild” you tell him, leaning in giving him a soft kiss on his cheeks.

Beomgyu turns your head to capture your lips. The kiss is so soft and gentle and Beomgyu cradles your head and holds you like you are the most precious thing ever.

You lean away and look at Beomgyu again. He is full on smiling and his whisker dimples are so cute that you can’t help but kiss his cheeks again.

There is a sound of a crash and you both turn around. The tent had managed to collapse again.

So much for a romantic ending to your day.

-.-

EPILOGUE-

A day ago,

Beomgyu sits in his room, scrolling through TikTok’s. College started in a week and he thinks this would be the perfect time to confess to you. He just doesn’t know how.

Beomgyu knew you would hate it if he did something big. And he doesn’t want to do something clichè. He had asked his friends and all of them gave ideas which got progressively more worse.

Beomgyu sighs and continues scrolling. He passes a few when he comes across a TikTok of a couple on their camping trip and a bulb turns on in his head.

Camping. Sounds perfect. Except he didn’t have any equipment. Maybe Kai would have something.

And maybe, just maybe things would work out.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

🎧 i really hope you enjoyed reading this fic, if you did please leave a like/reblog or leave a comment it helps me out a lot, xoxo 🎧

[eunseoksimp]

west coast — p.wb [vol 4]

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 lead singer park wonbin, bass guitarist reader, angst, songfiic

synopsis: the fight left more than bruised knuckles—it left a tension humming between every word, every breath you try to take without thinking of him. you tell yourself it’s just a passing storm, that the ache inside you will ease once the music starts again, but the stage doesn’t lie. his gaze haunts each chord, a reminder that some songs demand to be finished, no matter how many times you try to silence them. now, as the band races toward the biggest show of your lives, you’re forced to face the heat that crackles between you—a current that won’t fade, a heartbeat that won’t slow. and all the while, you’re left asking the question you’ve avoided for too long: how do you outrun something you’ve never been willing to let go.

WARNINGS: extreme levels of alcohol consumption and substance abuse, swearing, wonbin being an asshole again for the first half (are we surprised)

vol 1 | vol 2 | vol 3

a/n: we've finally reached the end of this story. i wanted to thank you guys again for all the likes and comments, i'm glad you're all enjoying it. i had to cram all of the ideas i had for an ending into one part so it might feel rushed at some parts, but i can't imagine having to write yet another part :)

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

morning arrives in fragments of too-bright sunlight, spilling through the gaps in his curtains and slicing through the thick fog of his consciousness, dragging reality in with it whether he’s ready or not. the weight of it presses against his chest before he’s even fully awake, a dull, suffocating heaviness that stretches from his ribs to his skull, where the remnants of last night claw their way to the surface, raw and unrelenting.

wonbin doesn’t move at first, doesn’t even open his eyes, because he already knows what’s waiting for him the second he does. his head pounds in slow, merciless waves, his mouth dry with the acrid taste of whiskey still lingering at the back of his throat, but it’s not the hangover that has his stomach twisting itself into knots—it’s the memories, vivid and unyielding, flooding in before he can push them back down.

the music, the heat, the way his blood burned hotter than the alcohol in his veins when he saw you standing too close to beomgyu, your body angled toward him in a way that made wonbin’s pulse stutter and his breath come short. the way his fingers had wrapped around your wrist, desperate, unthinking, gripping tighter even as he felt you tense beneath his touch. the look in your eyes- something unreadable, something sharp, something that should have made him let go but only made him hold on.

and then your voice, quiet, barely audible over the noise of the party but cutting through him like a blade nonetheless.

"wonbin, i can’t do this. i can’t breathe."

the memory hits him like a physical blow, and suddenly, the air in his apartment feels too thick, the walls pressing in closer, suffocating, relentless. with a sharp exhale, he forces himself upright, wincing as the movement sends a fresh wave of nausea rolling through his stomach. his limbs feel heavy, his body sluggish, like he’s spent the entire night running from something only to wake up and find it still waiting for him, settling into his bones like an ache that won’t fade.

his apartment is silent—too silent, the kind of quiet that isn’t peaceful but empty, hollow in a way that makes his chest constrict even tighter. there’s no distant hum of conversation from the kitchen, no second presence shifting beneath the covers beside him, no warmth lingering anywhere but in the echo of what’s missing.

not that there ever was.

he lets out a slow, measured breath, dragging a hand through his hair, fingers tightening briefly at the roots as if the pressure might somehow clear the fog from his mind. 

this is fine.

 this is how it’s always been—just him, alone, untouched by anything that could sink its claws into him and stay. he built it this way, crafted his life to be something untethered, something impermanent, something that no one could leave because no one was ever allowed to stay in the first place.

so why does it feel like something is missing?

his gaze flickers toward the mirror across the room, and for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t recognize the man staring back at him. the golden boy, the effortless charmer, the untouchable park wonbin—he isn’t there. instead, he sees someone with dark circles smeared beneath his eyes, his jaw set tight enough to crack, his shoulders hunched like he’s bracing himself for a blow. 

his knuckles are still raw, swollen from where they collided with beomgyu’s face, the skin split in places, a reminder of how far he’s let himself spiral, how recklessly he’s let his emotions slip from his control. he flexes his fingers, watching the way the tendons strain beneath his bruised skin, the pain sharp but distant, almost deserved, like a consequence he hadn’t even tried to avoid.

he exhales, slow and deliberate, the sound laced with something bitter, something exhausted, something dangerously close to breaking.

this isn’t who he’s supposed to be.

wonbin drags his hands down his face, the weight of his own touch grounding him for a moment, before he shifts, rolling his shoulders, forcing himself to shake off whatever this is, whatever mess he’s made of himself. he’s been here before—on the edge of something he doesn’t want to name, standing at the precipice of emotions he’s never let himself hold for too long, because holding them means acknowledging them, and acknowledging them means opening himself up to something he can’t control.

the knock at the door comes twice, sharp and insistent, cutting through the heavy silence that has settled over the apartment like a suffocating weight. at first, wonbin doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge the sound, his body sinking deeper into the mattress as he stares up at the ceiling, mind sluggish, thoughts circling in restless loops that refuse to quiet. 

he isn’t expecting anyone—no one ever comes unannounced, not anymore—but a part of him already knows who it is before he even forces himself upright, his limbs heavy, his head pounding with the remnants of last night’s self-destruction.

when the knock comes again, more deliberate this time, he exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face before pushing himself off the bed, moving through the dimly lit space with the slow, detached motions of someone going through the motions rather than actually existing in the moment. the floor is cold beneath his bare feet, grounding him in the most unpleasant way, a reminder that despite the haze in his mind, despite the exhaustion that weighs down every part of him, he is still here, still trapped in the aftermath of everything he’s done, everything he’s avoided.

when he finally unlocks the door and pulls it open, he’s met with gunil’s gaze—steady, assessing, unreadable in a way that immediately sets his teeth on edge. he’s not smiling, not wearing the usual easy expression that so often softens the edges of his face, not offering some half-assed joke to break the tension before it can settle. 

instead, he stands there with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his shoulders set, his stance casual but purposeful, as if he already expected wonbin to hesitate, already braced himself for whatever version of wonbin was about to answer the door.

they don’t speak at first. the air between them is thick with something unspoken, something heavy that neither of them have been willing to confront until now, but wonbin sees it—feels it—in the way gunil’s eyes flicker over him, taking in the dark circles beneath his bloodshot eyes, the bruising exhaustion carved into his features, the hoodie pulled up like a flimsy barrier against the rest of the world. 

he doesn’t comment on the mess just past wonbin’s shoulder, doesn’t acknowledge the half-empty whiskey bottle sitting on the nightstand, doesn’t say a word about the fact that the apartment feels stale, like the air hasn’t been disturbed in hours, like wonbin has barely moved from the same spot since the moment he got home.

finally, gunil exhales, a slow, measured breath that seems to carry the weight of whatever he’s about to say before he even opens his mouth.

“you look like shit.”

there’s no humor in his voice, no trace of the usual teasing lilt that would normally accompany a comment like that, and that alone is enough to make wonbin’s stomach twist, though he masks it with a lazy, detached smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“thanks man,” he mutters, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, his fingers tightening in the fabric of his hoodie. “that’s exactly what i needed to hear.”

gunil doesn’t smile, doesn’t react to the deflection, doesn’t do anything but tilt his head slightly, studying him with that same unrelenting focus that makes wonbin want to shrink away, to shut the door before the weight of it becomes too much.

“are you gonna let me in?”

it’s not really a question, not when they both know gunil isn’t going anywhere until he does, so wonbin sighs, stepping aside just enough for him to slip past, watching as he moves further into the apartment without another word.

gunil doesn’t comment on the mess, doesn’t mention the way the air is thick with the stale scent of alcohol and exhaustion, doesn’t look at him with pity or disappointment or anything wonbin might have expected. instead, he moves toward the window, pushing it open just enough to let some fresh air in before turning, his gaze meeting wonbin’s with something unreadable, something steady, something that feels far too much like concern.

“have you been home all day?”

the question is casual, but wonbin hears the real meaning beneath it, hears the silent have you even stepped outside? have you eaten? have you done anything besides rot in here?

he shrugs, lifting a hand to rub at his temple where a dull ache has been pulsing since the moment he woke up. “and what if i have?”

gunil doesn’t take the bait, doesn’t react to the sharp edge in his tone, doesn’t let the conversation derail before it’s even begun. instead, he watches him for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before finally speaking again, his voice quieter now, more measured.

“you’ve been off for weeks, wonbin.”

it’s not an accusation, not an attack, just a statement of fact, but something inside wonbin still bristles at the words, still coils tight in his chest like he’s being cornered, like there’s nowhere left to run.

he forces a scoff, shaking his head. “you guys are really blowing this out of proportion.”

gunil’s jaw tightens just slightly, the only indication that the response irritates him, but he still doesn’t rise to the bait, still keeps his voice level. 

“last night you nearly started a fight in the middle of a party. you punched beomgyu. you stormed out like you were about to fucking lose it. and now you’re here, looking like you haven’t slept in days, acting like none of it matters.”

wonbin’s fingers twitch at his sides, his nails digging into the fabric of his hoodie. 

“it doesn’t.”

gunil’s eyes narrow, something sharp flashing through his gaze before his lips part, the words leaving his mouth before he can stop them.

“bullshit.”

it’s not angry, not sharp, not even confrontational—just tired, just resigned, just the raw honesty of someone who has watched this slow decline for far too long, someone who has held their tongue, who has given wonbin space, who has let him make mistake after mistake without pushing, without prying, without forcing him to talk until now.

the silence between them stretches, the weight of it pressing down on wonbin’s shoulders, suffocating him in a way that has nothing to do with the hangover still clawing at his skull.

gunil sighs, dragging a hand through his hair, his fingers gripping at the strands like he’s trying to ground himself, like he’s trying to keep his own frustration in check.

“look, i’m not here to make you talk about whatever’s going on with you. but you need to do something, wonbin. you can’t keep spiraling like this. it’s not just fucking up practice, it’s fucking you up.”

wonbin swallows hard, his throat dry, his pulse hammering beneath his skin.

he doesn’t respond.

gunil exhales again, shaking his head before stepping back, his expression still unreadable but softer now, less edged, more exhausted than anything else.

“just—figure it out,” he mutters, voice low, words clipped, like he’s already resigned to the fact that wonbin won’t listen, won’t change, won’t pull himself out of this hole until it’s too late.

he moves toward the door, hesitating just briefly before glancing back over his shoulder.

“and get some sleep, man. you look like hell.”

then he’s gone, leaving wonbin standing there, staring at the empty space where he had been, at the door that feels like it’s closed a little heavier than before, at the room that suddenly feels too quiet, too hollow, too much like a place he doesn’t want to be.

as the door clicks shut behind gunil, the silence that follows is deafening, stretching over the room like a thick, suffocating fog. wonbin exhales slowly, pressing the heels of his palms against his temples as if he could physically force out the weight pressing down on him, the kind of exhaustion that has nothing to do with lack of sleep and everything to do with the slow, gnawing realization that he has been standing at the edge of something irreversible for far too long.

gunil’s words linger, echoing in the space he left behind, each one settling deep into the cracks that wonbin has spent years carefully patching over, the ones he refuses to acknowledge exist. 

figure it out.

 like it’s that simple, like he can just decide to be fine, to piece himself back together with sheer will alone, like the mess inside his head is something he can clean up as easily as the bottles littering his apartment. but it isn’t. it never has been.

he sinks down onto the couch, head falling back against the worn fabric, his limbs heavy, weighed down by something more than just the alcohol still thick in his system. his fingers twitch where they rest against his knee, the remnants of last night’s recklessness still etched into his skin, bruised knuckles a quiet testament to his own inability to control the storm raging inside him.

he can still feel it, that pulse of anger, of frustration, of something raw and ugly that he barely recognizes, something that clawed its way out of him the second he saw your hand in beomgyu’s, the way you let him pull you away like it was the easiest thing in the world, like there had never been a time when it was him you would have looked to first. 

it shouldn’t matter—it shouldn’t ache the way it does, shouldn’t sit in his chest like an anchor dragging him down, shouldn’t make his stomach twist with something far too close to jealousy, something dangerously close to regret.

but it does.

he knows what gunil saw when he looked at him. you’re not fine, and you know it. and maybe that’s the worst part—because gunil is right, because they all are, because he’s unraveling and he knows it, and yet still, still, he refuses to reach for the lifeline being offered to him.

because what’s the point?

what’s the point in trying to fix himself when he already knows how this ends, when he already knows that the moment he lets himself need someone, the moment he lets himself want something real, it’s only a matter of time before it’s ripped away? his mother taught him that lesson before he was even old enough to understand it.

and now, with the image of your retreating back burned into his mind, with the sound of your voice telling him you can’t breathe still ringing in his ears, with the undeniable truth settling into the marrow of his bones, he finally understands what he’s been running from all along.

this was never about beomgyu. this was never about anyone else but you. you, who had always been just within reach, who had always been steady, who had always been there—until you weren’t.

until he pushed too hard, until he let his fear dictate his actions, until he ruined the only thing that had ever felt like his without even realizing he was losing it.

he breathes in, slow and shaky, his fingers tightening into fists, his chest aching with the weight of something he doesn’t know how to name.

figure it out.

gunil said it like it was simple, like all wonbin had to do was make a choice, take a step forward, stop running. but the truth is, he isn’t sure if he knows how.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

morning arrives for you with a hushed relentlessness, creeping in under the door and through the curtains, illuminating the remnants of last night’s fiasco with the cruel clarity of day—discarded jackets, empty glasses from rushed pre-game drinks, yunjin’s shoes kicked haphazardly near the door. everything is still, quiet save for the occasional hum of a car passing by outside, a world moving forward while you remain stuck in the aftermath of the party. 

your head is heavy, not just from the dull hangover pulsing at the base of your skull, but from the weight of last night’s events, the echoes of too many words left unspoken, of a grip that lingered too long, of a gaze that burned too fiercely.

yunjin shifts on the couch beside you, her phone cradled in one hand as she scrolls aimlessly, while minjeong sits cross-legged on the floor, nursing a steaming cup of coffee, the rising tendrils of steam curling into the air between you. the scent of caffeine is thick, grounding, yet it does little to steady the unease coiling in your stomach.

you can feel it before it happens, the inevitable interrogation—because they saw it, they felt it, the crackle of tension in the air between you and wonbin, the silent war waged in the way he refused to let you go, in the way his fingers curled around your wrist like he was holding on to something slipping right through his grasp.

"so," yunjin drawls, breaking the silence first, her gaze still fixed on her phone screen, “are we actually gonna talk about what happened last night, or just pretend it’ll vanish on its own?”

you lift your gaze from the chipped mug in your hand, forcing your shoulders to stay relaxed. “that’s… a bit melodramatic,” you manage, though your voice betrays the tension winding in your gut.

her eyebrows lift as she looks up, thumb pausing over her phone screen. “maybe so,” she says, “but i’m not wrong, am i?”

minjeong hums, blowing gently over her coffee before taking a sip. “she isn’t exaggerating,” she points out, her voice gentle but firm. “the way things went down—i’d call it more of a wreck than anything else.”

you rub your eyes with a free hand, frustration pricking at the edges of your weariness. you can still picture it all too clearly: wonbin, eyes dark and stormy, the grip of his hand around your wrist; beomgyu, a solid presence offering calm in the midst of a raging sea. 

“fine,” you relent, exhaling through your nose as you set your cup down on the table, the word leaving you with more force than you intend. “where do we start? with wonbin? or beomgyu? or that entire disaster of a party?”

“all of it,” yunjin says, finally setting her phone down. she swings her legs around to face you properly,legs criscrossed beneath her, her gaze more piercing than usual. “because last night was… intense. i mean, beomgyu steps in like a knight in shining armor, practically whisks you off while wonbin—” she hesitates, picking her words carefully, “loses it.”

minjeong snorts softly into her coffee. “that’s one way to put it.”

you lean back against the couch, fingers pressing into your temples as if you can physically hold your thoughts together. because yes, last night had been a mess—wonbin’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, his voice sharp and slurred, the way he looked at you like you were leaving him, like you were betraying something neither of you had ever put into words. and beomgyu—steady, reassuring, but never oblivious, not to the weight of what was happening.

"he was drunk," you murmur, not sure if you’re making an excuse or stating a fact.

"drunk doesn’t make someone look at you like that," yunjin counters, voice softer this time, like she’s picking her words carefully now. "that wasn’t just alcohol, and you know it."

your stomach twists. because she’s right. wonbin has been drunk before—reckless, flirtatious, sometimes careless, but never like that. never desperate. never unhinged in a way that made the air between you feel suffocating.

"you think he was jealous?" minjeong asks, her voice level, as if she’s simply presenting the possibility.

your heart stutters, but you force yourself to keep your expression neutral. "why would he be jealous? he doesn’t—" you hesitate, the words catching like thorns in your throat. he doesn’t care like that. not about me.

but even as you say it, doubt creeps in, winding through your ribs like something insidious, something undeniable.

yunjin clicks her tongue. "right, because he totally looked at beomgyu like he wanted to hug him."

minjeong, ever observant, studies you for a long moment before shifting the conversation slightly. “and beomgyu? he’s been right there, stepping in whenever you need someone.” she cocks her head, studying you intently. “how do you feel about that?”

 “i… i don’t know,” you mutter, hating how indecisive you sound. because beomgyu is steady, consistent—everything wonbin isn’t. and it should be a relief, should be easy to choose the warmth beomgyu offers without questions. but the memory of wonbin, even in his worst moments, tugs at your heart with a fierce, painful hold. 

“i just know he’s… always been kind.”

yunjin arches a brow. “kind, sure. but i’m pretty sure he’s into you. have you really never picked up on that?”

“he looks at you like he knows,” minjeong continues, her voice softer now, more careful. “like he knows you’re still tangled up in whatever the hell it is you have with wonbin, but he’s willing to wait.”

the words hit you like a slow-moving wreck, something inevitable yet still jarring all the same. beomgyu is safe. he doesn’t run hot and cold, doesn’t keep you at arm’s length only to yank you back the moment you get too far. he is steady where wonbin is volatile, open where wonbin is guarded, giving where wonbin only knows how to withhold.

he is everything wonbin isn’t. and maybe that’s exactly why you should want him.

but does he make your heart race? does he make your skin feel too tight, your pulse erratic, your entire world tilt on its axis with just a glance?

“he treats you better,” yunjin presses, watching you carefully, waiting for a reaction. “he’s not a question mark, not something you have to decode. he likes you, and he actually shows it.”

the problem isn’t beomgyu. the problem is you.

because no matter how much you tell yourself you should be over it, should be over him, there is still a part of you that clings onto wonbin with reckless, self-destructive devotion.

“you know you can’t keep running from this, right?” minjeong says finally, quieter this time, her words slipping between the cracks of your walls before you can reinforce them.

you exhale, running a hand over your face. “running from what?”

her gaze is steady. “from him.”

from wonbin.

as if summoned by the weight of his name lingering unspoken between the three of you, the vibration of your phone against the wooden table breaks the silence, the sudden movement jarring enough to make you blink, to snap you out of the haze of your own thoughts. yunjin, ever curious, peeks over at the screen before you can react, her sharp gaze immediately catching the bold letters of the group chat notification.

practice tomorrow, usual time. don’t be late.

hongjoong, always dependable, always the one keeping things running even when the foundation beneath you all feels dangerously close to cracking. but the words—simple, direct—carry more weight than they should, more weight than you’re prepared to handle right now. because tomorrow means facing him. it means stepping back into the same space where the tension is so thick it threatens to suffocate, where every glance holds too much, where every word unsaid presses against your ribs like something sharp, something waiting to pierce through the fragile barrier you’ve built around yourself.

yunjin lets out a low whistle, plopping back against the cushions with a dramatic sigh. “well, that’s going to be a shitshow.”

minjeong hums, her fingers tapping idly against the rim of her coffee cup, her expression contemplative. “it’s been bad before, but after last night?” she shakes her head. “i don’t even want to imagine what the energy in that room is gonna be like.”

and she’s right. because the room has always carried tension, ever since beomgyu joined, ever since you started pulling away from wonbin, ever since you stopped being his in the ways you didn’t even realize you were until it was too late. 

but now? now it feels like everything has been set ablaze, like there’s no coming back from whatever has fractured between you.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

the studio feels different today, though you can’t say precisely why. 

it isn’t anything tangible you can touch or point to, nothing the others explicitly comment on, yet the moment you step inside, you sense that something has shifted. the air seems heavier, laden with an unspoken weight that presses against your ribs, reminiscent of the thick humidity before a storm breaks. the usual scents—wood polished by countless hours of rehearsals, the lingering trace of metal from the stands and cables, the stale hints of coffee grown cold—remain unchanged, but there’s an undercurrent threading through the room, a tension so palpable it sets your every nerve on edge.

and then you see him—wonbin, already here, seated on the tattered couch near the back. his posture appears deceptively at ease, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, leg crossed over the other as if he hasn’t a care in the world. 

to an outsider, he might look relaxed, completely in control, but you notice the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against his knee, the too-tight set of his jaw, the sunglasses perched on his face with no practical reason in this dim, indoor light. he hides the wreckage he carries like a well-rehearsed illusion, but you know better. you’ve seen that flicker beneath his skin, that fire swallowing him from within.

your stomach knots into something painful, reminiscent of the helplessness you felt witnessing him unravel that night. if you hadn’t borne witness to his furious desperation—to the raw, trembling anger in his voice when he grabbed your wrist and begged you not to leave—you might be fooled by this performance of nonchalance. but you remember the way his entire body shook with a violence born not of malice, but of agony, as though he was grappling with a force he didn’t know how to contain. you recall the terror in his eyes, haunting you even now, a reflection of all your own insecurities refracted back at you with punishing clarity.

“morning,” beomgyu murmurs, suddenly at your side. his tone is lighter than you feel you deserve, like he’s trying to offer a gentler melody against the discord saturating the space. his shoulder brushes yours, a quiet act of reassurance, and the calm scent of his cologne—woodsy, tinted with sandalwood—wraps around you, momentarily easing the tension that’s begun to coil around your heart. you inhale slowly, grateful for the distraction, your body instinctively gravitating toward his warmth even as your mind lingers on the form slouched across the room.

slowly, the others trickle in, bringing with them the usual rustle of instrument cases and hushed conversation. but something is off in the ensemble: gunil, typically the first to crack an inane joke and break the silence, arrives subdued. his usual, easy grin is nowhere in sight, and although he takes his seat without complaint, his gaze keeps darting to where wonbin sits, searching for a sign, any sign, of normalcy. minjeong and hongjoong enter next, their voices pitched so low you can’t pick up the exact words, while yunjin clutches her cup of coffee with an unsettling tightness, as if she’s biting back every pointed remark she wants to hurl into this weighted hush.

nobody mentions wonbin’s name or acknowledges the stiffness in his posture. nobody calls him out for the sunglasses or the bruises—a small cluster of purplish-yellow on his knuckles, a silent testament to that night. it’s as though they’re all dancing on eggshells, unwilling to ignite the storm that’s quietly thrumming beneath the surface. you can practically taste the tension in the air: thick, acrid, suffocating.

hongjoong, clipboard in hand, clears his throat with an authority that demands the group’s focus, the rhythmic tapping of his pen against the pages drawing every gaze in the room. “alright,” he begins, carefully, almost tentative, “we’ve got an acoustic set coming up soon, and today’s rehearsal needs to focus on stripped-down arrangements. we’ll be working in pairs before we piece everything together in the next session.” you sense the slight hesitation in his voice, that infinitesimal hitch as he glances at the list in front of him, as though anticipating the reaction to the inevitable pairings.

“yunjin, you’re with me,”she grins, flipping her pick between her fingers, already moving toward him before he even finishes saying her name.

minjeong, gunil and beomgyu are called next, the rhythm section grouped together like always. the logical order of it should put you at ease, should make the inevitable feel like less of a slow descent into something suffocating.

and the moment he calls your name—“wonbin and y/n”—your heartbeat stutters. you sense beomgyu’s posture stiffen beside you; it’s minimal, invisible to most, but you’ve learned to read him. there’s a muted exhale from gunil, half-resentful, half-resigned, while yunjin and minjeong share a fleeting glance charged with concern. you can almost feel the ache behind minjeong’s unreadable expression, an empathy that can’t quite break through the tension she’s holding in check.

wonbin, however, doesn’t so much as flinch. his fingers keep up their restless beat against his knee, and you watch the subtle flex of his jaw, the shallow rise and fall of his chest. no reaction, no retort—just a silence that feels more loaded than any barrage of words could ever convey. your throat tightens as you force yourself to nod at hongjoong’s question: “that cool with you guys?” you muster a curt “yeah, that’s fine,” but the syllables taste bitter, an echo of the deeper conflict neither of you seems willing to voice.

the energy in the room fragments from that moment on, dividing into smaller conversations as everyone prepares for the new practice routine. but your awareness zeroes in on the presence of two men: beomgyu, whose warmth seems to fade in the face of this new arrangement, and wonbin, who remains locked in an unnatural stillness, refusing to meet your gaze. every chord you strum, every note that emerges in the air, feels dull and forced, weighed down by the memory of that night and the break in your once-easy synergy.

the weight of the moment settles into your bones, thick and unrelenting, the kind of pressure that makes every breath feel heavier, makes every second stretch unbearably long. you had spent weeks convincing yourself that you were over this—that the knots in your stomach had loosened, that the memories had dulled, that wonbin was nothing more than a past you were slowly untangling yourself from. but now, sitting here, with the air taut between you, with his name beside yours in a pairing that feels cruel in its inevitability, you realize just how little progress you’ve actually made.

because it’s rushing back in all at once—the weight of him, the shape of his absence, the way his presence still lingers in places he no longer deserves to occupy. it’s in the way your fingers tighten imperceptibly around the edge of your notebook, in the way your pulse betrays you with its unsteady rhythm, in the way your gaze flickers toward him despite your better judgment.

wonbin hasn’t moved much, hasn’t reacted in any way that would betray whether this pairing affects him the way it’s affecting you. but you see it anyway—the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers press into his knee just a little too hard, the way he keeps his gaze fixed on some distant point past hongjoong, like acknowledging you would make something crack open inside of him. he’s playing his role well—calm, composed, indifferent. but you’ve known him too long, watched him too closely, loved him too deeply to be fooled.

and then there’s beomgyu.

he doesn’t speak, doesn’t outwardly react, but you can feel it—the way his silence carries weight, how the easy warmth that usually lingers between you has cooled, replaced by something more measured, something unreadable. his body is still, but his fingers tap restlessly against his knee, a subconscious movement, the only sign that something stirs beneath the surface. his eyes, dark and watchful, flicker briefly to wonbin, then to you, before settling somewhere in the space between, like he’s weighing his words carefully, like he’s deciding whether to say something or let the silence speak for itself.

because that night still lingers, whether wonbin acknowledges it or not.

it lingers in the quiet distance between them, in the way beomgyu holds himself, slightly guarded, slightly removed, his posture carrying the echoes of a tension that has yet to fully dissolve. it lingers in the unspoken thing between you and beomgyu, the careful line you have both been toeing, the understanding that exists in fragments and half-formed moments. it lingers in the way wonbin still refuses to look at you, still keeps his jaw tight, his hands flexing like he’s remembering the weight of his own reckless violence.

the moment wonbin rises from his seat, the energy in the room shifts, subtle but palpable, like the drop in pressure before a storm. your body tenses before your mind can catch up, every muscle bracing instinctively as his movements pull him closer, his presence drawing heat into the space between you like a slow, unrelenting flame.

his footsteps are unhurried, measured, yet each one presses into the silence like a weight, like the echo of something inevitable. you keep your gaze stubbornly on your notebook, pretending to be engrossed in some nonexistent detail on the page, but it doesn’t matter—you can feel him. the scent of him, familiar despite the weeks of distance, a mix of clean linen, faded cologne, and 

he exhales slowly, the sound barely audible, but you hear it, feel the weight of it settling in the air between you. when he finally speaks, his voice is lower than usual, rough around the edges, like he’s still fighting off the remnants of whatever has been keeping him up at night.

"come with me."

the words are barely above a murmur, but they wrap around you like a vice, a quiet command laced with something uncertain, something unraveling. for the briefest second, you hesitate, torn between the instinct to stay rooted in place and the part of you that has always been drawn to him, always followed.

his gaze flickers, shifting slightly—not toward the floor, not to the side, but past you.

to beomgyu.

it’s quick, fleeting, but enough to make something tighten in your chest, enough to confirm what you already know—this isn’t just about rehearsal, about music, about the setlist or the arrangements. this is about him. about you. about everything he’s been running from and everything you have been trying to forget.

his attention returns to you just as quickly, but you don’t miss the way his jaw tenses, the way his fingers flex at his sides before curling into loose fists. his throat bobs slightly as he swallows, as if there’s something stuck there, something unsaid, something he can’t bring himself to admit.

"please."

it’s quiet, softer this time, but it cuts through you, through every carefully placed wall, through every ounce of distance you’ve tried to build. it’s not desperate, not pleading, but there’s something in it that makes you falter, something real in the way it wavers just slightly at the end.

and for all the ways wonbin has perfected the art of indifference, for all the ways he has held himself at a distance, for all the ways he has pretended that nothing ever mattered—this, this feels like it does.

the silence between you isn’t just silence—it’s something weighted, something oppressive, something that lingers in the space between every step, pressing down on you with a force neither of you seem capable of acknowledging. the hallway feels longer than usual, stretching endlessly ahead, every fluorescent light flickering overhead casting cold, artificial brightness over the tension thickening with each second that passes.

wonbin walks beside you, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders curled inward, posture loose but rigid all at once. his head is dipped slightly forward, the dark strands of his hair shielding his face, but it does nothing to hide the way his movements feel calculated, measured, as if every step requires effort, as if he’s bracing himself for something he isn’t ready to face.

and you—you’re gripping the strap of your guitar so tightly your knuckles ache, your fingers pressing into the leather like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground, the only thing keeping you from unraveling under the weight of the silence. you don’t look at him, because the truth is, you’re afraid of what you might see.

he has never been easy to read, never been the kind of person to lay his emotions bare for the world to see, but he has also never been this closed off. not to you. even in the thick of your resentment, even in the height of your longing, there was always something unspoken there, something lingering beneath the surface—an unfinished melody, an unresolved chord, something waiting to be played.

but now, with each step that brings you closer to the practice room, the silence between you is deafening, more suffocating than the fights, more unbearable than the distance.

the door to the practice room comes into view, a threshold neither of you seem eager to cross. wonbin reaches it first, his fingers hovering over the handle, hesitating for just a fraction too long, his breath pulling tight in his chest. for a moment, it looks like he might say something, like the tension curling in his shoulders might snap into words, but then, with a shallow exhale, he pushes the door open.

the room is small, dimly lit, filled with the familiar scent of wood polish and worn leather, and as you step inside, the silence only grows heavier. it settles around you like a fog, clinging to your skin, filling the gaps between every unspoken thought. wonbin doesn’t move far from the door, doesn’t look at you, but you feel him—his presence, his hesitance, the way his fingers twitch slightly at his sides before curling into fists, knuckles taut and bruised.

and still, neither of you speak.

you tell yourself you don’t know what to say, but that isn’t true. the words are there, stuck somewhere deep in your throat, strangled by the weight of everything that has gone unspoken for too long. because this—this—isn’t just about the way things have changed, about the distance or the resentment or the way beomgyu has settled into the space where wonbin used to be.

this is about the fact that for the first time in a long time, you don’t know who he is anymore. and maybe worse than that—maybe worse than all of it—is the quiet, gnawing fear that neither does he.

the air in the practice room is stale, thick with something neither of you dare to name yet suffocating. it clings to the walls, settles in the spaces between every hesitant breath, between every glance that never quite meets. the silence isn’t passive—it’s a living thing, coiling itself around your lungs, threading through the air like smoke from a fire long since extinguished but still smoldering beneath the surface.

the only sound is the faint hum of the air conditioning, a distant whir that does nothing to ease the warmth curling around your body.

wonbin stands across from you, his presence an unspoken force that commands every ounce of your attention. he exhales slowly, the sound barely audible, and then—without warning—he reaches for the hem of his hoodie.

you shouldn’t be watching him. you know this. you tell yourself to look away, to focus on the scuffed floor beneath your feet, to stare at the mirrored wall reflecting the unmistakable tension in your posture. but your resolve crumbles the moment the fabric lifts, exposing the sharp lines of his collarbones, the smooth expanse of skin stretched taut over lean muscle.

he shrugs the hoodie off, the movement slow, deliberate, almost agonizing in its ease. the sleeves slide down his arms, revealing every sculpted curve, every flex of muscle beneath his skin. his veins are prominent, tracing down his forearms like rivers cutting through stone, and you swear you can feel your pulse sync to their rhythm, erratic and unsteady.

the air between you crackles. not with words—because neither of you dare to speak—but with something deeper, something primal. the silence is deafening, pressing against your eardrums, amplifying the shallow inhale you take, as if even breathing too deeply might shatter whatever fragile restraint is holding you back.

wonbin rolls his shoulders with a deliberate slowness, every muscle shifting beneath his skin in a way that shouldn’t affect you anymore—but it does. your throat feels suddenly parched, and you hate the way your body betrays you, how it responds with a flare of heat in your chest, as though you’ve been starving for this sight and can’t admit it to yourself. you watch him, unable to tear your gaze away, devouring every inch of him like he’s the only thing in the world that could sate a thirst you refuse to name.

he lifts his head then, just barely, eyes half-shielded in the low, artificial light, yet you catch a flicker of something raw crossing his features—something that tightens your chest with anticipation. for a heartbeat, you think he might speak, might let slip even a fraction of the tension coiling around you both, but he doesn’t. he just holds his stance, arms loose at his sides, posture deceptively at ease despite the storm raging behind his eyes.

you can’t stand it anymore. your blood throbs with unspoken questions, with the suffocating memory of that night he nearly broke apart in your arms, and you realize you’ve been pressing your lips together so tightly they’re going numb. the air grows heavy, electric, and you can feel it crackle along your skin like static.

so you do it. you break.

“are we going to talk about it?”

your words crash into the silence between you like a live wire striking wet pavement—sudden, dangerous, impossible to ignore. they rattle the fragile hush, setting sparks in the already volatile atmosphere. you sense regret clawing at you the instant the question leaves your mouth, but it’s too late to drag it back. the tension has been bared, glaring and raw, for both of you to see.

wonbin freezes.

his fingers, which moments before had been tinkering idly with the mic stand, coil around the cold metal like a vise, the knuckles whitening under the strain. even his shoulders—the broad, confident ones you once leaned on—grow rigid, every muscle thrumming like an overtightened string ready to snap under the weight of the unspoken.

for the first time since you stepped into this cramped practice room, you truly see him: not merely exhausted, but hollowed out, drained from the battles waged behind closed doors and under neon lights. his eyes bear bruises not from physical blows, but from sleepless nights steeped in demons that refuse to let him rest. and then there are his hands—bruised in a more literal sense, trembling with memories he can’t wash away, each faint shiver of his knuckles recalling a fist colliding with beomgyu’s jaw, or maybe the wall when he thought nobody was looking.

you exhale slowly, adjusting your stance, letting the familiar weight of your guitar strap be the one thing that grounds you. you watch him from within a haze of uncertainty and half-acknowledged yearning, too afraid to name what either of you really wants.

“talk about what?” his voice emerges in a careful, measured tone, but you hear the faint quiver beneath the surface—like a thread unraveling with each breath. he’s smothering something before it can break free, and that subtle quake makes your own heart tighten. you refuse to let him slip away this time, to avert his gaze and pretend you don’t exist.

“what happened that night,” you say, voice resolute even though it sounds far too soft to your ears, “and about… you. in general.”

you see his throat bob, a sharp, involuntary movement in the armor he’s built around himself. for an instant, a flicker of regret or anguish passes through him, so vivid you almost step forward to catch it, to cradle it. but he locks it away again, shutting you out with practiced ease.

wonbin exhales through his nose, a harsh, almost derisive sound, shaking his head as though hoping your words might drop away like a bad dream. there’s a fragile vulnerability etched into the tightness of his jaw that he’s desperate to conceal.

“there’s nothing to talk about.” his response slices through the air, each syllable a cold, unyielding blade. the finality of it chills you, even as your anger flares.

you scoff, bitterness curdling on your tongue. “nothing?”

his jaw flexes, a muscle ticking in the hush.

“i was just drunk,” he mutters, forcing the words out flat and devoid of nuance, as if reciting a script he’s memorized. you sense him trying to stuff the entire complicated mess into a tiny box, lock it, and throw away the key.

“drunk enough to punch beomgyu? drunk enough to act like—” you start, but halt mid-sentence, a wave of shame and confusion swamping you. you can’t finish, because finishing means admitting you felt it too, that your heart still thrums with an extra beat whenever he draws too close, that the moment his voice trembled asking you not to leave, you nearly dropped every barrier you’d ever constructed.

he rakes a hand through his hair, the frustration rolling off him in stormy waves. “i don’t know what you want me to say.”

“i want the truth.”

“the truth won’t change anything.”

“maybe not for you,” you retort, your chest aching under the weight of heartbreak you can’t fully bury.

his next exhale is ragged, the hush of the room amplifying every sound he makes until it feels deafening. at last, he lifts his gaze, pinning you in place, and the force behind it—dark, questioning, desperate—sends a tremor through your limbs. his hands remain tense at his sides, as though there’s an invisible tether holding him back from reaching for you.

“you think talking about it will fix things?” his voice dips, raw at the edges. “that if i just say something, it’ll all make sense?”

“maybe,” you whisper, hating the tremor in your own voice. the idea of him dismissing you again tears at what remains of your composure, but you can’t hold back. if you don’t ask, you’ll never know if the illusions you cling to are illusions at all.

he releases a breath that crackles with sorrow and exhaustion, teeth pressing into his bottom lip as though trying to stifle his emotions before they erupt.

“it won’t,” he murmurs, shaking his head slowly, each word heavy with defeat. “because i don’t know what you want from me. i don’t know what you expect me to say.”

your heart twists, a coil of pain unwinding in your chest. you drag in a breath, hoping it might steady you. “maybe i just want to hear it from you,” you admit, your voice fracturing under the weight of the confession, “maybe i just want to hear you say that you felt something that night.”

the pang in his chest registers in the way his eyes widen momentarily, as though you’ve struck deeper than he anticipated. his lips part, and there’s a moment—an excruciating, endless heartbeat—when you think he might finally utter the truth. but then terror shadows his gaze, and he clamps down on it with ruthless efficiency, burying himself behind the silent fortress you’re so tired of hammering at.

“we have a set to rehearse,” he says instead, his tone turning glacial, slicing through hope like a guillotine’s blade.

and in that moment, your chest constricts, your lungs protesting the simple act of breathing. the final shards of the illusions you once entertained crumble. you give a curt nod, because what else is there to do? you can’t force him to bare his heart, can’t make him face what you both know roils beneath your outward masks. if he chooses to remain locked in this self-imposed prison, you refuse to let it drag you under.

“fine,” you reply flatly, your voice shaking with heartbreak you can’t fully hide. “let’s get on with it, then.”

the tension hangs in the room like a dense, unmoving fog—each unsaid word a weight pressing against your chest until it feels as though your very breath might shatter under its strain. you force down the lump in your throat, compelling yourself to breathe, to move, even though every fiber of your being remains pinned in place.

wonbin doesn’t meet your gaze as he readjusts the strap of his mic, his eyes fixed somewhere beyond the room. you watch the way your trembling fingers hesitate above your guitar, and though he says nothing, you sense the storm raging beneath his calm exterior—the slight clench of his jaw, the subtle bob of his throat with each swallowed emotion, the way his fingers twitch as if battling an inner urge to morph into fists. you know him too well; you recognize the chasm between the wonbin who feigns indifference and the one who secretly shudders with feeling.

both of you slip into position, but the familiar ritual of rehearsal feels grotesquely off-kilter today. normally, your movements blend seamlessly into a shared cadence, your voices interlocking like old friends. now, every motion is burdened with hesitation and restraint, as if each note carries the residue of all that can’t be said. 

a brittle chord escapes your guitar, a tentative line meant to anchor you to the music, to salvage some sense of purpose in this forced collaboration. you wait for him to sing, to respond with the melody that once bound you two in a harmony no one else could replicate. but he hesitates—just a second too long—before letting his voice slip into the space, measured, controlled, and utterly detached.

the arrangement you’re supposed to be rehearsing is sparse, every note naked and exposed. it should create a sense of intimacy, a moment where the emotion in your voices transcends the rest of the band, forging a connection that almost feels private. ironically, the only thing it reveals is a staggering emptiness: your voice is too rigid, too precise, and his is too guarded, too refined, as if he’s reading from a script rather than actually feeling it.

time stretches, each measure a reminder of what you used to have—the synergy that allowed you to read each other through sound, through breath. now, there’s nothing but the echo of your straining vocals in a room too small to hide in, and the gap between you that seems insurmountable.

you let the final note fade abruptly, pulling your hands from the strings, tension coiling inside your chest until it feels like you might snap. “this isn’t working,” you mutter, placing the guitar aside with more force than necessary. you can’t keep feigning normalcy. the act feels suffocating, the weight of all your unsaid words pressing down on your throat.

wonbin exhales, the sound half a sigh, half a scoff. “so what now?” he asks, words clipped, his shoulders taut as steel cables.

you drag your gaze over his bruised knuckles, then up to the subtle line of his jaw, noticing a faint bruise near his temple that you hadn’t seen before. your voice trembles despite your best effort. “our voices—our chemistry—it’s gone, and you know it,” you say, trying to maintain some semblance of calm. “i can’t keep playing like nothing’s wrong.”

he holds your stare for a moment, something dark and anguished flickering in the depths of his eyes. you sense he might break, might admit even a fraction of what’s roiling under his skin—but instead, his words emerge quiet and laced with venom. “maybe your new buddy’s got that covered,” he murmurs, bitterness sharpening each syllable like glass shards.

your heart stutters, confusion tangling with a spark of anger. “what does that mean?” you demand, shifting your weight, trying to keep your voice from cracking.

he doesn’t answer, jaw clenching, gaze sliding off you like water over stone. for a second, you think you see the faint tremor of regret in the set of his mouth, the guilt over letting such a remark slip out. but he swallows it down, forcing composure over the storm swirling behind his eyes.

“doesn’t matter,” he mutters, turning away as if he might physically escape the confrontation. “forget it.”

his dismissal, the way he so casually disregards the tension he just unleashed, enrages you in a way that begs for release. after all the nights you spent awake, worrying, all the heartbreak inflicted when he wouldn’t give you answers—this is his tactic? to withdraw, to bury the truth under dismissive shrugs and barbed comments?

“no,” you snap, voice cutting through the stale air, refusing to accept his retreat. “you brought it up. so tell me—what the hell does that mean?”

he finally turns, meeting your eyes, and for the first time, you see how red-rimmed they are, the faint bruises of exhaustion shadowing the edges. “i said drop it,” he grinds out, voice shakier than before, beneath the stubborn bravado.

the exchange hangs for a moment, pulses pounding in the silence. you recall that night, how he pinned you in place with a look that blended fury and desperation, how his voice wavered on a plea you still can’t erase from your memory: don’t go. and you wonder if the same tempest stirs in him now, if he’s lost at sea, unable to form a lifeline from the words you both pretend you don’t want.

“fine,” you say stiffly, feeling tears burn at the backs of your eyes, though you won’t let them fall, not here, not in front of him. “whatever you say.”

despite your bravado, your chest knots with hurt and something deeper—resignation, perhaps. you catch him grimace, the faint quiver in his lower lip quickly masked by a stubborn set of the jaw. he doesn’t meet your gaze again, the momentary spark of his eyes extinguishing into self-loathing.

you want to scream at him, or shake him, demand that he either own his feelings or sever the tie for good. instead, you settle on letting the tension fizzle in the hush, the guitar resting heavy against your thigh. he won’t speak, won’t do anything but sink deeper into the stone fortress he’s built around his heart. and you realize you can’t force him out if he refuses to see the light.

with a defeated exhale, you begin packing up. your chest aches, a dull roar in your ears as you gather your things with stiff, deliberate movements. you refuse to acknowledge the sting in your eyes, the fact that every breath tastes of heartbreak. you’re done, you tell yourself, done with hitting an unyielding wall of silence, done with waiting for him to meet you halfway. maybe in another life, you’d find a version of him who’d fight for you, but it won’t be here, not now.

he watches you pack, but says nothing. it’s not an active stare—more an involuntary flicker, like he can’t help tracking your every motion. there’s a whisper of emotion behind his half-lidded eyes, gone too quickly for you to interpret. guilt? regret? sorrow? but it dissolves beneath that old mask of indifference, leaving you to wonder if you only imagined it.

when you finally lift your guitar case, you pause, the door at your back. you look over your shoulder, hoping for a fraction of a second that he might utter your name, that something might crack open and let him say it: i’m sorry, i need you, i don’t know how to do this without you. but his lips remain pressed together in a firm line, shoulders coiled in tension, fists at his sides.

when you slip out the door, the fluorescent lights in the hallway feel harsh, disorienting. you pause to collect your breathing, the practice room door closing behind you with a soft click that vibrates through your chest. part of you wants to spin around, fling it open, and scream the words that claw at your throat: why do you do this? why do you keep hurting both of us? but you don’t. you let the hush of the corridor swallow you, striding away before the tears can blind you. another part of your heart cracks, but you refuse to let him see how much it bleeds.

he stays behind, you assume, probably resting against the battered walls, battling the demons you can’t save him from, burying the regret he refuses to name. the ache in your chest throbs as you walk, each echo of your footsteps amplifying the emptiness in your spirit. you decide you’re done, done with chasing him, done with letting the love you once felt twist into a blade used against you. or so you tell yourself, ignoring the subtle tug in your heart that suggests the story between you is far from over.

the corridor leads you toward the main studio, the hush of your footsteps dissolving into the faint hum of conversation beyond. you notice beomgyu near the entrance, leaning against the wall, arms folded, worry etched on his face. he stands upright when he sees you approach, eyes flicking over your expression with a concern that makes your throat tighten.

“hey,” he says gently, the single word laden with sympathy. he doesn’t ask if you’re okay—maybe because he already knows the answer.

you swallow, dredging up a shaky smile you can’t quite maintain. “i’m… fine,” you lie, the taste of the fib bitter on your tongue. even if a part of you wants to let him in, you can’t bring yourself to dump the tangled mess of your heart into his ready hands. not again.

he nods, understanding and sorrow interwoven in his expression, but he doesn’t press. your chest aches anew, recalling how easy it was to laugh with him, to find solace in the steady warmth of his gaze. wonbin’s jealousy lingers in your mind, gnawing at the corners of your thoughts, and you wonder—what does it matter if he’s jealous, if he can’t bring himself to do anything about it but push you away?

you exhale softly, letting your gaze drop to the scuffed floor. “let’s finish up,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “no point dragging it out.”

with a hesitant nod, beomgyu pushes away from the wall, accompanying you into the main studio area where the others wait. from the corner of your eye, you catch minjeong’s curious glance, yunjin’s pensive scowl, and gunil’s half-hearted attempt to liven the mood with a quip about how “the day just keeps getting more cheerful.” but the air remains heavy, weighed by the unsaid, by the suffocating hush that no one can break.

your gaze drifts back to the corridor, half expecting wonbin to appear, his posture braced with false indifference, a ready smirk or some shallow remark. but he doesn’t come, and the hollow pang in your chest intensifies. the older version of him would have strolled in, cracked a dismissive joke, and pretended everything was fine. now, he’s either drowned by a deeper darkness or gone entirely, neither possibility easing the knot of heartache lodged beneath your ribs.

you force yourself to breathe, to focus on the routine you know so well, ignoring the echo of your earlier confrontation. focusing on the group, the set, the chord changes you can recite in your sleep. focusing on anything but him. but no matter how you try, the memory of his tension, his bruised knuckles, and that haunted look in his eyes under the fluorescent glare lingers, like a dark note resonating long after the song has ended.

outside, the day continues without mercy—sun traveling across the sky, time pushing everyone forward whether they’re ready or not. inside, in the hush of the studio, you clench your jaw against the creeping realization that maybe, just maybe, this is how it’s meant to be: you, him, and an insurmountable silence bridging the rift that might never be mended, no matter how much your heart still aches for the boy you once saw beneath the bravado.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

the night stretches out like an endless, ravenous beast, swallowing wonbin whole in its neon-soaked maw. the club’s chaos—pulsing lights, screaming basslines, bodies colliding—should once have been his escape, a refuge where he could lose himself. 

but now every pounding beat crawls up his spine like a relentless, maddening insect, its rhythmic hammering only deepening the ache lodged beneath his ribs. the air is thick and humid, heavy with the cloying mix of sweat and expensive perfume, clinging to his skin like a suffocating shroud that tightens with every desperate breath.

he’s been drowning himself in liquor for hours now—whiskey, vodka, a cocktail of burning substances that slide down his throat with an agonizing sting. each gulp is a futile bid to smother the persistent, gnawing emptiness inside him; the burn does nothing to quiet the sound of your voice echoing in his mind. it’s a voice that used to be a balm, but now it slices through the haze of alcohol and neon like a shard of shattered glass.

wonbin tilts his head back, letting the liquid fire course through him, its burn as sharp and unforgiving as the truth he’s been running from. he feels weightless, disconnected—a ghost drifting through a realm where nothing ever feels real. 

then, a memory flares: a whispered accusation, a yearning plea from you, “maybe i just want to hear you admit that you felt something that night.” 

those words had clung to him, a curse that burrowed deep into his flesh, reminding him of what he’s been trying so desperately to forget. his grip on the glass tightens, condensation dripping like cold regrets down his knuckles. 

“it feels wrong,” he hears you say—your voice laced with the bitter truth of lost chemistry, of a spark extinguished long ago. 

those words sink their claws into him, each syllable a reminder that nothing about this cycle of self-destruction feels as it once did. what used to be an escape has become a prison, and he is the desperate inmate, spiraling ever deeper into his own ruin.

frustration coalesces in his mind as he runs a shaky hand through his hair, his movements sluggish with a fatigue that goes beyond the physical. beside him, a girl presses in—a fleeting distraction with hands that glide over his shoulders, warm whispers in his ear meant to ignite a spark. she should be his solace, the heat of the moment to numb his inner chill. but her touch is too light, too transient; it feels alien against the raw, familiar ache of what he’s trying so hard to forget. 

she is not you.

in that instant, his chest constricts as if gripped by an invisible vice. panic surges like a tidal wave within him, the club’s strobing lights and crushing music morphing into a cacophonous assault on his senses. his pulse thunders erratically beneath his skin, a frantic rhythm that mirrors his internal collapse. he needs to escape; he needs to run from the person he sees reflected in every darkened window and every whispered memory—the person who, despite every frantic effort, still carries your presence in the marrow of his bones.

without a word, he shoves away from the bar, dismissing the lingering warmth of the girl’s hands as if they were poison. his steps become unsteady as he navigates the sea of strangers, the flashing lights blurring into a dizzying spiral. the exit looms like a beacon of hope, and he stumbles toward it, each step a battle against the relentless pull of his own thoughts.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” he wants to scream at the night, at the cruel irony of his own descent. he’s never allowed himself to fall so far, never let someone—or something—get under his skin like this before. but you… you are everywhere, haunting him in every shadow and every beat of his broken heart.

he finally bursts out onto the pavement, the cold air slapping his face with the brutal honesty of winter. the city around him is a living, breathing organism—horns blaring, laughter echoing—but he stands on the edge of it all, barely holding himself together. 

then his phone vibrates in his pocket—a harsh, mechanical reminder that reality is calling him back. he hesitates, his fingers sluggishly retrieving the device as letters blur on the screen before coming into focus: hongjoong.

he exhales a ragged breath and, before he can resist, his thumb begins to swipe.  

"where the hell are you?" hongjoong’s voice slices through the static, sharp and seething with a dangerous blend of anger and raw concern.  

leaning against a cold brick wall, wonbin drags a trembling hand down his face. "why do you care?" he manages, his words brittle with defeat.

"because it’s two in the fucking morning, and you’re not answering your damn texts. because i just saw a photo of you looking like hell outside some club. because this is getting worse, and you know it."  

a humorless laugh escapes him as he tilts his head back, gazing into the indifferent night sky as if it might offer salvation. "it’s fine. i’m fine," he says, but the tremor in his voice belies the truth.

"you sound like shit."  

"thanks, hongjoong. real helpful."  

there’s a weighted pause—a silence so dense it feels tangible—before hongjoong speaks again, his tone softer yet laden with inevitability.  

"look, i’m not gonna lecture you. you already know what you’re doing to yourself." another pause, then, "but if you keep this up, you’re gonna lose more than just yourself, wonbin."  

the words hit him like a sucker punch, and his grip on the phone tightens until his knuckles blanch.  

"just go home," hongjoong adds quietly, "before you do something you can’t take back."  

the line goes dead, and wonbin exhales slowly, the bitter taste of regret and alcohol mingling on his tongue. he’s been down this road before—lost in the haze of cheap drinks, fleeting embraces, and nights that blur into endless cycles of self-destruction. it should be familiar; it should be safe, but it isn’t.  

the music pounds on, too loud and unyielding; the air presses in, thick with expectation; and the girl at his side continues to laugh, her presence a constant reminder of all that he’s trying so desperately to escape.  

and in that crushing moment, the truth sinks in like a cold dagger: nothing works anymore.  

the escapism that once offered relief now suffocates him, every destructive habit a futile attempt to drown the memories, to rid his mind of you. but you are an inescapable phantom—a scar etched deep from past wounds of abandonment and loss.  

he is drowning in his emotions, spiraling in a relentless descent where even the music, the fleeting touch of a stranger, fails to offer solace. tonight, the neon glow only illuminates his despair, and for the first time, wonbin realizes that no amount of running will ever free him from the burden of his own truth.

the club is suffocating, too loud, too crowded, too full of things that don’t mean anything. the weight in his chest refuses to lift, settling heavier with every passing second, and suddenly, the thought of staying here, of sinking further into this cycle, of pretending for one more night that he can keep running—it makes him sick.

he pulls away abruptly, the movement sharp and final, ignoring the questioning look cast his way. his head is spinning, not from the alcohol but from the truth clawing its way to the surface, the truth he’s spent years trying to bury beneath meaningless nights and empty touches. he doesn’t stop to think, doesn’t pause to question, just moves—pushing past the bodies, weaving through the heat and noise, shoving the club door open with more force than necessary.

the cold air hits him like a shock to the system, biting against his sweat-damp skin, but it doesn’t clear his head, doesn’t make breathing any easier. his pulse is erratic, his hands unsteady, his stomach twisting with something close to dread, because he knows—he knows—that he’s reached the breaking point.

and for the first time in a long time, wonbin doesn’t know if he can put himself back together. 

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

morning settles in softly—muffled sounds from the street outside, the gentle rustle of someone’s footsteps in the hallway beyond your door, the faint but tempting aroma of coffee drifting around you like an invitation to rise. ordinarily, you would relish these moments, using the subdued light and still air to gather yourself before facing the day, but today feels different—like the world has already intruded into your space, nudging you awake with an urgency you neither expected nor wanted.

you notice it first in the soft glow of your phone, perched on the nightstand as though it’s been waiting for you to check it, brimming with notifications that set your pulse racing before your mind fully clears the fog of sleep.

the group chat for the band, usually peppered with memes and half-serious schedule updates, is swirling with frantic messages in the early morning hours. your heart flutters, worry coiling tighter in your chest with each breath, because it’s not normal for them to be this active before the day has even begun, and you can’t shake the sense that something must have happened.

the first message you see is from yunjin:

“holy shit. you guys seeing this?”

the second is from gunil:

“tell me this is real and not a year-old picture. wonbin’s at it again?”

a twist of dread sinks in your belly, because although gunil’s words imply doubt, you suspect, deep down, that he already knows the answer—that these photos aren’t old, that another night has slipped through wonbin’s grasp. you scroll upward, blinking away the last shreds of sleep, until you come across a series of attached files—grainy images that make your chest tighten the moment they come into focus. 

the angles are harsh, bathed in the neon glow of a streetlamp: wonbin, sunglasses pulled tight on his nose bridge, leaning unsteadily against a wall outside a club you vaguely recognize. a woman you’ve never seen before is pressed to his side, her hand gripping the fabric of his leather jacket as though she’s anchoring him—or he’s anchoring her. it’s hard to tell who’s supporting whom, but the expression on his face is unmistakable, even with the poor quality of the photo: vacant eyes, a slump in his posture that speaks of surrender or maybe just fatigue.

you tap to the next image, your stomach lurching. another angle, slightly closer, capturing wonbin’s profile—the planes of his cheekbones thrown into harsh relief, his lips parted in something that might be a plea or just a breath he hasn’t exhaled. the woman is whispering something at his ear, and even though the photo is blurred, you can discern his emptiness, that hollow look you’ve seen before but never this stark, never so devoid of the careless confidence he usually wields. 

a surge of something hot and unsettling pulses behind your eyes—anger, worry, heartbreak. you remind yourself that you aren’t responsible for his choices, that the two of you share no obligations, but reason doesn’t quiet the ache blooming inside you.

the group chat continues in a flurry of messages, the next from minjeong:

“i’m calling him now, no response. this is getting old and it’s hurting us all. anyone heard from him?”

you drag yourself upright, tangled sheets falling around your legs, the entire situation enveloping your senses like a heavy fog. you recall the last few weeks—how wonbin seemed distant, shrouded in his own storm of unspoken emotions, how each interaction with him left you more confused than the last.

you think of the tension in his gaze when you and beomgyu were simply chatting, how he locked himself behind silence and half-lidded stares. and now these photos—evidence that he spent another night drowning in oblivion, despite whatever flicker of hope you’d clung to that he might find a healthier way to cope.

another message pings—a direct one from hongjoong:

“i just got off the phone with him last night before he went off the grid. confirmed it’s recent. keep me posted if you find out anything else.”

your stomach clenches. hongjoong, ever the level-headed leader, always seems to be the one holding the band’s fraying ends together, but even he sounds worn out now, his clipped phrasing laced with exasperation. there’s no confusion on his part, no waffling on whether the photos are old or new—he knows exactly when wonbin was out, knows that this isn’t a simple misunderstanding. the reality of it settles like a weight on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

your phone buzzes again, the screen lighting up with yet another series of pictures—this time not from the tabloid shots but from someone who claims they saw him stumbling out of the club around two in the morning. it’s uncanny how each new angle only highlights the same misery etched across wonbin’s features, the same slackness in his expression, a weariness so pronounced it echoes through you even from behind a screen. a chill sweeps up your spine, cold and unrelenting, because you’ve never seen him look so lost.

you type out a response with trembling fingers:

“this is the third time in two months. does anyone know where he is now? i haven’t heard anything. i’m worried.”

the words feel inadequate, but it’s all you can manage.

you set your phone aside and bury your face in your hands, elbows digging into your knees as a wave of conflicting emotions crashes through you. part of you wants to be furious with him—furious that he’s letting himself spiral, that he’s pushing everyone away, that he’s giving the tabloids more fodder to tear him apart, that he’s forcing you to confront how much you still care when you have no right to. another part of you aches with a kind of helpless sadness, recalling the fleeting times you thought you saw through his walls, glimpsing a wonbin who might have chosen a different path if not for whatever past wounds he carries.

your phone vibrates again, a direct message from beomgyu:

“are you alright? i know these pictures are… a lot.”

the tightness in your chest softens marginally at his concern, the easy sincerity woven into every syllable. you think of his steady presence, how he’s become something of a refuge from the tumult of wonbin’s unpredictability, how he never prods you to confess more than you’re ready to share. your eyes flicker to the half-drawn curtains, the muted glow of a sky that seems too calm for the kind of chaos unfolding in your circle, and you try to form a response.

“i’m not sure,” you type back, thumb hovering over the send button. “i wish we could do something.”

you press send, heart pounding a little harder at the admission. not just that you’re worried about wonbin, but that you feel stuck, powerless to change a situation that grows more complicated by the day.

almost immediately, beomgyu’s reply appears:

“i know. i’m here if you want to talk or… not talk. if you need a breather, let me know.”

the quiet warmth of his words tugs at your resolve, a stark contrast to the numb dread you’ve been grappling with. yet the relief doesn’t last long, because your phone buzzes again, an onslaught of messages flooding from yunjin and minjeong.

“we’re going to his place,” yunjin says, her tone clipped, purposeful. “he’s not answering calls. we’ll break the door down if we have to.”

another message a moment later, minjeong echoing:

“we’ll keep you posted. don’t panic, okay?”

you force an exhale that quivers more than you’d like. 

how are you supposed to remain calm when the same pattern is replaying itself, a cyclical tragedy in which wonbin shatters the uneasy peace you’ve managed to gather, exposing the raw edges of his turmoil for everyone to see? you shake your head, clinging to the last vestiges of morning’s calm, hoping that the day won’t be consumed by yet another frantic search for a man who refuses to be found in any sense of the word.

pushing yourself off the bed, you shuffle into the bathroom, the cold tiles beneath your feet a jarring contrast to the warmth of your blankets. you stare at your reflection in the mirror: heavy-lidded eyes, mouth pressed into a tense line, the hint of dark circles betraying how badly you slept. you want to wash the images of wonbin away, those grainy snapshots of emptiness and recklessness, but you know it’s futile. they’re etched into your mind now, a testament to the fact that no matter how often you tell yourself you can’t save him, you still worry, still care, still feel an ache that refuses to be dulled by logic.

by the time you’re dressed— a cropped, slightly oversized band tee with its fabric washed to a comfortable thinness over a pair of worn jeans—you find beomgyu waiting in your living room, coffee in hand. you must have let him in after a brief exchange, or perhaps you never really locked the door, your memory blurring under the strain of it all. he hands you a paper cup, the steam curling upward in gentle spirals, and his gaze searches your face as if reading the silent questions there.

“i came as soon as i could,” he murmurs, a quiet apology resting in his tone, as if he feels guilty for not being able to do more.

you thank him softly, taking the coffee. the aroma soothes you on some level, but the tension coiling around your chest remains. beomgyu settles beside you on the couch, leaving just enough distance to be respectful, yet close enough that you feel the warmth of his presence. the day outside brightens gradually, cruelly unaware of the turmoil that saturates your band’s group chat with worry and dread.

your phone dings once more—a photo from yunjin. a picture of wonbin’s apartment in complete disarray: empty liquor bottles strewn across the coffee table and floor, ashtrays overflowing, a jacket tossed over the back of a chair as though ripped off in frustration. you can’t help the spike of panic that flashes through you, a raw sense of alarm that digs into your very bones. another message from minjeong follows:

“he’s not here. we’ll ask around.”

it’s happening again, you think, each breath catching like a stray hook in your lungs. another search, another round of phone calls, another day lost to frantic uncertainty. you can practically see yunjin and minjeong standing in the middle of that wrecked apartment, exchanging grim looks as they try to piece together where he might have gone. a bar? another club? or somewhere darker, more aimless, sinking into the cracks of a city that doesn’t care?

your vision blurs as you reread the messages, willing them to make sense, to offer some lead that will tell you this is just another brief relapse in his attempt to outrun himself. but there’s nothing—just the echo of an absence, the tangible sign of self-destruction in the form of empty bottles and half-finished cigarettes.

“hey,” beomgyu’s voice pulls you back, soft and steady, an anchor against the undertow of your spiraling thoughts. he’s watching you with that gentle, discerning gaze, the kind that suggests he sees more of your fear than you want to admit. 

“he’ll turn up,” he says, though the conviction in his words wavers slightly. “he always does, right?”

you manage a nod, swallowing against the dryness in your throat. “it’s just… tiring,” you say, the statement feeling weak against the magnitude of what’s happening, but it’s the best you can muster.

beomgyu shifts, setting his coffee aside, his fingers brushing lightly over your shoulder in a gesture of comfort that doesn’t demand a response. “i know,” he murmurs, and his tone is so understanding it almost breaks you. “we’ll just… wait to hear from them.”

time passes in a haze of sips of coffee that grows tepid, half-hearted attempts at conversation that trail off into silence, and anxious glances at your phone that never yields the update you’re craving. each minute feels drawn out, colored by the knowledge that wonbin is somewhere in the city, lost and unreachable, and all you can do is sit there, praying he doesn’t drag himself so far under that you can’t pull him back at all.

there is a moment—late morning now, the sun angled higher—when you realize that beomgyu has stayed with you without question, that he isn’t glancing at the time, isn’t making an excuse to leave. he’s just here, a quiet fortress of patience, letting you wrestle with your jumbled emotions in his presence. you wonder if he realizes how much it means, that he offers warmth in stark contrast to wonbin’s cold withdrawal. you wonder if part of your heart clings to that warmth too fiercely, wanting to forget the searing ache that arises whenever you think of wonbin’s haunted eyes.

and still the messages come: trivial updates, confirmative statements that wonbin hasn’t shown up at any of the usual places, that no one else has seen or heard from him. it’s like chasing a ghost, a fruitless endeavor made all the more agonizing by the memory of who he was before he fell deeper into this pattern. or maybe he was always like this, and you simply never saw the cracks.

eventually, the day matures, shifting from a lingering morning into the sharper angles of early afternoon. neither you nor beomgyu has moved much, both nursing your second cups of coffee, unable to do more than wait, tethered by a shared apprehension that weighs on your every thought.

“i could go out and look,” beomgyu suggests at one point, glancing at you like he half-expects you to object. there’s a determination in his gaze that clashes with the helplessness draped over the moment, a readiness to do something, anything. 

you consider it, consider the thought of the two of you combing through the city streets, but the prospect feels overwhelming, and there’s no guarantee you’d find him. for all you know, he could be in a cab headed to an entirely different part of town, or holed up in another stranger’s apartment, or something far worse you can’t bring yourself to name.

so you simply shrug, eyes haunted by an exhaustion that transcends sleep. “maybe if we don’t hear anything by tonight,” you murmur, unsure, the words scraping against your throat.

he nods, not pressing further, understanding that there’s a line between hope and futility that neither of you wants to cross.

as afternoon wears on, you notice how the angle of sunlight in your living room shifts, gilding the walls in a gentle glow that feels completely out of place, like a sweet promise in the midst of a tragedy you’re still waiting to unfold. it makes everything feel surreal—the hush between you and beomgyu, the quiet beeps from your phone, the background noise of traffic and birds that don’t know or care that the man who haunts your thoughts is out there unraveling.

and in that hush, you feel the full breadth of your emotions pressing in: anger at wonbin for doing this to himself and, by extension, to all of you; sorrow that he can’t see the hands extended toward him, can’t accept the love and friendship that might save him; resentment that he’s forced you to acknowledge how much you still care when you wanted to move on; fear that this time he won’t come back from wherever he’s gone. it tangles in your chest, a knot of conflicting feelings that leaves you speechless, leaves you leaning closer to beomgyu’s warmth, hating that you find some measure of comfort there, hating that you still ache for a man who refuses to be helped.

“hey,” beomgyu says softly, breaking the silence. you look up at him, noticing the slight furrow in his brow. “whatever happens… we’ll figure it out. we always do, right?”

the sentiment should be reassuring, but it feels like a placeholder, a platitude that neither of you can fully believe given the severity of the situation. still, you force a nod, whisper a quiet “yeah,” because in the face of this much uncertainty, sometimes it’s better to cling to any hope you can find, no matter how fragile.

your phone remains maddeningly still after that, no new messages, no sudden influx of information. and so you and beomgyu remain in that quiet space, suspended between dread and the faintest glimmer of reassurance that, for now, there is nothing else you can do. hours trickle by like slow drops of water, each one echoing with the absence of news on wonbin. you busy yourself by picking at the corner of your coffee cup, by scrolling mindlessly through your phone for distractions you don’t absorb, by replaying every interaction you’ve had with wonbin in your mind, searching for a clue you might have missed.

the day fades into late afternoon, the sunlight dimming, casting elongated shadows across your floor. your heart feels heavy, raw from a day spent in emotional limbo. beomgyu’s presence keeps you from sinking entirely, though you sense his own tension, the worry he keeps behind carefully managed expressions.

somewhere, in a part of your mind you wish you could ignore, a faint voice wonders if wonbin has hit the point of no return—if something in him has given up. you push that thought away, reminding yourself that he’s been on the precipice before and always found a way back, but each time, it seems to cut a little deeper into him, leaves him more frayed, more terrified of attachment, more convinced that running is safer than confronting whatever lurks inside his past.

you suppose only time will tell if this is the spiral he can’t pull himself out of, or if his survival instincts—whatever sliver of self-preservation he has left—will kick in before the cliff’s edge. and with that realization, a resigned sort of exhaustion claims you, like an emptiness that sets in after worrying for too many hours without relief.

as the last rays of daylight gild your windows, you think of wonbin in that club, of the vacant look in his eyes in those pictures, of the hush in your group chat that offers nothing but the echo of your collective concern. your day has been a study in waiting—waiting for the next piece of news, for the next call, for the next message that might drag you out of this purgatory of not knowing. but nothing comes, and so you remain, suspended and powerless, chasing a man who has fled from himself more thoroughly than he ever fled from the people trying to help him.

in that quiet, in that uneasy twilight, you let yourself admit something painfully true: no one can save wonbin except himself. and as much as it breaks you to see him unravel, to watch him reject any hint of solace, you know you cannot anchor him to a shore he refuses to reach for. you can only stand here with beomgyu beside you, phone in hand, heart in your throat, and wait for the moment he decides—or fails—to come back.

“you need fresh air,” beomgyu says gently, the soft cadence of his voice weaving through the haze of your thoughts. you look up, meeting his eyes, and there’s no push, no pressure—just concern, layered with that quiet determination he carries like a secret reserve of strength. 

“you’ve been cooped up in this apartment all day, watching your phone. it can’t be good for you.”

it’s not a command, but you sense the earnestness beneath his words, the quiet plea for you to let yourself breathe. you’ve spent hours drowning in the tension of not knowing, your thoughts orbiting wonbin’s face in those photos, the slump of his shoulders, the vacancy in his eyes, and the possibility that every unreturned call might mean something irreparable has happened. maybe beomgyu is right—maybe stepping outside, even for a little while, will stop the walls from closing in.

“okay,” you manage, forcing a nod, your voice coming out huskier than you expect from lack of speaking. “that sounds… good.”

he offers a small smile, and the sight of it sparks a flicker of gratitude deep in your chest—a reminder that not everything in your life is tangled and painful, that there are moments of gentleness hidden in the cracks of chaos. without another word, you slip on your shoes and grab a sweater, letting beomgyu lead you out of the apartment, into a world that seems unshaken by the turmoil you’ve been battling all day.

the ride in his car is quiet, the air conditioner humming against the backdrop of distant traffic. the city moves around you, teeming with people who have their own problems, their own joys, their own heartbreaks. you watch the scenery pass through the window: skyscrapers looming overhead, small shops tucked between bustling streets, flickers of greenery in a park that flash by too quickly to take in. you try not to think about how, somewhere in this same city, wonbin might be drifting in a haze, unreachable and unwilling to let anyone find him.

beomgyu doesn’t turn on the radio, and you’re grateful for the silence—it feels respectful, a space in which you can still your racing thoughts without the distraction of lyrics that might cut too close. he occasionally glances your way, his gaze carrying questions he doesn’t voice. at one point, you catch him about to speak, his lips parted slightly, before he decides otherwise, leaving the unspoken words suspended in the hush between you.

he parks near a small cafe you’ve been to once before—an unassuming place nestled amid a row of shops, with a faded blue awning and a couple of potted plants outside the entrance. the afternoon light angles over the sidewalk, illuminating drifting dust motes like tiny stars, giving the ordinary street corner a gentle sort of glow. you step out of the car, inhaling deeply, noticing how the air here carries a hint of roasted coffee and the faint sweetness of pastries, as if the world wants to soothe you for a moment.

“do you want to go inside?” beomgyu asks, lingering by the passenger door. his eyes are soft, cautious, like he’s gauging how you’re holding up.

you hesitate, scanning the cafe’s window, where a smattering of people sit at mismatched wooden tables, sipping drinks and conversing in low, contented tones. the idea of being surrounded by strangers, even cheerful ones, threatens to unbalance the fragile calm you’ve managed to rebuild. you shake your head slowly, offering a slight shrug.

“maybe let’s just walk,” you suggest, your voice almost a whisper, as though you’re afraid anything louder might shatter the moment. “i need… i don’t know. space.”

beomgyu nods, slipping his keys into his pocket. “sure.”

the sidewalk greets you with a subtle warmth, the late afternoon sun stretching your shadows across the pavement. buildings loom above, their windows reflecting the sky and the shapes of passing cars. the cafe’s scents follow you, eventually replaced by the aroma of a nearby bakery, then the crisp tang of city air as you and beomgyu drift further down the street. it’s a slow, unhurried walk—like neither of you wants to reach any particular destination, content to wander until you can breathe a little easier.

you don’t talk about wonbin right away, don’t talk about anything pressing, in fact. beomgyu makes a half-hearted joke about the pigeons scattering along the curb, and you respond with a small, reluctant smile that feels almost foreign on your face after all the worry you’ve carried. eventually, you fall into a rhythm of companionable silence, your footsteps matching in an unspoken cadence, your minds undoubtedly spinning through the same anxious possibilities but finding solace in each other’s quiet company.

the city’s noise ebbs and flows around you—cars honking in the distance, a bus roaring by, laughter spilling from a group of teenagers crossing the street. life continues, unburdened, while your own world has cracked under the weight of someone else’s self-destruction. you wonder if you’ll ever reach a point where you can’t let wonbin’s choices hurt you anymore, where his presence—or absence—doesn’t define your day. that thought brings a pang of guilt, because part of you doesn’t want to stop caring, doesn’t want to let go of the fragile hope that he might find his way back, not just to the band but to himself.

you pass a small park, shaded by tall oaks that rustle in a breeze that feels almost cool against your cheeks, and beomgyu gently nudges your elbow, tipping his head in the direction of a bench nestled under one of the trees. you follow him there, sinking down onto the worn wooden slats, the faint sound of children playing at the far end of the green space drifting your way. it’s peaceful, an oasis of calm you almost resent for its tranquility when everything inside you remains so tightly wound.

“how are you really holding up?” beomgyu asks quietly, breaking the hush that’s settled over you both. he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes flicking from your face to the expanse of grass, as though worried he might push you too far.

you open your mouth, searching for words that won’t taste bitter. “i’m… i don’t know,” you say eventually, clinging to honesty in its rawest form. “i hate this. i hate not knowing where he is, or if he’s…” you swallow, letting your gaze drift to the children playing, their carefree laughter a stark contrast to the lump of anxiety in your chest. “it’s like i can’t think about anything else.”

beomgyu nods, shoulders tense with empathy or a frustration he keeps subdued for your sake. “i know,” he murmurs. “it’s like you’re stuck waiting for a resolution that might never come, or if it does, it might not be what you want.”

a tight, humorless laugh escapes your lips. “exactly.”

for a few minutes, the world is just the soft hush of leaves rustling overhead, the muted background noise of distant traffic, and the silent heartache of two people who can’t quite fix what’s broken in another’s life. beomgyu shifts closer, the space between you shrinking until you can feel the warmth of his arm near yours, a gentle reassurance without words.

you wonder if he can see how conflicted you are, how part of you longs to let go of this burden of worrying about wonbin, to fully embrace the ease that beomgyu offers. you wonder if beomgyu knows that another part of you can’t stop caring, that you can’t just flip a switch and snuff out the lingering threads of connection that bind you to a man who has never allowed himself to be bound to anyone.

the moment threatens to settle into a fragile peace, and maybe you would allow yourself to let that peace wash over you, if only for a short while. but fate has other plans. your phone vibrates with a soft buzz, shattering the fragile quiet. you tense, exchanging a swift glance with beomgyu, both of you suspecting it could be an update—good or bad.

with careful movements, you lift the device from your pocket, your heart stuttering when you see yunjin’s name on the screen. the dread you felt this morning rushes back, threatening to choke you, but you force yourself to tap the message open, ignoring how your hand trembles ever so slightly.

“someone thinks they saw him. near the old music shop by the station. it might be good for you to talk to him. alone.

a shaky exhale escapes you, relief and anxiety battling in your chest, relief that there’s a clue, anxiety because it means you might have to confront whatever state he’s in. you read the message again to be sure, then glance at beomgyu, who’s watching you carefully, his posture braced as though preparing for a sudden storm.

“she said someone saw him,” you mutter, your voice taut. “at that old music shop near the station.”

beomgyu’s brows knit together, his gaze sharpening with concern. “do you want to go?” he asks, softly. “or… do you want me to?”

that question, so full of unspoken understanding, lodges in your throat. you realize that your reluctance isn’t just about fear of what you might find, but also about the emotional toll of confronting him, of seeing him worn down or belligerent or both, of laying your feelings bare when he’s not in any state to hear them. yet you also know you can’t remain a passive bystander in your own heartbreak.

you rise from the bench with a sudden burst of determination that makes your pulse skip. “i can’t stay still anymore,” you say, a shiver of adrenaline tingling through your limbs. “if he’s really there, i… i have to try.” even as you speak the words, doubt flickers in your mind—what if he rejects you again? what if it’s just another dead end? but some quiet resolve within you insists that you can’t keep waiting for someone else to save him, or to confirm that he won’t be saved at all.

beomgyu stands beside you, the reflection of your resolve mirrored in his eyes, though you notice a flicker of hesitation. “are you sure?” he asks gently. “you don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

that warmth in your chest returns, a grateful ache that he’s offering to be your support once more. but something compels you to go by yourself—maybe it’s a sense that this confrontation is personal, that your entanglement with wonbin is twisted enough that beomgyu’s presence might only make the tension escalate. or maybe it’s fear, the primal instinct to protect beomgyu from the crash-and-burn that might occur if you step into the eye of wonbin’s storm.

“i think…” you pause, biting your lip, forcing your gaze to hold beomgyu’s, not wanting him to misconstrue your hesitation as rejection. “i need to do this. at least, i need to try, you know?”

his expression softens, a mixture of understanding and unspoken concern. “i get it,” he says, voice quieter now, a tender note threading through each syllable. “but text me the moment you need anything, okay? i’ll be there in a heartbeat.”

you offer a half-smile, a fragile curve of your lips that doesn’t quite dispel the knot of anxiety in your gut. “thank you,” you whisper, leaning forward—almost out of instinct—and pressing your forehead against his shoulder for a fleeting moment, an embrace that smells of coffee and something comforting, the closeness washing over you like a reminder that you’re not entirely alone in this. then you straighten, clearing your throat against the rush of adrenaline. “i’ll let you know how it goes.”

the walk back to his car feels too short, each step bringing you closer to a confrontation you can’t predict. the late afternoon sun, angled and honey-colored, slants across the pavement, illuminating dust motes that swirl around your ankles. you stare at the shifting light, trying to center yourself, trying to ignore the wild pounding of your heart and the sense that you’re about to take a step off a metaphorical cliff.

beomgyu drives you back to your apartment so you can get your own car, a silence lingering that is not awkward but thick with the weight of impending action. at your door, he reaches out to squeeze your hand once, a silent infusion of courage, before you part ways, him heading off to do who-knows-what, maybe just to wait by his phone in case you call. your footsteps echo in the stairwell, every breath tasting of anticipation and dread, your phone clutched in your hand in case yunjin or minjeong has more intel.

the road blurs beneath your tires as you head toward the station, the old music shop yunjin mentioned your beacon of possibility. it feels strange, to be chasing after him again, to be following breadcrumbs of rumored sightings, as though he’s some elusive figure you’re desperate to catch before he disappears all over again. yet you can’t deny the pull that tugs at your chest, compelling you forward even though logic warns you that this might end in heartbreak or another dead end.

still, you drive, not because you’re certain of a happy ending, but because a part of you refuses to let him slip away without at least trying. the city passes in a swirl of color and motion—towering buildings, cramped side streets, the whir of traffic lights switching from green to red, as if the entire metropolis breathes in tandem with your anxiety. you catch your reflection in the rearview mirror at one point: wide eyes, parted lips, a faint tension etched into every plane of your face, and you realize you look exactly how you feel—unsteady, yet determined.

and as the station’s outline comes into view, flanked by the low, unassuming storefronts, you inhale a shaky breath, your fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles ache. this is it, another juncture, another fork in the road where wonbin might be waiting—or might not be waiting at all. the thought makes your stomach lurch, but you push through it, letting the car roll into a parking spot across from the music shop. you linger a moment, engine still running, summoning the courage to step out, to cross the street, to possibly stare into wonbin’s eyes again and see something that might hurt more than you’re prepared for.

as you approach the old music shop, heart pounding with every step. the sign above the door is faded, chipped at the edges, recalling a time when this place was alive with eager customers and the hum of discovery—long before mp3s and streaming rendered its business more nostalgic than lucrative. this is where yunjin’s message directed you: somewhere near this corner, someone saw wonbin. and you, propelled by a day’s worth of worry and a single frayed thread of hope, find yourself here, bracing for whatever confrontation might come.

the city around you feels oddly still, as though it’s holding its breath, waiting to see how this moment will unfold. each footfall echoes in your ears, underscored by the faint hiss of passing cars, the occasional murmur of distant conversation. you scan the dimly lit alcoves by the shop’s entrance, the windows where instruments—dusty guitars and yellowing piano sheet music—sit in quiet disuse. your pulse thrums in your ears, louder than the city’s gentle buzz.

and then you see him.

he’s tucked away to the side, standing with one shoulder pressed against the aged brick wall that flanks the music shop’s glass door. at first glance, you notice the slump in his posture, the hoodie drawn up to shadow his face, the flicker of tension in the way his arms fold tightly across his chest as though he’s barricading himself from the world. there’s a cigarette between his lips—unlit, but fidgeted with as if the mere ritual of holding it steady might calm the internal storm you’ve witnessed behind his eyes more times than you can count.

your heart twists at the sight, a mix of relief and apprehension. you step closer, inhaling a deep breath that does nothing to still your trembling nerves. he spots you, his gaze flicking up beneath the hoodie’s edge, eyes narrowing in recognition and, perhaps, in something else—a flicker of fear, a flash of annoyance, or both. you can’t tell. all you know is that the tension in his body ratchets tighter, a silent warning, telling you he isn’t in the mood for questions.

“you found me,” he says, voice low and controlled, a disinterested veneer that doesn’t quite mask the fragility you sense. he pushes off the wall, arms remaining crossed, cigarette dangling from his fingers. “thought yunjin would come, or maybe gunil. guess they sent you instead.”

there’s no hostility in his tone—more of a flat resignation, like he can’t muster the energy to be truly angry, but can’t bring himself to open up either. you hesitate, uncertain how to approach him without triggering the reflex that’s always driven him to flee: that deep-seated fear that anyone who gets too close will only end up leaving.

“no one sent me,” you say softly, trying to steady your voice. “i came on my own.”

he huffs, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, the small action betraying agitation. the dying sun gilds the edges of his hair and reveals the traces of exhaustion etched into his features—dark circles shadowing his eyes, a drawn tightness around his mouth. 

“so you’re just… here, what, worried about me? is that it?” the words are dismissive, but the question lingers, an unspoken challenge: why do you still care?

you swallow hard, forcing your gaze not to waver. “yes,” you answer simply, because anything else feels like a lie. you notice the slight quiver in your own voice, but you stand firm. “i am worried. you’re—” you bite down on the rest of the sentence, not wanting to load him with statements like you’re hurting yourself or you’re scaring us all, not when you see how tightly he’s gripping his own arms, how close he is to unraveling or shutting you out completely.

he exhales, the tip of the unlit cigarette trembling between his fingertips. “well, i’m alive,” he says flatly, “and i’m not exactly in the mood for a lecture. so you can go back and tell the others to stop searching.”

anger flares in your chest, brief but hot, because you’ve spent the entire day in emotional limbo, and the insouciance in his voice grates on something raw within you. “i’m not here to lecture you,” you counter, though your voice tightens with withheld frustration. “but i can’t just pretend i don’t see you falling apart.”

his lips twist, caught between a bitter smirk and a sneer, but he doesn’t let the expression fully form. instead, he averts his gaze to the darkening sky, as if the clouds overhead are more deserving of his attention than you. “i’ve been fine doing this on my own,” he murmurs, defensive. “didn’t need anyone’s pity before, don’t need it now.”

the word pity pierces you, and you realize again how deeply rooted his fears must be—how he reads concern as condescension, care as pity, empathy as an intrusion. your pulse thrums louder, a silent drumbeat of frustration and heartbreak. “it’s not pity,” you say, gentler this time, letting your hand hover near his arm without touching him. “it’s worry. it’s fear. i don’t know why you think none of us care, but that’s not true.”

he tenses, turning his face away, one hand lifting to push back the hoodie, finally revealing the sharp angles of his features in the evening glow. you notice the slight bruise on the side of his jaw, maybe from the night before, maybe older than that; you can’t tell. “i never said you don’t care,” he grinds out, “just that i don’t want it.”

the sting of those words lances through your chest, and for a second, you consider leaving—letting him brood in his self-imposed isolation, letting him drown in the pain he won’t let anyone help relieve. but a fiercer voice inside you refuses. it’s not that you believe you can save him; it’s that you can’t stand by and watch him drift further into this darkness without at least trying to reach him.

so you swallow the hurt, steel yourself, and speak anyway, voice quiet but unwavering. “i’m not leaving,” you say. “not unless you physically make me.”

a mirthless chuckle escapes him, the sound abrasive, cutting against the softness of your tone. “you’re stubborn,” he mutters, exhaling and lifting the cigarette to his lips in a half-hearted attempt to light it before seeming to remember that his hands are trembling too much to manage. with a frustrated sigh, he shoves the cigarette back into his pocket. “just… don’t expect me to spill my guts to you here in the middle of the street.”

the tension between you crackles, his eyes meeting yours for a beat too long, a swirl of yearning and pain that he tries to bury behind a brusque exterior. you consider the risk of pushing him too far—fearful that if you say the wrong thing, he’ll slip away again, disappearing into the night. but you can’t let the moment pass. you take a slow breath.

“come home with me,” you start, words leaving your mouth before you fully think them through. a flicker of uncertainty crosses your mind—inviting him to your place might be too forward, too personal for a man who’s made avoidance an art form. but then you recall the messy truth: you’ve never been to his place, not once, never seen where he lays his head to rest when the world becomes too loud. and that’s part of the problem, isn’t it? the chasms he builds between himself and anyone who could matter.

“or… actually, let me come to yours,” you amend, swallowing. “i’ve never seen it. if you want to talk in private, if you’re tired of everyone else butting in—let me in, wonbin.”

he hesitates, an almost pained flicker crossing his features, and for a heartbeat you think he’s going to reject you flat out, spit some dismissive remark that ensures you know how unwelcome your concern is. but he doesn’t. instead, a sort of resignation slumps his shoulders further, and he says nothing for several seconds—an extended pause in which the night air seems to chill around you.

“fine,” he finally manages, the word barely more than a whisper. “but don’t say i didn’t warn you.” it’s a flimsy attempt at bravado, a veiled threat that what you’ll see will only disappoint you further, but you cling to the subtle shift, the fact that he hasn’t told you to go to hell, that you’re a step closer to crossing that barrier he’s held so firmly.

tension and relief swirl into a heady concoction, making your heart pound. you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, nodding. “okay,” you reply softly, aware that your voice trembles with more emotion than you want to reveal.

“lead the way.”

the silence in wonbin’s car is stifling—different from the comfortable hush you’ve shared with beomgyu before, different from the worried hush of your own four walls. this is a tense, charged sort of quiet, thick with everything neither of you is saying. 

it’s dark now, the city lights shimmering against the windows, casting fleeting reflections across wonbin’s profile. you steal a glance at him, noticing the set line of his jaw, the way his hands grip the wheel like it’s the only stable thing in his life.

you half-expect him to break the quiet with a sarcastic remark or a sardonic query of whether you’re satisfied now, but he says nothing, so you let the hush linger, focusing on the hum of the engine and the blur of headlights passing by. part of you wonders if this was a terrible idea—if pushing him to let you in only sets you up for heartbreak. but another part insists you couldn’t keep dancing around the matter. not anymore.

when the car finally pulls up to an older apartment complex, overshadowed by newer, sleeker buildings nearby, your anxiety spikes. it’s not what you pictured, but then again, you never allowed yourself to imagine where wonbin went at night when he vanished from your line of sight. the exterior is worn, the lobby dimly lit with a single fluorescent bulb buzzing overhead, creating a flicker that sets your nerves further on edge.

wonbin says nothing as he leads you through a narrow hallway, passing door after identical door until he stops at one near the end. the corridor smells faintly of old carpet and something vaguely medicinal, and you notice the tension in his shoulders as he fumbles for his keys. he can’t quite keep his hands steady, and a pang of concern tugs at your chest.

the door swings open to reveal a small living space, cluttered with evidence of a life he’s not proud to show: empty takeout containers on a table pushed against the wall, an ashtray overflowing on the windowsill, a guitar leaning against a corner covered in a thin layer of dust. the lights are off, leaving only the glow from a streetlamp outside to illuminate the edges of the room. wonbin flips a switch, casting a washed-out yellow light across mismatched furniture and scattered clothes.

“happy now?” he mutters, stepping aside so you can enter. the sarcasm in his tone falls flat; it lacks its usual bite, as though even that well of emotion has run dry.

your chest constricts at the sight. the place isn’t filthy, but it’s suffused with a sense of neglect—a place that houses a person who lost interest in maintaining appearances long ago. you glance back at wonbin, noticing how he can’t quite meet your gaze, how he seems poised to bolt if you express anything resembling judgement.

“thank you,” you say quietly, stepping into the space, letting your gaze roam over the details. the worn couch near the window, the scuffed coffee table, the single bookshelf that holds more empty space than books, a few half-burnt candles melted onto the windowsill. “for letting me in.”

he exhales, dropping his keys onto the coffee table with a dull thunk. “don’t make a big deal out of it,” he mutters, his posture stiff, but it’s almost defensiveness rather than coldness now. a fragile line drawn to keep himself safe. then, with a resigned gesture, he sinks onto the couch, elbows braced on his knees, head tilted downward like he can’t muster the energy to keep up the bravado.

you linger a moment, uncertainty gripping you. you want to approach him, but you know better than to crowd him. eventually, you cross the room, settling onto the far end of the couch, leaving space between you that might feel safe. your heart thuds, a steady drum of concern, confusion, and that faint glimmer of hope you can’t extinguish.

the hush that follows is thick, filled with the unspoken weight of everything you’ve needed to say. you can sense his heartbeat in the quiet, even if you can’t literally hear it—some resonance in the air that marks the tension coiling around him. minutes pass, or maybe seconds, and you feel the ground shifting beneath you, like you’re on the brink of a precipice.

“why did you come?” he finally asks, lifting his head just enough that his eyes meet yours. there’s a spark in them—some mix of pain, frustration, and a yearning so deep it sends a shiver down your spine. “why do you even care what happens to me, after everything?”

you swallow hard, the honesty he’s demanding wedged like a lump in your throat. “i can’t stand by and watch you keep hurting yourself,” you manage, voice trembling slightly. “i know you don’t believe it, but—i do care. we all do.”

he laughs, a short, hollow sound. “caring. yeah.” his gaze drifts to the guitar propped in the corner. a memory flickers across his features, something that pinches his brows together, a lament too deep to name. “people always say they care—until they don’t. until they find a reason to leave.”

the bitterness in his tone is a raw, jagged edge, and you realize with sudden clarity that it’s not arrogance driving him to push people away—it’s terror, a conviction that if he doesn’t abandon them first, they’ll do it to him. you shift closer, your hand resting lightly on the couch’s threadbare cushion near his arm. “that’s not how it has to be,” you whisper, heart aching with how clearly you see it now: the battered ideal he clings to, that no one truly stays unless forced, that love is fleeting and abandonment is inevitable.

he exhales a shuddering breath, dragging a hand over his face as if trying to scrape away the memories that haunt him. “you don’t get it,” he mutters, but there’s no venom left. “i’ve… i’ve lost too many people, okay? i learned early on that it’s easier not to want them around in the first place than to watch them walk away.”

the words linger, thick with unsaid stories, and a pang of empathy surges through you, so strong it almost takes your breath away. you think about the glimpses you’ve caught—the emptiness in his eyes on stage sometimes, the nights he disappeared into clubs or random hotel rooms, the tension in his jaw whenever you or the band inched too close emotionally. it was never about malice; it was about defense.

“that must have been lonely,” you say softly, letting your voice carry a gentleness that invites him to speak, to trust that you’re not here to condemn or mock.

he closes his eyes for a moment, jaw working as though he’s grinding the words between his teeth. “my mother left when i was a kid,” he finally says, voice barely above a whisper. “i was old enough to understand, to notice her not coming home, to realize she’d decided i wasn’t enough reason to stay.” a muscle in his throat twitches, and you see him clench his fists on his knees, the emotion reverberating through every line of his posture. “ever since then, i’ve been convinced people will always leave. so i leave them first, or i make sure there’s nothing for them to stick around for.”

a hush envelops the room as he allows that confession to settle in the stale air. your heart clenches at the raw vulnerability he’s laid bare, the grief that’s shaped him into a man who thinks sabotage is safer than the risk of real attachment. you inch closer, your voice trembling with sorrow for the boy he once was. “i’m so sorry,” you murmur, uncertain if the words are enough but knowing you have to say them. “that must have been unimaginably painful.”

he barks a laugh, but it’s hollow and choked. “painful, yeah. but you learn. you learn that it’s easier to pretend you don’t want anyone around. you drink, you party, you do whatever it takes to forget for a while, because forgetting is better than caring and watching them walk away.”

his voice cracks at the end of the sentence, a barely there tremor that makes your eyes sting with unshed tears. you can’t imagine the depth of that fear, the armor he’s built so meticulously. “and that’s why you pushed me away?” you dare to ask, your question breaching the final boundary between you.

he lifts his gaze to yours, and you see it, the flicker of heartbreak that has nothing to do with you personally and everything to do with the ghost of a past that taught him the cruelest lesson. “i didn’t think anyone could feel something real for me,” he murmurs, the confession slipping out like a torn whisper, “not beyond the surface.”

in the quiet that follows, you realize your own breath has caught in your throat, tears pressing at the corners of your eyes. you understand now: every moment he half-reached for you, every time he let something warm flash in his smile only to shut it down, every night he disappeared and pretended he didn’t need you—these were manifestations of a man who believes love is ephemeral, that letting someone in is inviting a fresh wound.

“wonbin,” you say softly, your voice shaking with the weight of what you feel. “i’m not going to say i understand all your pain, but i see you. and i’ve… i’ve cared more than i wanted to admit. it hurt when you pushed me away, when you acted like it meant nothing, when you vanished into nights i had no part of.” you pause, exhaling a trembling breath. “i won’t lie and say it’s easy to forgive all that pain. but i’m here, and i’m not leaving just because it’s hard.”

he exhales, sagging back against the couch, head tilting until it rests on the worn fabric. the expression on his face is indescribable—part disbelief, part yearning, part guilt for every wound he’s inflicted on himself and those who tried to care. you watch him, heart pounding, conscious that the next words or silences could shape the fragile path you’re on.

“i’m tired,” he admits, voice raspy with exhaustion. “tired of running, tired of feeling like i have to ruin everything before it ruins me.” his lashes flutter, as though the day’s weight drags him deeper into a quiet confession. “and i’m sorry,” he adds, so softly you almost miss it. “for all the ways i hurt you, for every time i made you doubt yourself or made you think you weren’t—”

his words trail off, lost to a shiver of breath. you can’t help the tears that slip down your cheeks, silent testimonies to the heartbreak of watching someone you care for unravel and push you away time after time. “thank you,” you whisper, forcing yourself to stay steady, “for saying that.”

the hush that follows is laced with the soft hum of city traffic outside the window, the distant clang of metal on metal. you feel the tension in him recede by degrees, as though the act of finally articulating his fear has siphoned off some of the poison he’s carried. slowly, almost imperceptibly, his eyes flutter shut, and you notice how his posture slackens, the edges of his fatigue pulling him toward sleep in the only place he’s ever allowed you to see with your own eyes. the day’s anxieties, the built-up torment of his past, seem to drag him under like an irresistible tide.

you let him slip into slumber without another word, repositioning yourself carefully on the couch, the faint lamplight casting long shadows across the disarray of his living space. a part of you wants to gather him in your arms, to show him physically what you can’t fully express with words, but you hold back, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the relief that for once he’s not out there, lost and spiraling.

the ache in your own heart hasn’t lessened—not really. you still remember the many nights you waited for a message that never came, the humiliation of not knowing if you mattered enough for him to stay. but as you watch the subtle flutter of his closed lashes, the tension in his brow easing for the first time in what feels like ages, you realize that something in you refuses to give up on him. you can’t pretend everything is suddenly okay, that you forgive every wound inflicted by his fear, but you sense that this is worth holding onto—the bare truths he laid bare, the battered sincerity behind his words.

tonight, he sleeps with you nearby, not alone in some stranger’s bed or a hotel where no one knows his name. you remain there, gazing at the quiet vulnerability he likely never intended to show. this doesn’t mean you give in completely, you remind yourself, your heartbeat slowing to match the gentle cadence of his breathing. it doesn’t erase the pain or the questions. but it feels like a beginning, a single honest moment in the midst of chaos, a fragile promise that there’s something deeper than the casual heartbreak you once thought defined him.

with the soft lamplight painting shapes on the walls and the faint hum of the city outside, you let your own eyes close for a moment, exhaustion nudging at the edges of your awareness. you remain mindful, though, wanting to be awake if he stirs, if he needs you, if he panics in the aftermath of opening up. but for now, in the hush of his apartment that bears so many scars of a lonely life, you settle into the knowledge that he allowed you inside—and for all the lingering hurt and unresolved tension, you cling to that sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, he won’t have to be alone anymore if he chooses not to be.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

the morning after wonbin’s quiet confession passes in a subdued hush, the two of you skirting around the aftermath of his revelation without quite naming it again. 

he wakes on his couch, disoriented at first, scanning the unfamiliar angle of the room, the gray wash of dawn seeping through the curtains, and you notice the fleeting confusion that flickers over his features when he realizes he’s not alone. 

there’s a tension to him, a guarded hesitance in his gaze, as though he’s afraid you might regret staying. you don’t. but neither of you presses for more words; last night’s confessions linger like a fragile thread between you, something that needs space to settle.

and so you part ways in the morning, with a nod, a soft exchange of glances, and a promise that neither of you will run from the moment you shared. you don’t know precisely what that means for your relationship, but it feels like a step—something less than a resolution yet more than a stalemate. wonbin doesn’t ask for forgiveness outright, and you don’t offer it. but both of you sense that something has shifted, that the fortress he built to keep people out is starting to show cracks.

later that day, you find yourself in the rehearsal room, the band gathered for a practice that none of you quite expected to happen so soon. the label had mentioned the possibility of taking a break due to the recent turmoil—wonbin’s face splashed across tabloids, the hush around his disappearance—but then a message from hongjoong went out: practice is on—everyone, be on time. 

no one questioned it. you all just showed up, tension thrumming beneath your collective determination. it was a chance, perhaps, to see where things stood.

when you walk in, gunil and minjeong are loading up cables and setting out fresh picks, yunjin flipping through her phone while hongjoong organizes sheet music on a stand. you almost don’t notice wonbin at first because you expect him to be late—like always, or at least like he has been in recent months. 

but he’s there, standing quietly near the corner with one hand resting on the edge of the table, eyes flicking over the room as though taking stock of everything. his posture is composed, not slouched or guarded, just... present in a way you haven’t seen in a long while.

you feel your heart stutter, recalling how he looked last night, exhausted but sincere, the shadows in his eyes as he admitted more than you ever thought he would. it’s surreal to see him now in the stark overhead lighting of the studio, wearing that same hoodie but without the hood drawn low, his hair ruffled as if he’s run his hands through it one too many times in the past hour. there’s a quietness to him that isn’t detached, a sense that he’s here for a reason rather than out of obligation.

“hey,” he says softly when your gaze meets. 

it’s just one word, but the tone carries a subtle warmth that wasn’t there before. you manage a small nod in return, noticing how the tension in your chest loosens just a fraction at the sight of him being here, in the truest sense of the word.

the practice starts in a low hum of conversation—hongjoong gently corralling everyone’s attention, minjeong fiddling with her bass amp levels, yunjin wrapping a hair tie around her wrist before checking mic stands. normally, this scene would feel routine, but today, there’s an undercurrent of curiosity rippling among you all: what version of wonbin has shown up? is he going to withdraw, snap, or vanish halfway through?

he does none of those things.

instead, as you begin running through a track that’s been giving you trouble in the studio—a piece with intricate harmonies and a tricky transition—wonbin quietly positions himself at his mic stand. there’s no grand announcement, no pointed look to confirm he’s ready. 

he’s just there, focusing on the sheet music with a calm determination you haven’t seen in months. and when the first chords ring out, you can feel the difference almost instantly: he’s in it, fully, letting his voice weave with yours in a way that flows naturally, unforced, reminiscent of the synergy that once defined your band.

the subtle shift in the air is palpable—gunil glances over his shoulder mid-beat, eyebrows raised in mild surprise, while yunjin and minjeong exchange a quick flicker of eye contact that seems to say, do you hear that? even hongjoong stills for a fraction of a second, fingers pausing on the keys as though startled by the hint of the old wonbin slipping through. you catch beomgyu’s gaze at one point, a ghost of a smile on his face, a shared recognition that this is how it used to feel—like each of you was part of something alive, something cohesive and electric.

wonbin doesn’t speak much through the session, but it’s in his actions that you see the changes—the small steps he’s taking. he helps minjeong carry an extra speaker, rolling it into place without prompting. he mutes his own mic mid-song to give yunjin feedback on a tricky section rather than just ignoring the off-kilter note. he’s there when you struggle with a chord progression, quietly offering a pointer about finger placement, his eyes meeting yours with a tentative kind of acceptance. a silent i’m trying.

the band picks up on it: the old wonbin shining through in glimpses. he’s not flamboyant or loud, not strutting around as if nothing happened. but the negativity, the defeatist air he’s worn like a shield, seems to recede. he’s rejoining the current rather than standing on the banks, watching you all drift by.

when you reach a break in the schedule—an hour into practice—hongjoong calls for a quick pause to adjust sound levels. you slip away to grab water from the cooler in the corner, and you sense wonbin’s presence before you see him, stepping up behind you with measured caution.

“hey,” he murmurs, voice low but steady. “need help?”

the question might seem insignificant to anyone else, but you understand it’s so much more—a signal that he’s willing to extend himself. he never used to offer help unless it was forced out of him, or unless he could mask it as a flirtatious aside. this direct, understated gesture feels… genuine. you nod, letting him take one of the water bottles from the stack on the nearby table, your heart giving a small, grateful lurch.

“thanks,” you reply softly, meeting his eyes for a second longer than you normally would.

in that space, you see the weariness he still carries, the weight of the day that hasn’t vanished just because he’s making an effort. but there’s also a faint, flickering warmth, the suggestion that he hasn’t forgotten the conversation you shared. a spark that tells you he remembers what he confessed, and he’s not running from it—not at this moment, at least.

the rest of the practice continues with a surprising ease. whenever the band hits a tough spot in a track, wonbin actually suggests a pause to dissect the harmony rather than letting frustration simmer. he focuses on perfecting vocal runs with you, his tone supportive rather than critical, reminding you of earlier days when music bonded you all rather than highlighted the rifts. an unfamiliar sense of calm steals through your muscles, and you find yourself smiling more than once—small, quiet smiles that reflect how relieved you feel to see this side of him again.

you notice beomgyu watching the two of you from time to time, an unreadable flicker in his eyes. maybe a subdued caution, or a resigned acceptance that wonbin’s attempts to improve himself might complicate the dynamic between you and beomgyu. but you also sense a subtle release of tension: beomgyu’s gaze softening every time he hears wonbin’s voice blend smoothly, every time he notices the slight cracks in the barriers wonbin erected. perhaps beomgyu, too, sees that this small step forward doesn’t erase the damage done, but it hints that maybe, just maybe, the future isn’t as bleak as it once seemed.

by the end of rehearsal, the sun has dipped low beyond the studio windows, the sky stained with streaks of pink and gold as evening creeps in. you’re packing up cables, coiling them carefully so they don’t tangle, when wonbin appears at your side again, silent in his approach. your pulse stutters—once, in fear he might revert to the old, closed-off habits. but there’s something almost hesitant in the way he reaches out, lightly brushing your hand to get your attention rather than using words. you look up, meeting those dark eyes that hold fewer secrets than they did yesterday.

“good job today,” he says, voice still quiet, but there’s an undercurrent of sincerity that sends warmth into your cheeks. “we sounded… better.”

you nod, heart skipping as you recall the synergy you felt during the run-through of that particularly difficult track. “yeah. it felt… right,” you agree, the corners of your lips curving into a faint smile. 

you realize you’re still holding one end of a coiled cable, and he’s holding the other, a tangible metaphor for the fragile connection you’re attempting to rebuild: two people holding onto something that needs both of you to keep from tangling.

he breaks eye contact first, dropping his gaze to the cable with a self-consciousness that is almost endearing. “listen,” he starts, and you hold your breath, sensing a hesitation, “i know it doesn’t fix everything. but i’m trying.”

those three words—i’m trying—land with a surprising weight. you feel a knot of emotion tighten in your chest. you might not be ready to forgive everything, might still be wrestling with the bruises he left on your heart, but it resonates that he’s acknowledging this process, that he won’t just say sorry and expect the rest to vanish.

“i can see that,” you say softly, letting the sincerity show. “and… it means a lot.”

a breath escapes him, slow and shaky, as though he’s absorbing the magnitude of this moment. you notice the slight tremor in his fingers, but instead of withdrawing, he finishes securing the cable, placing it carefully among the spares, an action that epitomizes the small steps he’s taking: conscientious, thoughtful, a departure from the distant man who used to breeze in late and disappear early.

the rest of the band begins to filter out, yunjin and minjeong sharing a relieved smile, gunil shooting a friendly jab in wonbin’s direction, calling him “mr. punctual” and earning a faint grin in return. hongjoong lingers by the door, watching with that watchful leadership you’ve come to trust, a nod of subtle approval crossing his face when he sees wonbin helping you finish the last of the clean-up.

as you gather the final coils, you catch wonbin looking around the room—taking stock, perhaps, of what he almost lost in his downward spiral. his gaze touches the mics, the amps, the instruments, then settles on you. and in that shared glance, you understand that this moment isn’t about grand gestures or eloquent apologies. it’s about being here, showing up, laying down small bricks of effort that might one day form a bridge to something stable.

the two of you step outside together, the evening air nipping at your skin, the city lights flickering awake as dusk claims the sky. he stands close enough that you can feel the quiet tension in his posture, as if he’s still bracing himself for rejection. you turn to him, heart thudding, words unspoken but pressing against your throat.

“thank you,” you say eventually, hoisting your bag over your shoulder. “for today. it… it helped.”

he doesn’t flinch or retreat. instead, he nods slowly, the ghost of a smile braving its way onto his lips. “i guess… i’ll see you tomorrow?” it comes out more like a question, as though verifying he’s still allowed in this space, still granted the chance to earn back trust.

“yeah,” you murmur, relieved by the simplicity of it, by the promise that there will be a tomorrow. “see you tomorrow.”

you part ways, steps echoing on opposite sides of the pavement, but there’s no suffocating sense of finality. instead, it feels like a cautious opening, an unspoken agreement that neither of you will abandon this delicate path you’ve started walking. you’re not pretending his fears or your hurts have disappeared; they still occupy the edges of your consciousness. but for once, the notion of him running into oblivion feels less immediate, less certain.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

the late afternoon sun has slipped beneath the skyline, painting the world in a gentle wash of dusky lavender and gold, as you make your way through the winding back streets to the small, out-of-the-way place where wonbin asked to meet you. 

you weren’t sure what to expect—some hidden practice studio, a forgotten corner of the city, a park bench under the waning sky—but the address he sent leads you to a discreet entrance tucked between two older buildings, away from the usual bustle. it looks like a private lounge or a space that isn’t open to the general public tonight, the kind of secluded haven where one might find the courage to speak truths they’d otherwise bury.

your pulse quickens at the thought of being alone with him again, especially after the fragile peace you both reached during practice. the tension that once defined your every interaction has shifted into something laden with potential, with the promise of a conversation so long overdue it feels almost surreal. 

you step inside, each slow breath carrying a quiver of anticipation, noticing the soft lamplight illuminating a single table near the back. the air smells faintly of tea leaves and distant incense, and the lighting is low enough to wrap the space in an intimate hush.

he’s there, waiting. the sight of him tugs at your heart in a way you’re still getting used to—standing near a small table, the warm glow playing off the sharp lines of his features, his eyes flicking to the doorway the moment he senses movement.

something in his posture, in the taut set of his shoulders and the subtle flex of his fingers, conveys an urgency you’ve seldom witnessed: he wants this, he wants to be here. he has changed out of the usual hoodie, instead wearing a casual sweater with sleeves loose enough that you catch glimpses of the rings adorning his fingers whenever he moves. you notice how, every so often, he fiddles with them, twisting the metal, a restless action that betrays his nerves.

as you cross the room, time seems to slow, the air itself holding its breath. the overhead lights form a sort of halo above him, revealing the flicker of tension in his jaw, the way his bottom lip draws between his teeth for a moment before he exhales and stands straighter, preparing himself. you reach him, and for a beat, neither of you speaks, locked in the awareness that whatever happens next might change everything.

“thank you for coming,” he says at last, his voice low and quiet, as if raising it any louder might shatter the delicate atmosphere. 

you nod, a smile ghosting across your lips, and he gestures toward the table set up for two—no grand fanfare, just two chairs facing each other, a small pitcher of water, the subtle hint of privacy. it feels intimate in a way you once thought impossible for him to initiate.

you settle into the chair, your heart thudding in your chest, a thrumming that intensifies when he sits opposite you, folding his hands on the table. the lamplight catches the rings on his fingers, glinting in soft reflections, and you see him flexing them again, a nervous habit. his eyes flick downward before returning to yours, and you sense the battle warring within him, the old reflex to hide, measured against this new desire to reach for something beyond fear.

“i’m sorry it’s so… quiet,” he murmurs, a faint quirk of his lips betraying a glimmer of self-consciousness. “i didn’t know where else we could talk without being overheard or interrupted.” he exhales, brushing his palm across the tabletop as though he’s trying to ground himself in the tangible. 

“i just… i needed somewhere private.”

the sincerity in his tone unravels a bit of the tension coiled in your chest. you shake your head, letting your smile grow slightly. “this is perfect,” you say, the words coming out softer than you intend. “it’s nice.”

his gaze holds yours for a moment that feels suspended in a fragile bubble, until he draws in a breath that seems to fortify him. 

“i… i’ve been thinking,” he starts, pausing to drag his teeth over his lower lip in that nervous way. “ever since… well, since that night, and then seeing you during practice, and realizing that i—” he breaks off, glancing down at his own hands, the rings shifting again under the press of his fingers, as though he’s mustering the will to voice emotions that he’s kept chained for far too long.

your pulse quickens at the vulnerability in his posture, the way he curls his shoulders in slightly, as if he needs to contain the surge of feeling that threatens to spill out. “you can say it,” you encourage gently, leaning forward, resting your arms on the table, your voice barely above a whisper. “i won’t run.”

his throat works around a swallow, and he lifts his eyes to meet yours again. they glisten with an unshed emotion that he hasn’t quite learned to name, but you can sense it—the tumult, the longing, the fear. 

“i know,” he murmurs, voice rasped, his next breath trembling. “i know you won’t run. that’s why i… that’s why i need to do this.”

for a heartbeat, neither of you moves, the hush expanding between you, thick with anticipation. then he inhales again, a slow draw that firms his resolve. 

“i’ve liked you,” he admits, voice straining at the edges of control, “for a while. probably longer than i’d ever admit to myself. but i kept… burying it, pretending it was just… interest or curiosity or something fleeting. because it felt safer, you know? if i didn’t name it, it couldn’t hurt me.”

a tender ache flares in your chest, because you see how much this confession costs him, how he’s stepping into territory he never wanted to navigate. “wonbin—” you begin, but he halts you with a slight shake of his head, as though he needs to spill these words in one continuous outpour before he loses the nerve.

“let me say it,” he pleads, eyes glimmering with unshed tears he’s not yet sure he can allow to fall. “i can’t keep dancing around it and hoping you’ll somehow understand. i need you to know that… it’s not just some fleeting thing. it’s… it’s everything. the way you laugh, the way you challenge me when i’m being an ass, the way you care so deeply even when i give you every reason to stop.” his voice cracks on the last words, a raw edge that underscores his anguish over the times he pushed you away or shut you out. 

“i tried to run from it. i told myself it wouldn’t last, that you’d leave, and i didn’t want to be there when it happened. but i realized how... miserable i was making myself, how i was sabotaging a chance to… to let someone in.”

the confession hangs in the air, more potent than anything else he could have done—no grand gesture, no sweeping proclamation in front of the entire band, just the naked truth of his fear, his avoidance, his realization that he cannot continue living in isolation when his heart yearns for your companionship. you feel warmth kindle behind your ribs, a gentle glow that starts to chip away at the bitterness of months spent unsure of where you stood with him.

he breathes unsteadily, and you notice the tears brightening his eyes, an unspoken apology for the times he let his demons eclipse the simple possibility of together. 

“i know i have so much to make up for,” he continues, lifting one hand to wipe hastily at the moisture threatening to spill onto his cheeks. “i know i’ve hurt you with my stupid push-and-pull routine, with the way i would ignore you or make you question if you ever mattered. i’m not asking you to forget that or pretend it didn’t happen.” he pauses, swallowing thickly, flicking his gaze to the ring on his thumb he keeps rolling in tense little circles. “i just… i want you to understand i’m trying. i’m trying to be better, to… let this be something real, if you still want it to be. i can’t promise i won’t fail sometimes, but i promise i’ll show up.”

the sincerity in his tone unravels the knot of tension inside you, and you exhale, realizing your own eyes sting with tears. 

“wonbin,” you murmur, reaching across the table, offering your hand in a trembling gesture of acceptance. “i’m not going to lie and say i’m not scared too. you hurt me a lot. and i… i was ready to walk away so many times, to say that if you couldn’t open up, i shouldn’t keep waiting. but i couldn’t stop caring, no matter how much i told myself i should.”

he glances at your outstretched hand, tears finally slipping down his cheeks, and for a second, you think he might pull away out of habit. but then he threads his fingers gently through yours, leaning into the contact as though it anchors him. “i won’t blame you if you’re still angry,” he says, voice trembling in the hush of the room. “or if part of you needs time to trust me.”

the warmth of his skin against yours feels like an electric current, humming with the potential of something wondrous, something worth fighting for. “we’ll figure it out,” you whisper, letting your thumb brush softly over his knuckles, marveling at the softness beneath the rings that only moments ago rattled with his nervous energy. “together.”

the relief that flashes across his face is heartbreaking and beautiful all at once—he closes his eyes for a moment, tears spilling over, breathing in the promise that he doesn’t have to stand on the precipice alone. “i—I’m sorry,” he murmurs, opening his eyes again, tears making them shimmer in the golden lamp glow. “i don’t usually… i never cry, but… i—” he huffs a short laugh at himself, voice quivering, “this is terrifying. i keep waiting for that voice in my head to say you’ll leave me, but i’m fighting it.”

you squeeze his hand, heart ablaze with empathy and a tentative, blossoming joy. “i’m right here,” you assure him, voice thick with your own unshed tears. “i’m not leaving, not unless you decide to push me out. i need you to meet me halfway, though, to keep meeting me halfway.”

he nods, biting his bottom lip again, as if to stifle another flood of emotion. “i will,” he promises, and the gravity in his tone tells you he means it, even if he’s terrified of how to keep that promise. “i know it’s not just words, either. i have to prove it—through everything i do, no more games or excuses.” he exhales, the tears still glistening in the dimness, but there’s a calm beneath the heartbreak, a resolution that steadies him. “and i want to,” he adds softly. “for you, for me, for all the things i’ve spent so long running from.”

the closeness between you grows tangible, enveloping the space in a tender hush that feels almost sacred. slowly, you release his hand, sliding out of your chair, and he follows suit, rising with a cautious grace as though not to startle the fledgling moment. you circle the table until you’re standing before him, the music of your overlapping heartbeats filling the silence more potently than any background noise could. he’s a bit taller, forcing you to tilt your chin up, and you see the swirl of tears lingering at the edges of his lashes, the trembling set of his mouth.

without words, you open your arms just slightly, an invitation he accepts with a trembling inhale. he leans forward, letting his forehead rest against your shoulder, and your arms slide around his waist, clasping him gently. the vulnerability in his posture is staggering—he isn’t rigid or half-turned away. he’s letting you hold him, letting himself be held, as though he’s finally realized that human touch doesn’t have to herald an inevitable departure.

“it’s worth it,” he murmurs against the slope of your shoulder, voice muffled but fervent, “god, it’s all worth it. even if i’m scared every step of the way.”

tears prick at the corners of your own eyes again, your fingers splaying across his back, feeling the warmth of him through the soft weave of his sweater. “me too,” you whisper, your throat aching with emotion. “it scares me, but… i don’t want to run either.”

he lifts his head slightly, eyes meeting yours with an intimacy that makes your breath catch. in that single, suspended heartbeat, you sense how months, maybe years of tension and withheld confessions melt away, replaced by a mutual understanding that you can’t fix everything overnight, but you can both try, step by careful step, forging a path that doesn’t depend on sabotage or fear.

you watch his lips part, the subtle tremor in them, and for a moment you think he might lean in and bridge the space fully, but he hesitates, as though checking if the moment is right, if you want this too. your chest feels impossibly tight, a sweet ache coursing through your veins, so you nod—just a small tilt of your head, a silent yes—and in response, he closes that final gap, pressing a tentative, trembling kiss to the corner of your mouth.

it’s not a grand, sweeping kiss of cinematic proportions—rather, it’s gentle, almost shy, barely more than a brush of warmth that says i see you, i cherish you, i’m willing to risk this. it leaves you breathless, though, your heart pounding so loudly you’re certain he can feel it through your sweater. he tastes of unshed tears and the faint residue of fear, but there’s a hint of hope in it too, something bright and awakening.

when he pulls back, you notice that the tears have slipped down his cheeks, leaving faint trails across the curve of his face, but he’s smiling, a fragile yet genuine smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. you mirror the expression without hesitation, letting your own tears spill over, each droplet a testament to the relief, the vulnerability, the love that threads between you. he lifts a hand to brush the back of his fingers against your cheek, then swallows hard.

“we’ll figure it out,” he repeats, voice raspy and thick with emotion, “together.”

and you believe him—because for the first time, neither of you is turning away, neither of you is burying the truth under bravado or silence. you may not have all the answers, and the wounds you both carry may need more time to heal, but in this small, secluded space, with the hush of the late evening pressing in around you, you hold on to each other, hearts hammering, tears drying on your faces, and the unspoken promise that maybe, just maybe, the future holds more than fear and regret: it holds the possibility of something real.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

time has a curious way of smoothing out rough edges without erasing them completely. in the weeks that follow wonbin’s confession—his trembling voice, the tears in his eyes, the tentative warmth that passed between you—life doesn’t magically transform overnight. there’s no abrupt, cinematic shift from chaos to harmony, no sudden disappearance of all the old wounds that had festered for so long. but there is progress, small and steady, the kind that signals hope rather than guaranteeing it, a quiet growth that takes root in the moments of everyday living.

it begins with phone calls: brief, uncertain ones, where you hear wonbin’s hesitant breath on the other end, and he asks in a low voice how you’re doing, or whether you’ve eaten, or if you need a ride to practice. each conversation feels like a delicate negotiation, both of you testing the waters to see if it’s safe to trust that he isn’t going to vanish again. 

sometimes, his voice trembles with the weight of an apology left unspoken, but more often, it’s threaded with the subtle relief of being able to reach out without fear that you’ll push him away in return. it’s a tiny step, but each day you let him in, each day he manages to pick up the phone rather than drown himself in a bar, is a reminder that this path of healing, though fraught, is worth walking.

the band notices the changes in equally small increments. gunil stops calling him “mr. tardy,” because suddenly, wonbin arrives for practice five minutes early, rummaging through cables or adjusting mic stands before anyone else shows up.

minjeong, after one long session, catches his eye in a moment of private acknowledgment—like she never expected to see him quietly helping load the van instead of ducking out at the first opportunity, but here he is. yunjin, with her usual outspokenness, tries to rib him about it, but there’s no bite in her tease, just a gentle acceptance that maybe, at long last, he’s letting himself be part of the group again.

you see it too—feel it, in the subtle shift of his demeanor during rehearsals, the way he focuses on perfecting vocal harmonies or clarifying chord progressions rather than letting frustration slip into sarcasm or indifference. there’s a softness in his voice when he asks if you need a break, a sense of readiness in the way he offers feedback, no longer so guarded that he’d rather hold his tongue than risk vulnerability. it isn’t perfect: sometimes he stumbles, retreats into silence, or his eyes darken with old anxieties. but the difference is there, an undercurrent of determination pushing him forward, a desire to stay.

no single action transforms him, but each day, each carefully navigated conversation, each moment he chooses to open up rather than shut down, knits together to form the foundation of a new normal. you don’t let yourself get swept away by it; after all, you’ve been burned by his hot-and-cold routine before. yet you allow the cautious hope to bloom, one petal at a time, as he proves with consistent steps that the version of him who poured out his deepest fears in that quiet lounge is real, that he’s here to stay.

somewhere along the line, therapy enters the equation. you learn about it indirectly, when you notice a date circled on his phone’s calendar—a repeat appointment. one afternoon, he mentions it in passing, voice subdued, eyes flicking away as if expecting ridicule.

“i… i’ve been seeing someone.” your heart flutters with a complicated mix of relief and admiration, and you watch how his fingers curl against the edge of the practice-room table, as though bracing for scorn. you only nod, letting your hand brush lightly over his knuckles, telling him you think it’s good. his breath escapes in a tremulous exhale, relief shining in his eyes. it’s not a detail he trumpets in front of everyone, but neither does he hide it with his old ferocity. he’s taking ownership of his journey, confronting the scars left by abandonment head-on, guided by a professional who can help unravel the tangles he’s never dared to face.

you learn, over time, that these therapy sessions aren’t easy. sometimes he emerges looking wrung out, shoulders tight with suppressed emotion, but there’s also a brightness in his gaze afterward, as though naming his demons with someone who won’t run away has lessened their grip. 

he never gives you a full rundown of what happens in the sessions, but occasionally, in the small, hushed intervals between songs at rehearsal or during an unplanned late-night phone call, he’ll drop a tidbit: “it’s weird,” he admits once, voice quiet, “talking to a stranger about… my mom, about how i keep expecting people to leave, about how i sabotage things before they can hurt me. but it helps.” he glances at you as he says it, eyes glimmering with an unspoken apology for all the ways he once turned that self-sabotage on you.

you, in turn, try to stay patient. your own hurt hasn’t magically vanished, and there are moments when the memory of him ignoring your calls or stumbling out of clubs with strangers still pricks at your heart. you tell him honestly when those memories resurface, refusing to bury them for the sake of false harmony. 

meanwhile, the band’s momentum surges forward. the album is released, and discussions of a tour fill the group chat with excited banter. as you prepare for the big shows, practice sessions grow more intense. ironically, this is where you see the best of wonbin shining through: his stage presence merges with a dedication you haven’t witnessed since the earliest days, back when you first joined the group and everything felt bright with potential. there’s synergy in the music again, a sense that each note is a testament to the bond you share, the hardships endured, and the second chance unfolding.

and in the midst of this blossoming sense of unity, there’s beomgyu.

the closeness you developed with him remains, a comforting thread that weaves through your day-to-day life. he’s still the one who checks in with a casual text, “yo, how’s your day?” or lifts a corner of his mouth in a conspiratorial grin during a dull meeting. he shoulders the gear with you after rehearsal, engages in playful banter to lighten the mood when things grow tense, and occasionally invites you out for coffee. yet you sense an undercurrent that’s shifted, a tension that used to hum with possibility but has settled into something quieter—an unspoken acceptance.

you never meant to lead beomgyu on, never intended to exploit his kindness or allow your heartbreak over wonbin to color how you leaned on him. but it happened anyway, over late-night chats when the rest of the band was asleep, over jokes that made you laugh in a time when you feared you’d forgotten how. you know he likes you; maybe you knew it before you were ready to face it. perhaps you even tried for a second to love him the way he deserves, thinking it might be simpler, might be less fraught with risk. but your heart, wounded as it was, never quite let go of wonbin. and beomgyu, with a selflessness that breaks your heart more than once, saw it all along.

the moment between you and beomgyu comes later—after a particularly draining rehearsal where you’ve run the setlist for the upcoming showcase six times in a row, picking apart every detail until your voice feels raw, your fingers stiff. the others filter out, craving rest or food, but you remain behind to wrap cables, the space quiet except for the hum of an amplifier that’s still cooling off. beomgyu lingers too, rummaging through his guitar case, a strange tension in his movements.

when you finally straighten, cables neatly coiled at your feet, you notice he’s standing there with his arms crossed loosely, an almost tentative air around him. 

“hey,” he says, voice casual, but his eyes betray a deeper consideration. “you want to stick around a bit? there’s something i wanted to talk about.”

your stomach flips, because you suspect what it might be. you notice how he’s no longer offering that easy grin, how there’s a pensive glimmer in his gaze. you nod, feeling the echo of your pulse in your throat. “sure,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.

the two of you slip outside, finding seats on a short flight of concrete steps behind the studio. the night is warm, a thick summer haze lingering in the air, but there’s a gentle breeze that brushes your skin. overhead, the stars begin their slow appearance, faint glimmers in the city’s haze, and the streetlamp near the alleyway casts long shadows across the pavement. you find yourself fiddling with your phone, your earlier confidence wavering under the weight of what you need to face. beomgyu sits beside you, his posture relaxed yet charged with unspoken words, one sneakered foot bouncing in a restless rhythm.

“we should be celebrating,” he starts, eyes trained on a distant point in the dark. “the show’s in two weeks, the album’s done, everything’s finally falling into place.” a wry smile crosses his lips. “but i guess i’m not feeling it tonight.”

you inhale, a slow, measured breath, summoning the courage to ask. “why not?”

he glances at you, a half-laugh escaping. “because i’m… a little stuck. i guess i’ve been stuck for a while.” the laugh fades, replaced by a quiet intensity in his gaze. “we never really talked about… you and me, what almost was, or what might have been.”

your mouth feels dry, your heart aching at the nuance of his statement. you owe him an acknowledgment of everything he’s done for you, everything he’s been in the moments you felt most lost.

“beomgyu,” you begin softly, “i’m sorry.”

he shakes his head, leaning back on his palms, eyes flickering to the cluster of stars overhead. “don’t apologize, please,” he murmurs, a gentle resignation coloring his words. “i know we never made promises or anything. it wasn’t fair to you, or to me, to pretend that we were just friends when i was…” he exhales, letting the admission hover in the warm night air. 

“i was falling for you in small, quiet moments, you know? not in the big, dramatic rush that i see between you and wonbin, but in these lingering glances, late-night confessions about life that no one else got to hear, the way i felt protective of you when he’d act like a jerk.”

your stomach twists, guilt and tenderness colliding in your chest. “i know,” you whisper, voice barely audible over the distant hum of passing cars. “i felt it too. i tried to see if i could love you the way you deserved, but my heart was never fully mine to give.”

he nods, letting your words settle. “it’s okay,” he eventually says, gaze lowering to his sneakers. “i think i always knew that. i was never going to win a heart that was already tangled up in someone else, especially not someone who could make you ache in the way you do for him.”

the truth in his statement hurts, even though it’s laced with acceptance rather than bitterness. you remember the times you shared with beomgyu—easy laughter, late-night drives, the quiet comfort of his presence. there was affection there, no doubt, but not the furious, all-consuming pull that dragged you back to wonbin despite the heartbreak. 

“you deserved better,” you murmur, tears threatening to sting your eyes again, “than to be caught in the crossfire of my confusion.”

he offers you a small, lopsided smile that carries more warmth than you deserve. “maybe. but that’s how life goes sometimes. people meet at the wrong moments, hearts align or misalign, and we do our best not to wreck each other too much.” he glances at you fully, a softness in his eyes that almost makes your breath catch. 

“i just want you to be happy. and i guess i finally see that your happiness is… there, with him, as messy as it might be.”

a knot loosens in your chest. you can’t help but place a hand gently against his arm in a gesture of gratitude. “thank you,” you say, voice thick with emotion. “thank you for caring enough to let me go.”

he exhales, a quiet chuckle escaping. “well, the alternative is being a total asshole, which isn’t really my style,” he jokes, but there’s truth in the humorless laugh that follows. “seriously, though… you think he’s changed? for good?” there’s no hostility in his question, just genuine concern for your well-being.

you consider it carefully, your mind flashing through images of wonbin’s therapy sessions, his gentle presence at rehearsals, the phone calls at night where he confesses small victories—like resisting the urge to drown his sorrows alone, or times he caught himself wanting to lash out but instead reached for coping tools he’s learning. “i think he’s… in the process,” you answer, your lips curving into a gentle smile. “but it’s real. i see it every day.”

beomgyu nods, his breath releasing in a sigh that’s part relief, part wistfulness. “then i’m rooting for you both,” he murmurs, letting the final barrier between you settle into something quieter, more solid. “i guess i just wanted to say that out loud, so neither of us keeps wondering what if.”

the hush that ensues is strangely comforting, no bitterness, no raised voices, just a shared recognition that your paths diverge here on calmer terms. the tension dissipates, replaced by a warm camaraderie that can carry you forward as bandmates, as friends who once flirted with more but found themselves anchored to different destinies.

he nudges your shoulder, a faint grin flickering. “now let’s go celebrate before wonbin gets himself in trouble again,” he quips, echoing the words you recall from so many moments ago, reinforcing that your final chapter with him ends without regret, without illusions.

you nudge him back, the gesture affectionate. “deal,” you say, voice lighter, though you both know that the biggest celebration is yet to come. a final show, the album release, a chance to see wonbin stand on stage without the ghost of abandonment overshadowing him, and for you to stand by his side without the heartbreak of his absence looming.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

time flows, as it always does, and you find yourself in the thick of it: preparing for the biggest concert your band has done in ages, an event that draws in fans from across the country, a swirling storm of sound checks, promotional interviews, and the electric thrill of stepping under the spotlight. it’s the night everything culminates—the months of wonbin’s slow, painstaking steps toward healing, the nights you lay awake wondering if he’d truly changed, the tension that once threatened to tear the band apart. it all converges in this final performance, an exhalation of music, heart, and unity.

the stadium is massive, seats filled to the rafters with a crowd buzzing in anticipation, the lights flashing across the stage in an array of brilliant colors. you glance around backstage, spotting yunjin and minjeong in a flurry of excitement, adjusting outfits and exchanging last-minute jokes. gunil is busy triple-checking the drum kit, and hongjoong stands near a row of guitars, quietly giving a final rundown of the setlist. beomgyu catches your eye from across the room, offering a small smile and a salute with his pick. there’s no sadness there, just genuine camaraderie.

and then there’s wonbin—near the edge of the stage, doing a last warm-up for his vocals, swirling water around in a paper cup before taking a small sip. your eyes meet, and a flicker of understanding passes between you. he walks over, shoulders relaxed in a way you never thought you’d see, glancing around to ensure no one is paying too much attention. 

“you ready?” he asks quietly, his voice hushed by the thunderous roar of the crowd waiting just beyond the curtains.

your heart surges with affection, with pride, because he isn’t running; he’s here, in the thick of it, ready to share this triumph. “yeah,” you say, letting your hand brush over his for a split second, “you?”

he exhales, lips curving in a near-smile that lights up his features in a gentle glow. “i’m still terrified,” he admits, “but i’m not letting that stop me.”

the stage manager signals that it’s nearly time to go on, and your bandmates begin filing out, one by one, the adrenaline skyrocketing in your veins. the noise of the crowd amplifies, crashing against your ears in a tidal wave of cheers, chanting, raw energy. your pulse beats in tandem, and as you step into the light, the rush of thousands of voices hits you full force, chasing away any last tremors of self-doubt.

the set begins with a thunderous opening, yunjin’s vocals soaring over the first verse, beomgyu’s guitar weaving a tapestry of melodic hooks, minjeong’s basslines pulsing beneath the surface like the heartbeat of the show, gunil hammering the drums with a grin of intense focus, and hongjoong’s keys adding rich layers. wonbin stands front and center with you, mic in hand, voice strong and unwavering as he leads the chorus, the synergy between you resonating through the stadium in a wave of sound that feels unstoppable.

song after song, you feel the crowd surging with you, the band locked in a mesmerizing synergy. you glance at wonbin occasionally, seeing that look of pure immersion in the music, the old golden-boy aura revived but grounded by the lessons he’s learned. every now and then, your gazes lock, and a private smile passes between you, a silent conversation that says yes, we made it here together, and it’s real.

somewhere around the midpoint of the show, a hush blankets the arena. the lights dim, focusing on a smaller circle at the center of the stage. you step forward, your heart pounding with recognition: this is the stripped-down number you wrote back when longing and heartbreak consumed you, the piece that bared your soul in ways words alone never could. you glance at beomgyu, who stands off to the side with a second guitar, and he gives you a small nod, as though silently communicating you’ve got this. you offer him a grateful smile.

the first notes echo, soft and resonant. your voice emerges into the hush, carrying the lyrics that once felt like a private confession. the crowd watches, breaths held, and then wonbin steps in, adding a harmony that melds seamlessly with yours, a promise of unity forged from pain. as the music swells, you sense the tears stinging at the corners of your eyes because this moment signifies everything that has changed: the scar you once wrote into a melody, now shared with the man who inspired it, and whose presence—strong and unwavering by your side—feels like the resolution of a dissonant chord you feared would never resolve.

near the end of the song, you catch a glimpse of beomgyu, strumming gently, eyes closed as though he’s allowing the music to cleanse old regrets. he opens them just for a second, catches your glance, and in that fraction of time, a gentle acceptance is exchanged. he knows this is the piece you wrote for wonbin, the one that spoke of heartbreak and yearning, and it no longer stings. it is simply part of your shared tapestry, a piece of history that shaped who you are today. you mouth thank you, and he responds with a small grin, then focuses back on the strings beneath his fingers.

the crowd roars its approval as the final chord dissolves into applause, the floodlights coming up to reveal tearful fans, swaying arms, the unifying force of music you never take for granted. adrenaline races through your veins, every nerve alive with the magnitude of what’s happening: you are not alone on this stage, nor alone in your heart. it is a moment of triumph, a testament to the slow, deliberate healing that brought you all to this point.

the show continues, culminating in a final, high-energy number that sets the entire arena ablaze with movement, lights, and roaring cheers. confetti rains down, swirling in brilliant colors across the stage, reflecting the spotlights in a dazzling storm. you catch your breath at the sheer spectacle of it, feeling the intangible bond linking you to your bandmates. beomgyu winks at you mid-chorus, gunil throws his drumsticks in the air in a flourish, hongjoong’s fingers dance over the keys, minjeong thrums the bass with unstoppable fervor, yunjin’s voice spiraling high in perfect synergy with yours.

and then, when it seems the night can’t reach a higher pinnacle, wonbin steps forward with a confidence that draws every gaze. the rest of the band falls into a subtle hush, letting the final chord ring out, a resonant hum filling the stadium. you sense something shifting in the air, and your heart pounds, uncertain yet hopeful. perhaps the show is over, or maybe there’s one last note to strike.

his eyes find yours, a brief flicker of reassurance crossing his features, and then he speaks, voice echoing in the hush. “hey,” he begins, the single syllable quiet yet laden with a calm intensity that commands attention. thousands of fans still their cheers, a wave of anticipation sweeping the stands. “i—” he pauses, licking his lips, the microphone trembling slightly in his grip. “i wanted to say something i never had the guts to say in public.”

your breath snags in your throat, and you sense the rest of the band bracing, curiosity piquing. he glances around the stadium, from the front row to the far rafters, and you see a tremor of nerves, but also a decided spark of resolve in his gaze. 

“you guys have stuck with us,” he says, addressing the fans, “through ups and downs. and i want to thank you for that—truly. but there’s one person i owe everything to. someone who showed me that it’s okay to let people in, to not run even when things get messy. someone who… has changed my life.”

the hush intensifies, a wave of electricity coursing through the crowd, a sense that something monumental is unfolding. your heart is hammering, sweat beading at your temples, because you know—this is not a staged stunt. this is wonbin, raw and vulnerable, taking a leap before thousands of witnesses. you catch minjeong’s wide-eyed smile out of the corner of your vision, yunjin looking equally stunned.

“i’ve spent so long… living in fear that if i cared too much, i’d lose it anyway,” he continues, voice trembling slightly but growing steadier with each word. “i kept pushing, sabotaging, making a wreck of myself before someone else could. but this person stayed. she never stopped trying to reach me, even when i gave her every reason to let go.”

he turns then, eyes locking on you with a directness that makes your skin tingle and your chest tighten. the hush in the stadium feels infinite, as if every soul present is holding its breath for what he’ll say next. “i’m done hiding,” he says, loud enough for the mic to carry across the arena. “i love her. and if she’ll let me, i want to stand by her side, not just on this stage, but… from here on out.”

your heart nearly bursts, tears slipping down your cheeks. you can’t recall how you end up walking to his side, whether you stumble or glide, but you find yourself there, trembling in the swirl of confetti and the gaze of thousands of fans. the roar that erupts from the crowd is deafening, cheering, chanting, an uproar of approval. and in that thunderous acceptance, you see the final piece of the puzzle sliding into place: he’s chosen not just to be better for himself, but to show the world that he’s not ashamed of what he feels for you.

caught in the maelstrom of euphoria, you manage a nod, tears shining under the stage lights. you fling your arms around him, and he leans in, pressing his forehead against yours in front of thousands, lips curving into a grateful smile. the noise level skyrockets, cameras flash in brilliant arcs, and you swear you feel the vibrations of the fans’ excitement in the very floor beneath your feet.

the show ends in a blaze of adrenaline, the band coming together for a final bow, your hand clasped in wonbin’s, your heart so full it feels on the brink of overflowing. yunjin and gunil flank you both, wearing expressions of unbridled glee, while beomgyu stands just behind, a broad grin on his face that confirms he’s proud of you—proud of the band, proud that everything found its place without bitterness. minjeong, eyes shining, throws an arm around yunjin as the applause roars in an endless wave.

later, in the aftermath, the dressing rooms and corridors hum with post-show excitement. your face aches from smiling, from the repeated congratulations and the unstoppable flush in your cheeks. you spot beomgyu across the hallway, and he lifts his hand in a small salute, a reflection of the quiet conversation you had. you return the gesture, both of you acknowledging that you’ve chosen your paths without regret.

meanwhile, wonbin hovers near the exit, waiting for you. you can see it in his eyes—the relief, the slight tremble of adrenaline still coursing through him. “hey,” he murmurs when you join him, voice still rough from singing and from the emotional weight of his declaration. “want to get out of here?”

you glance around at the throng of well-wishers, bandmates, and staff, the buzz of post-show commentary washing through the corridors. something about sneaking away, just the two of you, feels right—the perfect coda to a performance that marked a turning point in your lives. you nod, allowing him to take your hand, the two of you slipping unnoticed through a side door into the warm night air beyond the stadium’s glow.

it’s raining outside—soft at first, then gradually intensifying, droplets spattering the concrete in a growing symphony. you laugh softly at the timing, and he chuckles, raising his eyes to the sky. “of course,” he mutters with a gentle grin, “couldn’t be a perfect night without the universe deciding we needed a cliché cinematic moment.”

your heart throbs at the playful spark in his gaze, so you roll your eyes affectionately. “maybe we should find a car,” you suggest, but he shakes his head, something mischievous lighting up his expression.

“or,” he counters, “we could run.” 

and before you can protest, he tugs at your hand, pulling you into a near-sprint through the puddles that reflect neon signs and the shimmering stadium lights behind you. the rain sluices over your hair, your clothes, soaking you both within seconds, but laughter tumbles from your lips as you match his pace, hearts thudding with a giddy energy that surpasses the drizzle around you.

somewhere along the way, he slows, turning to you with rain-soaked lashes, water droplets trailing down his cheeks like new tears. you inhale sharply at the sight: the man you once feared would break you and break himself, now standing in the falling rain, eyes bright with hope. 

“i meant it,” he says, breath hitching, the downpour pattering all around you, “all of it.”

you recall the echoes of his declaration on stage: i love her. you recall the gentle vow in private, that he’s seeing a therapist, that he’s no longer content to lose himself in destructive nights and fleeting fixes. your chest tightens with an overwhelming wave of tenderness, and you step closer, letting your rain-drenched fingers rest on his collar, feeling the warmth of his skin through wet fabric. 

“i know,” you whisper, voice trembling with affection, “i love you too.”

the words settle like a gentle quake in your chest, a release of every hesitation you once harbored. you see how he gulps in response, tears mingling with the rain, gratitude etched into the curve of his lips. “thank you,” he breathes, voice raw, as though those two syllables contain all the apologies and devotion he can’t compress into speech. “i promise i won’t let you regret this.”

you nod, pressing your forehead to his, letting the rain envelop you both in a quiet hush that seems designed just for this moment. “i know,” you echo, tears mixing with the raindrops on your cheeks, “we’ll figure it out together.”

and so you stand there, the stadium lights a distant glow behind you, your bandmates likely celebrating inside, the city humming with infinite stories you’ll never know. in your own story, you hold him, your heart pounding with the awe of a future you never thought possible, a future that carries the scars of the past but no longer lets them define you.

as the rain pools at your feet, you think of the first time you saw him commanding a stage with an effortless magnetism, how you’d never have believed that behind that golden exterior lay a man terrified of love. you think of the heartbreak that followed, the nights you spent uncertain whether he’d ever choose you—choose himself. 

but now, in the hush of this downpour, with his arms circling your waist and your face pressed against the hollow of his neck, you realize that not every story of pain ends in tragedy. sometimes, it ends in a quiet acceptance, a choice to remain, a promise that love—messy and complicated—can be the strongest anchor when fear tries to drag you under.

you stay like that, lost in the taste of rain on your lips and the warmth of his breath against your damp hair, until the swirl of the storm around you fades into background noise, until all that remains is the steady truth you share. the music, the heartbreak, the therapy sessions, the confessions—they swirl into a narrative that leads here, to a place you both choose to stay. far from perfect, but no longer helpless in the face of old wounds. healing, still, and determined to keep walking forward, hand in hand, no matter the storms that come.

in the distance, you hear an echo of cheers from the stadium, a lingering chorus that merges with the patter of rain. you smile against wonbin’s neck, and he turns his head to press a soft kiss to your temple. the future might be unknown, the path winding, but the melody of hope thrums in your blood, binding you not just as bandmates, not just as people who overcame personal demons, but as two souls who found each other’s hearts worth the fight.

and in that final moment, as you run through the rain together—no grand audience, no flashing lights, just the hush of the city night, him at your side—you realize that you’ve never felt more alive, more certain that you’re where you belong. you have each other’s words, and more importantly, each other’s actions, forging a new harmony that resonates beyond the stage lights and tabloids, a testament to the power of love chosen freely, scars and all.

[itendtothinkalot]

beomgyu!spiderman au (part 2)

summary: just a few scenarios of how it would be like having beomgyu!spiderman as ur bf

genre: fluff

characters: beomgyu!spiderman x f!reader

words: 3.5

a/n: i wasn't done

warnings: danger! knives! guns!

part 1!

Your boyfriend was Spider-Man. The Spider-Man. The one who kept your little town safe, who swung through the streets like a silent guardian, leaving behind ripples of hope. The one who, despite the weight of a city on his shoulders, always stopped to lend a hand to anyone who needed it.

Just the other day, your grandma couldn’t stop talking about him.

“Oh, what a fine young man,” she said, eyes sparkling as she recounted the story for the third time. “He helped me cross the road and even carried my groceries all the way home!”

You had laughed softly then, a knowing kind of laugh. Because you knew the truth. You knew he wasn’t just helping some random sweet old lady—he had helped her because she was your grandma.

But the thought lingered longer than you expected. There was something deeply personal about knowing that Spider-Man, the hero everyone adored, was yours. That he went out of his way for the people you loved. That even in the midst of saving the world—or at least this small corner of it—he still remembered the little things.

It warmed your heart, but it ached too. How could one person carry so much? The city adored Spider-Man, but they didn’t know him like you did. They didn’t see the bruises he came home with or the weight he carried in the slump of his shoulders when no one was watching. They didn’t hear the way his voice cracked when he confessed how hard it was to keep everyone safe—how much he wished he could do more.

“You’re doing fine,” you murmured against Beomgyu’s neck, your voice low, trying to be supportive.. “You have to stop thinking that you owe the world everything. You don’t, Gyu. You really don’t.” Your arms tightened around him slightly, hoping that this small gesture, this closeness, could carry what words couldn’t.

For a moment, he didn’t respond. His breathing was steady, but you could feel the tension in his shoulders, the way his body held itself too tightly, like a coiled spring. Finally, his voice broke the silence, barely above a whisper.

“I almost got Soobin hurt the other day.”

You froze, pulling back just enough to look at him. “What?”

He wasn’t meeting your eyes. Instead, his gaze was fixed on the wall behind you, as though staring into some memory he couldn’t shake. “Someone was following me. I–I didn’t even know. I don’t know how I didn’t know, but I didn’t—”

“Don’t you have those tingles? Like, when something bad’s about to happen?” Your voice rose slightly, more out of disbelief than anger. “What’s it called again?”

“Spidey senses,” he said quietly, almost like he was embarrassed to admit it.

“Right.”

He nodded, exhaling shakily. “Which is why this freaked me out so much. They followed me. Back to school.”

You felt your stomach drop. “Our school?”

He sighed, his hand coming up to drag down his face. “It was the day of the test. I guess my anxiety just… I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t even realize they’d been trailing me until it was too late. And then…” His voice cracked, and for a moment, you thought he might stop altogether.

“And then what, Gyu?” you pressed, your own heart racing now.

“Soobin,” he said, his voice trembling. “He was there. He was just…waving down to me, you know? Trying to make sure no one else saw me. But they did see him. They saw him.”

Your breath hitched as you imagined the scene. Soobin, his usual warm and carefree self, unknowingly stepping into danger just by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“God, Gyu…” You reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly. He finally looked at you then, his dark eyes full of guilt, fear, and something raw you couldn’t quite name.

“I can’t let that happen again,” he said firmly, though his voice wavered. “I can’t let someone I care about get hurt because of me. Because of this.”

You shook your head, your grip on his hand tightening. “No one got hurt. Soobin’s fine. You’re fine. But, Gyu, you can’t keep carrying this on your own. You don’t have to. Please…”

He didn’t respond, but the way his hand clung to yours told you everything. For now, it would have to be enough. But in the back of your mind, you knew this wasn’t over—not for him, not for either of you.

—

Beomgyu, the neighborhood’s ever-friendly superhero, had always been the happy-go-lucky guy at school—the one who cracked jokes even during exams and smiled at everyone in the halls. But lately, everything felt heavier. The shadows felt closer, and the weight of his secret life seemed to press down on him more than ever. No one really noticed the change, not at school, not in the streets where he swung between buildings. But he felt it.

Lost in thought, replaying every close call, every mistake, Beomgyu didn’t even notice the bird heading straight for him until—

“AUUUGH!”

The collision sent him tumbling through the air, momentum completely lost. He flailed helplessly before crashing down five levels and landing, with an undignified thud, in a dumpster.

“Dang,” he groaned, clutching his ribs as he tried to sit up. The stench was an assault on his senses, but at least the garbage had cushioned his fall. Small blessings, right?

He barely had a second to regain his bearings before he froze, realizing he wasn’t alone. Two figures loomed over him, their faces obscured by ski masks. Guns peeked out from behind their backs.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” one of them muttered, staring down at the very superhero who had been tailing them for weeks.

Beomgyu blinked up at them, then sighed. “What a night,” he muttered before pulling on a smirk under his mask. “Well, well, well. What do we have here? Are we heading to some kind of costume party, fellas? I wasn’t invited—kind of hurtful, honestly.”

The guy on the left swore under his breath, visibly rattled as he yanked a gun from behind his back and aimed it at Beomgyu.

“Ooh, wrong move there, buddy.” Beomgyu didn’t even flinch. A second later, a sharp thwip echoed through the alley as his web shooter activated, yanking the gun from the man’s grip and sending it clattering to the ground. In a single, fluid motion, Beomgyu swung up and ensnared the guy in a sticky cocoon of webbing.

“C’mon,” he teased, landing lightly on the ground. “We could’ve gone to the party together. I’ve got a killer mask, and I hear ski masks are making a comeback.”

“He’s fucking with us,” the second guy growled, pulling his gun and advancing.

Beomgyu tilted his head. “I mean, yeah. What’s the point of doing this gig if I can’t have a little fun?”

The second guy lunged, but Beomgyu was faster. Another flick of his wrist sent a web shooting out, pinning the man’s arm to the nearest wall. He struggled, growling like a trapped animal, but it was no use.

“Pro tip,” Beomgyu said, perching casually on a nearby railing. “If you’re going to pull off some shady back-alley operation, maybe avoid the guy who just fell out of the sky. Statistically, probably not your night.”

Both men glared daggers at him, though their predicament made it more comical than intimidating.

“Anyway,” Beomgyu continued, hopping down and dusting himself off, “I’d love to stay and chat, but I have homework to procrastinate on, so…” He shot another web, this time connecting the two robbers together like a makeshift package. “Consider this a group bonding exercise. Teamwork makes the dream work, right?”

As the distant sound of police sirens began to echo through the alley, Beomgyu gave them a mock salute before swinging away, muttering to himself.

“God, I need to start watching out for birds.”

—

Your head rested heavily on the table in your room, the soft glow of your desk lamp doing little to soothe the mounting frustration. The math homework in front of you blurred together into incomprehensible scribbles. You groaned aloud. Where was your genius boyfriend when you needed him? He’d promised to help with at least half of these impossible questions.

A sharp knock on your apartment window jolted you upright, a scream escaping your lips. It wasn’t a small sound either—it was the full-on, “I’m being murdered” kind of scream. To be fair, you lived on the 14th floor, and unexpected visitors weren’t exactly common.

When you turned, your heart still racing, there he was. Red and blue spandex clinging to him like a second skin, mask slightly crooked, and an unapologetic grin plastered beneath it. You sighed, pressing a hand to your chest.

“Geez, Gyu,” you said, walking over to unlock the window. “You need to start giving me some warning. I could’ve died from a heart attack.”

He slipped inside with practiced ease, his suit slightly scuffed but still intact. “Sorry,” he chuckled, stretching his arms above his head. “I’ll work on my window etiquette.”

As he adjusted his gloves, you couldn’t help but smirk. “Y’know…” you began, leaning against your desk and giving him an exaggerated once-over, “I kinda get why girls like this whole superhero thing.”

“Oh?” he teased, pulling off one glove and flexing his fingers. “And why’s that?”

“Well, you can kinda see everything,” you said with a wicked grin, poking at the firm outline of his abs. “Like, literally everything.”

Beomgyu groaned, swatting your hand away. “Great. I gotta talk to Mr. Kang about some suit upgrades. Hopefully, that includes censorship.”

“Even from me?” you teased.

“Especially from you,” he quipped before leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips. His lips lingered for a moment longer than usual, his way of apologizing for being late.

“Sorry,” he said softly, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “I kinda swung into a bird, fell into a dumpster, and got two guys arrested. You know, just another Tuesday.”

“What?” you asked, wide-eyed and incredulous. “You swung into a bird?”

“It’s a long story,” he laughed, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Anyway, which page are you on?”

“Uh…” you trailed off, a bit sheepishly. “Still the second page.”

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow. “Second? You’ve been at this for hours.”

You shrugged, your cheeks warming. “Math isn’t exactly my strong suit. It’s yours.”

“Alright, alright.” He grinned, pulling out the chair beside you and plopping down with an exaggerated groan. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

As he adjusted himself to get comfortable, Beomgyu tugged at his mask, lifting it ever so slowly. Your eyes were glued to him, watching as the fabric revealed his face inch by inch. His messy, shaggy hair flopped into his eyes, the slight sheen of sweat only making him look more effortlessly perfect.

You hated to admit it, but every time Beomgyu pulled off that mask, something inside you… shifted. Maybe it was the way his sharp features softened when he smiled at you. Or the way his hair always seemed to look even better messy. Whatever it was, it made your heart do cartwheels.

He caught you staring, of course, his lips quirking into a knowing smile. “What?” he asked, leaning in closer.

“Nothing,” you lied, quickly turning back to your textbook. “Just… hurry up and help me before I fail this assignment.”

“Sure, sure.” Beomgyu chuckled, resting his chin on his hand as he looked at you. “But you’re staring at me like I’m the homework you’re trying to solve.”

You flushed, shoving him lightly. “Shut up and teach me algebra, Spider-Boy.”

—

It had barely been ten minutes since school started, but the routine was already in full swing. You and Soobin had a well-rehearsed system for dealing with Beomgyu's inevitable late arrivals, thanks to his extracurricular Spider-Man responsibilities.

You called yourselves Team Spider-Man. It wasn’t a title you chose willingly, but you had to admit it had a nice ring to it. Unfortunately, being the newest member came with its fair share of grievances—like finding out Soobin had been in on the secret way before you.

“So, let me get this straight. This idiot knew before me?” you had demanded, months ago, glaring at both of them like they were the absolute bane of your existence.

“Well, I was at home waiting for him, and… my aunt let him in,” Beomgyu had explained with a wince. “I climbed on the ceiling, and he saw me. What was I supposed to do, pretend I wasn’t there?”

Needless to say, you weren’t over it.

Now, as you sat in class with Soobin, the two of you brainstorming yet another excuse for Beomgyu’s tardiness, the absurdity of the situation almost made you laugh. Almost.

“So,” Soobin began, tapping his pencil against his desk, “diarrhoea excuse? We haven’t used that one in a while.”

You shot him a look. “Seriously? He’s my boyfriend now, Soobin. My reputation is kind of on the line here too, you know.”

“Oh, please,” Soobin snorted. “As if anything could tarnish his already perfect reputation.”

You hated to admit it, but he had a point. Beomgyu wasn’t just well-liked—he was practically a school legend. Teachers adored him. Students gravitated toward him. Even the custodian always waved at him with a fond smile. It was infuriating. (You just didn’t want to admit that you had to share him with well, everyone else.)

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed movement outside the classroom window. There he was, crouched behind a tree in his unmistakable red and blue suit, though the white gym shirt thrown on top of it was… new.

Your phone buzzed.

Beomgyu: Friday, send message. You: What? Beomgyu: Don’t send message. Send message. Beomgyu: DAMN IT FRIDAY. Beomgyu: I mean send message—I forgot pants. I have no pants. Send message.

You stared at the screen, barely holding back a laugh.

You: You don’t have an extra pair of pants?

Soobin: Well, this does tie in nicely with the diarrhoea excuse.

You snorted. “You’re unbelievable.”

Beomgyu: Wait, wait, wait! Are you saying the teachers think I’ve had diarrhoea this whole time? Is that why Mrs. Lee asked if I was okay two nights ago at the store?

Soobin: That’s why Mrs. Lee probably bought you a whole bottle of Pedialyte. You: Just stay put. I’ll grab you some pants. Beomgyu: You’re the best. Also, don’t let Soobin talk to the teachers anymore.

You sighed, glancing at Soobin, who was now snickering into his notebook. Sometimes, being part of Team Spider-Man felt more like babysitting a group of overgrown toddlers.

—

The three of you were crammed into the corner booth of the diner you occasionally visited, the one with sticky menus and the best milkshakes in town. The warm hum of conversation and clatter of dishes filled the air, but none of it distracted you from Soobin’s next words.

“Hey,” Soobin started, far too casually, as he leaned back in his seat. “Isn’t that the guy you said was cute?” He gestured—not subtly—toward the waiter, the one you had offhandedly mentioned finding attractive months ago, long before Beomgyu was even a consideration in your love life.

Your heart dropped. “What?” You shot Soobin a warning look, kicking him lightly under the table. “No. Absolutely not.”

“No, you definitely did!” Soobin grinned, ignoring the daggers you were shooting at him. “I remember it clearly because he was carrying that JJK keychain on his–”

“Choi Soobin.” Your voice was low, a deadly whisper, as you glared at him, teeth gritted.

Beomgyu, who had been happily sipping his milkshake until that very moment, set it down with deliberate slowness. His lips twitched, the kind of expression that meant trouble. He leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, poking his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “So…” he drawled, voice teasing but edged with curiosity. “The waiter, huh?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “This was before we started dating!” You said defensively, looking up at Beomgyu with wide eyes. “Way before. Ancient history. Irrelevant.”

Beomgyu tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “And where was I during all this?”

“How would I know?!” You threw your hands up.

Soobin, who was clearly having the time of his life, leaned in conspiratorially, voice just low enough to sound like he was helping. “It was the day you were over at Mr. Kang’s office.”

Beomgyu’s brows shot up in mock realization, and you immediately regretted ever confiding in Soobin about anything.

“Mr. Kang’s office, huh?” Beomgyu repeated, turning his gaze back to you. “So while I was working on tech to save the city, you were out here scouting waiters?”

“Oh my god.” You buried your face in your hands again, your cheeks burning. “It wasn’t like that!”

Beomgyu smirked, reaching over to flick a fry at Soobin, who was now laughing so hard he nearly fell out of the booth. “Remind me to block this guy’s number,” Beomgyu teased.

“You’re insufferable,” you mumbled, hiding your face behind the menu.

“Hey, if it makes you feel better,” Beomgyu said, leaning closer, his voice dropping low just for you, “I’m cuter.”

You peeked out from behind the menu, your lips twitching despite your best efforts to stay annoyed. “Debatable.”

—

Beomgyu was excited. It had been days—no, weeks—since he’d had time alone with you. Between school and his Spider-Man duties, quality time with you had become rare. Especially since Soobin was usually a third wheel, even on your study dates.

He swung through the city, doing a final sweep before heading to your house. “Well, isn’t Seoul just so safe today, all thanks to me,” he muttered to himself, breaking into a little moonwalk mid-swing.

But he spoke too soon.

A chilling scream echoed in his ears.

A scream too close to home.

A scream from near your apartment.

“BEOM–GYUAAA!”

His blood ran cold.

Without wasting another second, he swung towards the sound, heart pounding in his chest. As he neared, the scene came into view—you, clutching your bag, screaming as you struggled against a thief.

His heart dropped.

He never expected to see you in harm’s way. A wave of guilt and terror swept over him, gnawing at his insides. He felt terrible.

Beomgyu's heart raced as he swung toward the sound of your voice. The scream—your scream—kept echoing in his head, shaking him to his core. He'd handled countless situations like this before, but this was different. This was you.

The thief yanked at your bag, his grip tightening as you refused to let go. Beomgyu could see the fear in your eyes, even from a distance, and his blood boiled. But fear wasn’t an option now. He had to act quickly—and smartly.

Clinging to the side of the building just above the alleyway, Beomgyu scanned the situation. The thief was armed, a glinting knife in his free hand. Too close for comfort. One wrong move and—no, don’t think about that, he told himself.

“Hey, buddy,” Beomgyu called out, voice steady but sharp, “how about you pick on someone your own size?”

The thief froze, glancing around wildly until he spotted Beomgyu perched above him. “What the–”

Before the thief could finish, Beomgyu leapt down, landing behind him. His sudden appearance startled the man enough to loosen his grip on your bag. You took the chance to stumble back, clutching it tightly to your chest.

“Stay back,” Beomgyu said, his voice low and commanding as he positioned himself between you and the thief. “Unless you wanna find out how this web feels up your ass.”

The thief lunged with the knife, but Beomgyu was faster. With a flick of his wrist, a web shot out, sticking the knife to the wall. The thief panicked, trying to run, but Beomgyu had already shot another web, trapping him against a lamppost.

“Okay, now you just hang tight, buddy” Beomgyu said, brushing his hands off dramatically. “Police will be here any minute. And by the way, knives? Seriously?”

With the danger neutralized, Beomgyu turned to you, his voice laced with worry, even through the mask. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

You shook your head, though your hands trembled, and tears pooled in your eyes as the adrenaline coursing through your body began to subside. “I-I’m fine,” you stammered, voice barely above a whisper.

Beomgyu hesitated for a moment, his shoulders visibly relaxing now that he knew you were unharmed. He stepped closer, his gloved hands coming to rest gently on your shoulders. “You’re safe now,” he said softly, his usual playful tone replaced by something tender. He leaned in slightly, his forehead almost brushing yours.

You sniffled, a faint smile breaking through the tears as you raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure…you’re gonna kiss me in public, Mr. Spider-Man?”

Beomgyu froze, his masked face tilting in realization. “Oh. Right.” He quickly straightened up, clearing his throat. “You’re safe, citizen! You may now go home!” he announced dramatically, his hands moving to his hips in mock superhero fashion.

“Thank you, Mr. Spider-Man,” you replied, unable to hold back your laughter, though your voice still wavered with lingering emotion.

Beomgyu winked—or at least you thought he did—before muttering under his breath as he turned to leave, “You're not gonna let this go, aren't you?

You shook your head.

-

part 1!

[notyourjaem]

— pov: yeonjun is your boyfriend 𖤐

pairing: boyfriend!yeonjun x you!

genre: all fluff

warnings: none (except maybe delusion)

authors note: I had a bad case of yeonjun delusion/brain rot this morning so I sped wrote these thoughts and tried my best not to ramble :) enjoy babes.

see beomgyu’s version here!

—

boyfriend!yeonjun who always brings a spare pair of headphones whenever you both go on a trip, just in case you forget yours.

boyfriend!yeonjun who knows what kind of ramen is your most favorite and knows exactly how to make it the way you like it. with all the toppings. <3

boyfriend!yeonjun who loves to take pictures of you. he’s the definition of “instagram boyfriend” the way he captures all of your angles and takes multiple shots so that you can choose what one to post. you always return the favor.

boyfriend!yeonjun loves when you borrow his clothes without him knowing about it, then sees you post on Instagram with it on. might ask for outfit credits though.

boyfriend!yeonjun who loves to watch you paint your nails and will sometimes ask to pick the color out. sometimes will even ask for you to paint his as well to match.

boyfriend!yeonjun always makes sure you’ve eaten, and had something to drink. if you say no, he’s buying you something right away.

boyfriend!yeonjun who finds the comfiest place to lay his head to be your lap. whether you’re hanging out with his members as a group, or the both of you are watching a movie or something; his head is in your lap. He also loves when you play with his hair and comb your fingers through it; he’ll even sometimes fall asleep like this.

boyfriend!yeonjun loves to help you cook. even when you tell him you don’t need or want any help, he finds it funny when you eventually cave In and ask for his help when you can’t do too many things at once.

boyfriend!yeonjun who loves to go makeup shopping with you. he lets you swatch things on him and sometimes wants you to test longevity of products by kissing him. but how can you say no?

boyfriend!yeonjun who kisses you all over your face and squeezes you so so tight when he is proud of your accomplishments. I can imagine him being like this when you graduate from college and everyone’s trying to take pics and he’s just all over you in the most loving way <3

—

[hobi-side]

Stars We Never Caught 2.0 | jhs

—  summary: At eleven, you met Hoseok. He was your older brother’s best friend, and for years, he was a constant in your world. Growing up alongside him, with Yoongi, your brother, and the rest of your crew, you never imagined that anything would ever change. Hoseok felt like family—always there but never quite a brother. It was a strange kind of closeness, one that never quite fit into the lines of what you understood.

But as you grew older, things started to shift. You got caught up in your own life, distracted by the swirl of adulthood. Now, back in Seoul, you find yourself drawn back to him. Whether it’s fate or coincidence, Hoseok is still there, and you can’t shake the pull that you’ve buried for so long. But perhaps some things are never meant to be—some stars are never meant to be caught, no matter how brightly they shine or are they?

—  word count: 13.6k for this part—this is a long one shot like around 60k for the full thing and the tumblr editor hates me so we'll have like 4 parts of this

— playlist: what was that - lorde, ribs - lorde, panic - beomgyu, wildest dreams - taylor swift, i need u (urban mix) - bts, run (ballad mix) - bts, cigarette daydreams - cage the elephant, the less i know the better - tame impala, 0x1 love song - txt, writer in the dark - lorde, somebody else - the 1975, your dog - soccer mommy + every mitski album.

—  warnings: angst, longing, yearning, deep Yearn (I meant this), pinning (sorry), slow really slow burn (I meant this), brother's best friend, coming of age, yoongi being a big bro (we love you yoongles), overthinking, lots of inner monologue, growing pains in your 20s, adulthood being a pain in the ass, lots of deep talks, tension... so much tension (shit goes wrong or not....) OKAY, now onto other warnings: sweet love making—then horny people being horny people because they're deep in feelings but freaky as hell: big dick! hobi, f! m! masturbation, sex with feelings™, strenght kink, hickeys, HICKEYS, biting, deep throathing, choking, missionary, manhandling?

part one | part three | part four

You sat across from him at Yoongi’s small kitchen table, a takeout box of cooling rice and stir-fried vegetables between you, the scent of cheap coffee still lingering faintly in the air.

Yeji had muttered something about a headache and dragged herself back to the living room, leaving you and Hoseok alone — an awkward, stretching silence growing roots in her absence.

Of course she did.

The early afternoon sun slanted through the windows, cutting sharp gold lines across the floor. It was almost two. Almost the time Yoongi said he’d be home. Almost the time you could stop pretending this wasn’t tearing you up inside.

You pushed your rice around with your chopsticks, not really eating. Hoseok leaned back in his chair, one arm slung carelessly over the backrest, fingers tapping out a slow, thoughtless rhythm against the wood.

Neither of you said anything for a while.

It wasn't angry silence. It wasn't even cold. Just... worn out. Thin around the edges, like a conversation that had been stretched too far and might tear if either of you tugged too hard.

"You cut your hair," he said finally, voice low and almost startled, like he hadn't meant to say it out loud.

You glanced up, fingers twitching toward the blunt, choppy ends you'd gotten months ago — a choice you barely remembered making in the rush of goodbyes and endings.

"Yeah," you said. "Needed a change."

Hoseok nodded slightly, tapping his fingers twice more before going still.

"You look different," he added after a second. "Good different."

You smiled tightly, throat closing around the words you wanted to say.

He still didn’t know, did he? Still didn’t see the way your heart had once spun on its axis for him.

Still didn’t realize that you weren't just different — you were someone else entirely now.

You swallowed, looking down at your food again.

"You’ve been busy," you said, meaning it as an offering, a bridge.

He gave a small, tired laugh.

"Yeah. Work. Travel. Life." A shrug. Like it didn’t matter.

But it did. You could see it in the shadows under his eyes. In the way his shoulders tensed slightly when he thought you weren’t looking.

You wanted to ask him — How are you? Happy?

But you didn't.

Because you weren’t sure you wanted him to ask you the same.

You picked at a piece of beef in your rice box, heart hammering stupidly hard.

"It’s weird," you said instead, voice quieter now. "Being back."

Hoseok looked at you then — really looked — and for a moment, you saw something flicker there.

Something old. Something broken. Something that recognized the same aching places inside you.

"Yeah," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "It is."

The words sat heavy between you, like the third person in the room no one wanted to acknowledge.

You forced yourself to look up again, cheeks burning. You found him already watching you —gaze steady, unreadable.

You wondered if he was remembering, too. All those summers. All those almosts.

But he didn’t say anything else.

Neither did you.

You just sat there —two people who used to fit so easily into each other's spaces— now separated by polite conversation and the brutal, inevitable passage of time.

Outside, a horn honked distantly. The city moved on without you.

Inside, you stayed very still.

And for the first time in a long time, you wondered if maybe some things —some people— were never meant to find their way back to each other.

Not the way they were before.

Maybe not at all.

The front door clicked open around 2:15 PM, the familiar thud of Yoongi’s boots against the threshold cutting through the thick silence.

You flinched without meaning to.

Across the table, Hoseok straightened instinctively, shoulders pulling tight, his hand abandoning the lazy rhythm it had been tapping against the chair.

Yoongi’s voice carried through the apartment —tired but warm, familiar in the way home was supposed to be:

"I’m back."

You sat up a little too quickly, your chopsticks clattering awkwardly against your plate. Hoseok cleared his throat, scrubbing a hand through his hair like he was trying to shake something off.

By the time Yoongi wandered into the kitchen, shrugging off his coat, you and Hoseok were perfect strangers again — two polite friends sharing a casual lunch.

Yoongi paused in the doorway, sharp eyes flickering between you for half a second too long.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed. He always did.

But he said nothing, just tossed his keys into the little ceramic bowl by the counter and reached for the takeout bag.

"You brought lunch?" he asked Hoseok, voice light.

Hoseok smiled, quick and easy — the same smile he used when he was fourteen and trying to cover up bruises nobody was supposed to ask about.

"Yeah," he said. "Figured you’d be starving."

Yoongi grunted in appreciation, pulling out a container and shaking it absently like he was testing its weight.

You forced yourself to move, to breathe, to offer Yoongi a plate you weren’t sure you could hold steady.

They fell into conversation easily —hospital stories, mutual friends, a basketball game you hadn’t watched.

You sat there, smiling when you were supposed to, nodding when required, feeling like you were floating somewhere just outside your own body.

Hoseok laughed at something Yoongi said, head thrown back slightly, and for a second —just a second— he looked like the boy you used to know.

The boy who called you Star. The boy you loved without ever telling him.

But when he caught your gaze, something shuttered in his eyes.

You dropped your head quickly, staring hard at your rice.

Yoongi didn’t miss it.

He didn’t say anything, but you caught the slight narrowing of his eyes, the way his hand stilled briefly on his fork.

It didn’t matter.

The world moved on. The conversation spun without you.

You let it.

Because some distances weren’t meant to be closed with words. Some things you just carried.

Lunch ended the way quiet storms did —with the heavy, lingering stillness of something that never fully broke but left the air changed anyway.

Yoongi stood at the sink, rinsing dishes absently, sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Hoseok helped without being asked, wiping down the table with slow, methodical movements that made your chest ache.

You hovered uselessly near the counter, pretending to scroll through your phone, pretending you weren’t counting down the seconds until Hoseok left.

The conversation had dried up —small talk thinning out, words running out.

It was time. You could feel it.

Hoseok dried his hands on a paper towel and gave Yoongi a lazy little shoulder bump on his way toward the door.

"Tell me when you’re free," he said, tossing the towel into the trash. "We’ll grab a drink or something."

Yoongi nodded, smiling —real and tired— the way he only did for the few people he actually let in.

"Yeah," he said. "Soon."

Hoseok bent down, grabbing his bag off the floor. The movement pulled his hoodie up slightly at the back, revealing the lean stretch of muscle under his shirt —and you hated yourself for noticing.

He straightened, slinging the strap over his shoulder, and turned toward you.

For a second, he just stood there. Silent. Like he was trying to find something to say and realizing, too late, that the words didn’t exist.

You smiled.

Small. Careful. The kind of smile you used when you were too close to crying and couldn’t afford to fall apart.

"Thanks for the food," you said, voice soft.

He smiled back —that stupid, beautiful smile that once could've unraveled you in a heartbeat.

"No problem, Star," he said, voice low, almost a whisper.

And it broke something in you, the way he said it like a memory, like a ghost, like something already lost.

You shifted your weight, arms crossing tightly over your chest.

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you dared.

Yoongi, still rinsing a plate at the sink, glanced over —brows furrowing slightly, like he could feel the weight in the room, the things humming painfully under the surface.

"You good?" he asked Hoseok casually, but there was something sharper under the words.

Hoseok blinked, like waking from a dream, and laughed —short, hollow.

"Yeah," he said. "All good."

He wasn’t.

You weren’t.

Everyone knew it.

No one said it.

Hoseok gave a small, half-wave —then turned, pulling open the front door, the afternoon light spilling harshly into the room.

He didn’t look back.

You stood there, hand tightening painfully around your phone, breathing through the hole he left behind.

The door clicked shut.

The silence swallowed you whole.

Yoongi finished rinsing the plate, set it carefully in the rack, wiped his hands on a dish towel.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment —just watched you from across the kitchen.

"You okay?" he asked eventually, voice rough with exhaustion but gentler now.

You smiled again —the same fake smile you had given Hoseok.

"Yeah," you lied. "All good."

Yoongi didn’t press.

He just nodded, once, slow —and turned back to the sink.

You stood there, still wrapped up in the heavy quiet Hoseok left behind, wondering how it was possible for a goodbye that simple to hurt so much.

The door clicked shut behind him with a soft, final sound.

Hoseok shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie and started walking, head bowed slightly against the afternoon sun.

The streets buzzed around him —traffic, conversation, life moving in every direction, but he barely registered any of it.

There was a weird hollowness in his chest. Not exactly sadness. Not exactly regret. Just... off.

He kept walking, sneakers scuffing the pavement, moving just to move.

He couldn't shake it — the tight feeling sitting behind his ribs, the restless hum under his skin.

Seeing you again had been... strange.

Good, in a way. Relieving, maybe. You were still you. Still sharp-eyed and stubborn, still hiding a whole world behind your quiet smiles.

But it wasn’t the same.

Not really.

There was distance now, not just the kind measured in years, but the kind that filled a room even when you were only a few feet apart.

You’d smiled at him today —but it hadn’t reached your eyes.

You’d laughed, a little. But it sounded like it was for survival, not for him.

And he hated it. More than he wanted to admit.

Hoseok crossed the street without really thinking about it, shoving past a group of teenagers in matching uniforms, ignoring the way they laughed and bumped into each other with easy, reckless joy.

It used to be like that with you.

Back when everything was simpler —before life started building walls between you two without either of you noticing.

Back when your smiles came easily, and he didn’t feel like he needed a fucking map just to find his way back to you.

He kicked a pebble down the sidewalk, watching it skip ahead and roll into the gutter.

Maybe this was normal. Maybe this was just what happened when people grew up — when lives moved in different directions too many times to line up again cleanly.

But still.

Still.

There was something gnawing at him. A weight that hadn’t been there before.

He didn’t know what it was —couldn’t name it, couldn’t drag it out into the light, but it sat heavy in his stomach all the same.

A memory floated up uninvited —you at eleven, cross-legged on your living room floor, nose buried in some book, stubbornly ignoring him while he tried and failed to distract you.

Your voice bubbling up, excited, trying to explain the story to him, stumbling over words in your hurry to share something you loved.

That stupid, beautiful smile.

Star.

He jammed his hands deeper into his pockets, scowling at the sidewalk.

It didn’t mean anything. It was just nostalgia. It was just... memories.

People changed. People drifted.

It was normal.

He told himself that, over and over, until the words started to sound thin in his head.

But even as he turned down a familiar street, even as he slipped into the shadows between buildings, he couldn’t shake it —

the feeling that somewhere along the way, he had lost something important, and hadn’t even realized it was missing until now.

Hoseok was oblivious.

But not that oblivious.

There were things he hadn't let himself see before — things tucked in the small spaces between your smiles, your glances, your stubborn, too-big-for-your-body heart.

He remembered.

He remembered the way your face used to light up when you spotted him coming down the street with Yoongi, the way your whole body would lean in without you even realizing it.

He remembered how you used to listen to him— really listen like the stupid things he said mattered more than they ever should have.

He remembered.

He just hadn't known what to do with it.

He didn’t feel the same. Not then.

Not in the way that counted. Not in the way that could have saved you from the quiet ache that lived in your eyes sometimes when you looked at him.

He noticed. He just... didn’t touch it.

He was sixteen. He was busy chasing everything and nothing, filling every silence with noise so he didn’t have to think too hard about why he felt so restless all the time.

You were his comfort. His constant.

And he, selfishly, hadn't realized how much more you were willing to give him if he'd only asked.

He hadn't asked.

And now —standing here years later, older, heavier with life; he didn’t know how to ask anymore.

You weren’t the same girl he remembered. And he wasn’t the same boy you used to look at like he hung the stars himself.

There was a gap now. A hollow stretch of time and growing pains between you.

And it scared him —how unfamiliar you felt. How familiar the ache still was.

He didn't know you anymore. Not really.

Not this version of you —with your tired smiles and careful glances, your sadness tucked away like folded paper cranes he wasn’t allowed to touch.

And you didn’t know him either. Not this version of him —the one who had learned how to move through life by letting go of things before they could hurt him.

There was too much space between who you were and who you had become. Between who he was and who he was afraid to admit he had turned into.

He felt it, humming under his skin —this restless, aching, nameless thing.

But he didn’t know what it meant yet. Didn’t know if it was nostalgia. Didn’t know if it was guilt. Didn’t know if it was the beginning of something he wasn't ready to name.

Maybe it was all of it.

Maybe it was nothing at all.

All he knew was this:

You weren’t the girl he left behind. And he wasn’t the boy you remembered.

When Hoseok finally got home, he barely remembered how he made it there.

The key turned in the lock, the door swung open, and he dragged his suitcase behind him —a battered thing, wheels squeaking against the hardwood; the weight of it unfamiliar in his hand, forgotten somewhere in the space between the airport and the hollow ache in his chest.

He dropped it by the door with a dull thud. Kicked off his shoes without caring where they landed.

Everything felt... heavy.

Too heavy for how small today had been.

The weeks he'd spent in Singapore floated behind him like smoke; good weeks, objectively. Meetings, projects, new faces, neon-lit nights where he could pretend he wasn’t stuck, wasn’t lost.

He had relaxed there, somehow —even while working. Found little moments of peace tucked between tight schedules and hotel rooms that smelled like nothing.

But now, standing here in the familiar quiet of his apartment, Hoseok realized something he didn’t want to name:

He hadn’t brought peace back with him. Only the weight.

It sat in his chest, heavy and stupid and aching, and he didn't have the energy to fight it.

He moved on autopilot —unzipping the suitcase, pulling out clothes he barely remembered packing. Folding them. Stacking them.

Small, mindless tasks to fill the silence.

He tried to blame it on the long flight. Tried to blame it on jet lag. Tried to blame it on anything but the truth:

His heart hurt.

And he didn’t know why.

It was a small hurt. A quiet one. The kind that didn’t bleed, didn’t scream —just sat there, stubborn and dull, right beneath his ribs.

He changed into loose pajamas, soft and worn with age. Turned on the TV just for the noise. Let some random music station fill the space around him.

He stood in the middle of the living room for a second —barefoot, empty-handed, empty-hearted.

The music thrummed low from the speakers, a beat curling through the air.

Without thinking, without planning it, Hoseok let his body move.

A step. A sway. A slow, easy turn on bare feet.

The world tilted. Blurred.

He danced.

Not big movements. Not the sharp, practiced choreography.

Just small, broken things —the kind of dancing that lived in the marrow of him, the kind that had nothing to prove and nowhere to be.

He moved because it was the only thing that ever made sense. Moved because when he did, the noise in his head, the endless pressure to do more, be more, fix more quieted for a little while.

He moved until the heaviness in his chest felt manageable. Until the ache blurred at the edges.

He moved until it didn’t matter that he didn't understand why seeing you had unsettled him so badly. Until it didn’t matter that you had looked like a stranger wearing a memory.

Until it didn’t matter that part of him —the small, stupid part he usually ignored, wanted to go back.

Back to something he wasn’t even sure he ever really had.

The music shifted to another song; something slower, heavier and Hoseok let it pull him under, let it drown out the aching silence inside him.

For now.

You were doing better. Finally.

After weeks of sending resumes into what felt like a black hole, after countless polite rejections and agonizing waits, the email arrived.

You got an interview.

Not just any interview — a big one. A company that made your heart skip just reading the name. A company you used to dream about while scribbling half-distracted notes during late college nights.

It felt like breathing again. Like remembering who you were.

Yoongi had been thrilled when you told him, maybe even more than you were, and had tossed his car keys at you without hesitation.

"Take it," he said gruffly. "I'm not arguing about it. Drive."

But you, stubborn and stupidly optimistic —decided you didn’t need it. Google Maps said it was only a forty-minute walk from his apartment. You woke up early, dressed carefully —smart slacks, a soft blouse, a simple blazer, low heels. Professional. Sharp. Capable.

You looked good. You felt good.

Until, of course, the universe decided to laugh in your face.

Halfway into your walk, the sky cracked open —a sharp, violent spring rain —and you, without an umbrella, without even a jacket, stood there blinking in the downpour like a complete idiot.

The water soaked you almost immediately —your blouse clinging to your skin, your hair flattening messily against your scalp.

You called Yoongi first, heart pounding.

Straight to voicemail.

You cursed, spun in a frantic circle —realizing you were already too far from the apartment to turn back, and way too late to go hunting for his car keys now.

You tried Yeji next —hands trembling a little from cold.

No answer.

Conference. You remembered too late. She had an important one this morning. No chance.

You stood there in the middle of the sidewalk, rain plastering your clothes to your body, heart hammering against your ribs.

Who else?

Jungkook was still abroad — wouldn’t be back for weeks. Your other friends had left the country.

There was no one else.

Except—

You hesitated.

You didn’t even know if Hoseok still had the same number. You hadn’t texted him. You hadn’t needed to.

But now, standing here soaked to the bone, mascara stinging your eyes, pride crumbling with every freezing drop sliding down your spine.

You swallowed hard and dialed.

The phone rang. Once. Twice.

Maybe he wouldn’t answer.

Maybe he shouldn’t.

Then —

"Hello?" His voice, low and rough with sleep, cut through the static and rain in your ears.

You almost cried in relief.

"Uh—Hoseok," you stammered, breathless. "I— I’m sorry, I didn’t know who else to call, but I— I need help."

A pause.

Then, sharper: "Where are you?"

You rattled off the cross streets, clenching your teeth to keep them from chattering.

"Stay there," he said immediately. "I'm coming."

The line went dead before you could even say thank you.

You stood there shivering, hugging yourself uselessly, watching the street blur under the rain.

Fifteen minutes later, a black car pulled up to the curb, headlights slicing through the downpour.

The passenger door flew open and there he was, Hoseok —looking wide awake now, hair still messy but face tight with worry.

You scrambled inside without thinking, slamming the door behind you, water dripping into the car with you.

He gawked at you for a second — taking in the drowned-cat state of you — and for a heartbeat, neither of you said anything.

Then he burst out laughing.

Real, sharp, helpless laughter —and you did too, choking out an embarrassed, half-sobbing noise as you wiped rain from your face.

"God, star," he said, shaking his head, still grinning. "You’re a disaster."

You laughed harder, feeling your face burn.

"I know," you gasped. "Please don’t remind me."

The tension that had built between you two since you first saw each other again — that heavy, sticky awkwardness — cracked wide open in that stupid moment.

For a second — just a second — it felt like it used to. Easy. Careless. Home.

But then — as you both settled into the car, as the laughter faded into a quieter, softer silence — you became painfully, sharply aware:

You weren’t kids anymore.

You were soaked, dripping onto his passenger seat, shivering and messy — but Hoseok was still looking at you, and you were still looking at him.

And both of you, for the first time in years— noticed.

The way his jaw tightened as he flicked his eyes over you, lingering just a second too long at the curve of your waist, the line of your throat exposed by the ruined blouse. The way your pulse jumped at how good he looked — clean lines, warm skin, strong hands wrapped around the steering wheel like he could anchor the whole damn world.

The air crackled, electric and fragile.

Hoseok cleared his throat, turning the heat on higher.

"Let’s get you home," he said, voice quieter, rougher.

You nodded, swallowing the ache rising in your throat.

The second the door shut behind you, you bolted into the living room.

Your shoes squelched miserably against the floor, your clothes clinging cold and heavy to your skin, your hair dripping rainwater onto Yoongi’s couch.

You had no time.

You were going to be late. You had to change, had to dry off, had to move.

Panic made your hands clumsy as you tugged at the buttons of your blouse — wet fabric sticking to your skin, refusing to cooperate.

You cursed under your breath, teeth chattering, shoving at the fabric, and then, without thinking, without hesitating:

You yanked the blouse off over your head. Right there. In the middle of the living room.

It wasn't graceful. It wasn't pretty.

It was desperate, frantic, just trying to get out of the wetness, trying to breathe again.

You stood there for a second, chest heaving, arms tangled awkwardly with the ruined blouse —bare skin gleaming under the thin straps of your soaked bra— heart hammering against your ribs.

And then —you realized.

You weren’t alone.

Hoseok froze by the door —completely, utterly still— his keys dangling forgotten from his hand.

His mouth parted slightly —his eyes darkening, burning a path across your bare skin faster than either of you could stop.

It wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t careful.

It was a gut-punch.

The heat between you snapped tight; so sudden, so heavy it made the air shudder.

You stared at him, your body still trembling, soaked to the bone, half-stripped, and Hoseok:

God, Hoseok looked like he wanted to look away. But couldn't

A beat. A breath.

The world tilted dangerously sideways.

And then —Reality crashed back in.

The clock on the wall ticked louder than it should have. The urgency slammed back into your brain.

Interview.

You yanked your blouse back down in a blind panic, face burning, hands fumbling to cover yourself again.

"I— I'm sorry," you gasped, nearly tripping over yourself as you backed toward the hallway. "I— I wasn't thinking— shit—"

Hoseok finally jerked back into motion, clearing his throat sharply, shoving his hands deep into his pockets like he didn’t trust himself not to reach for you.

"No," he said, voice rough and too fast. "It’s fine. It’s— You’re fine. We just—" He cut himself off, shaking his head like he could clear it.

"You need to go," he said, steadier now, like he was anchoring both of you by sheer force of will. "I’ll drive. Grab what you need."

You nodded; too fast, too hard— and bolted down the hall toward your room, your heart pounding in your ears, your skin still tingling where his gaze had touched you.

Behind you, Hoseok stood in the living room, fists clenched at his sides, staring at the place where you had stood. Where you had practically burned him alive without even trying.

The drive was quiet.

You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, newly changed, hair still damp at the ends, fingers fiddling nervously with the strap of your bag. Hoseok gripped the wheel like it was the only thing keeping him steady, jaw clenched, gaze fixed on the road ahead.

Neither of you spoke.

You swallowed, throat tight, focusing on your breathing.

Interview. Focus. Interview.

Not on the way his forearms flexed when he turned the wheel. Not on the way his profile looked devastatingly good in the soft light bleeding through the windshield.

You risked a glance at him from the corner of your eye — just a quick one — and found him already doing the same.

Your eyes met. A jolt, a spark.

You both looked away instantly, cheeks burning.

The tension buzzed harder, crackling in the quiet.

But then, just when you thought you couldn’t take another second of it:

Hoseok broke it.

He exhaled, low and slow, and a small, wry smile curved at the corner of his mouth.

"You’re gonna kill it, you know," he said, voice rough but warmer now— steady in a way that made your chest ache.

You blinked, thrown off.

He flicked his eyes toward you again, softer this time. No teasing. No smirking. Just real.

"You’re gonna go in there," he said, a little more sure now, "and they won’t even know what hit ‘em."

You laughed — surprised and shaky and real — feeling the nerves in your chest loosen, just a little.

Hoseok smiled wider at the sound; the real kind, the kind that made the tightness between your ribs ease.

"Get 'em, Star," he added, quieter, almost like a secret.

Something stupid and warm cracked open inside you.

You hadn’t realized how much you missed this. Being seen like that. Believed in like that.

Not because you asked for it. Not because you earned it.

Just because.

You swallowed hard, biting back the sudden sting behind your eyes.

"Thanks, Hobi," you said, voice small but sure.

He chuckled softly —that soft, low laugh you remembered from a lifetime ago.

"No need to thank me," he said. "You’ve always had it in you."

The light turned green.

The car rolled forward.

The interview went better than you could have dreamed.

You answered every question without stumbling, your voice steady even when your palms were sweating. The panel smiled — real, impressed smiles — and when they shook your hand at the end, you caught a glimpse of something in their eyes that looked suspiciously like approval.

You weren’t arrogant enough to say you had it in the bag. But for the first time in a long time, you believed in yourself enough to say:

You did good. Really good.

You walked out of the building feeling lighter than you had in months—the sun warm against your skin, the world spinning just a little slower, a little kinder.

And your first thought —stupidly, instinctively— was that you needed to tell someone.

Not just anyone.

Hoseok.

You pulled out your phone before you could overthink it —thumb hovering for a second over his name in your contacts. It felt weird. Familiar and unfamiliar all at once.

It had been so long since you last texted him like this —casual, natural, like no time had passed at all.

Your heart thudded unsteadily as you typed:

Hey, it finished. I think I did well...

You stared at it for a second, chewing your lip.

Too formal? Too awkward?

You added quickly:

Huh, wanna grab dinner later maybe? it's on me... I owe you. Big time.

You hit send before you could chicken out.

The second the message left, your stomach twisted —a familiar, stupid nervousness you hadn’t felt in years.

The little typing dots appeared almost immediately.

Your breath caught.

And for a second —standing there with your phone warm in your hand, the city bustling around you— it felt like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t standing so far apart anymore.

You shoved your phone deep into your bag after sending the text. Out of sight, out of mind.

You had enough adrenaline still buzzing through you from the interview to keep you moving —enough hope cautiously flickering in your chest to make the wait bearable.

At least for the first five minutes.

But then five minutes turned into six. Into eight.

You found yourself checking your phone more than you wanted to admit —biting the inside of your cheek, pretending you weren’t holding your breath.

Maybe he was busy. Maybe he forgot.

Maybe you were reading too much into everything.

Again.

But just as the doubts started coiling sharp and anxious under your skin—your screen lit up.

Hoseok.

Your heart jumped.

You unlocked your phone so fast you almost dropped it.

His text was simple. Easy.

Sounds good, Star. Tell me where. ;)

You stared at it for a second, at the little winking emoji he threw in without thinking.

He said yes.

Not out of obligation. Not out of guilt.

Because he wanted to.

You smiled —small, real— and quickly typed back:

7PM? I’ll pick somewhere close.

The dots popped up again almost immediately.

Sure, star.

Short. Simple. But it hit harder than it should have.

You locked your phone again, tucking it into your pocket like it was something precious.

Monday was supposed to be busy.

Originally, Hoseok had been scheduled for an early department meeting— one of those endless briefings that could have been an email, but everyone was required to sit through anyway.

But sometime late Sunday night, his boss had texted: Meeting postponed. Come in after lunch instead.

It wasn’t a big deal. It happened sometimes.

Still, it left him drifting —a whole extra morning dropped unexpectedly into his hands.

And that’s why, when you called —wet, breathless, panicked— he had been home. Available. Able to grab his keys and find you before the rain could wash you away completely.

At the time, it didn’t even feel like a choice. It was instinct.

You called. He came.

But now —sitting behind the wheel, heart hammering too hard, skin still hot under his clothes— he almost wished he hadn’t.

Because now he couldn’t get the image out of his head.

You —shivering, frantic, dragging soaked fabric off your skin without even thinking about it— standing there, bare and breathless in the soft light of Yoongi’s living room.

It wasn’t meant for him.

It wasn’t anything but practicality —a girl rushing against time, not a woman trying to drive him insane.

And yet.

His body reacted anyway.

He shifted uncomfortably in the seat, feeling the stiffness of his jeans biting into his thighs, the uncomfortable tightness coiling lower in his gut.

His whole body was lit up with it — the memory, the flash of skin, the sheer physicality of the moment.

He hated how sharp it made him feel. How helpless.

It wasn’t just the sight of you.

It was the feeling that hit after —the bone-deep awareness that you weren’t the same anymore. That you had become someone capable of wrecking him with a single, unintentional glance.

He gritted his teeth, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel until the leather creaked.

He was supposed to be your friend. A familiar face. Someone steady you could lean on.

Not this —this wreckage of a man, breathing too hard, blinking too much, feeling the echo of your body pressed behind his eyelids.

He slammed a lid down on it fast, dragging in a slow, punishing breath.

It didn’t matter.

It couldn’t matter.

You weren’t his. You... not like that You never had been.

Still, he couldn’t deny it now.

Something had shifted inside him. Tilted the floor under his feet.

And no matter how tightly he wrapped himself in professionalism, no matter how carefully he steeled himself for the rest of the day — it wasn’t going away.

Not now.

Maybe not ever.

You sat near the window in a quiet booth, arms resting loosely on the edge of the table. The restaurant was calm in that late-evening way —low voices murmuring over half-finished plates, soft jazz slipping through the speakers like it belonged there.

You wore a soft blue skirt, the hem brushing gently against your ankles, paired with a fitted white knit top —simple and clean, the kind of thing you reached for when you wanted to feel quietly steady. Your cardigan hung loosely around your shoulders, sleeves pulled over your palms out of habit.

It wasn’t a statement. It was comfort. It was... you.

You checked your phone again, where Hoseok’s last message blinked softly on the screen.

Running a little late. Sorry! Be there soon.

You weren’t mad.

You just felt… aware.

That he was coming. That you would see him again —not in passing, not in a rush— but really see him. Sit across from him, talk like there was time, like it wasn’t too late to still matter to one another.

Part of you had missed him in a way you hadn’t let yourself say out loud. Not just the sound of his laugh or the way he used to tease you when he noticed your bad habits. Not just the past.

You missed the version of yourself that came out when he was around. The one who felt understood without having to explain. The one who didn’t have to pretend to have everything figured out.

Lately, that version felt far away.

You didn’t say it often —not to anyone— but turning twenty-five wasn’t as clean and triumphant as you’d expected. It felt… strange. Like you should’ve arrived somewhere by now, but instead, you were stuck in some in-between. Too grown to be lost, but too unsure to feel settled.

You wondered if Hoseok felt the same. If maybe —just maybe— that was what tonight could be about.

Not catching up on jobs and cities and years. But sitting down in the mess with someone who didn’t need the polished version of you to care.

The thought made your chest tighten a little.

Outside the window, you caught the shape of someone crossing the street —tall, broad-shouldered, familiar in a way that made your breath catch.

He was here.

You tugged your sleeves once, grounding yourself.

Whatever tonight ended up being —you knew one thing already:

You were glad it was with him.

He jogged across the street, tugging his coat tighter around himself as the wind picked up, the city air biting a little sharper than it had earlier.

He was late.

Not by much; ten minutes, maybe twelve —but still. It nagged at him.

His meeting at the office had run over, and then someone had stopped him in the hallway with a question he couldn’t dodge. Just one thing after another. And now here he was, rushing across the street, shoes damp from a shallow puddle he didn’t see coming.

His phone buzzed in his pocket —probably a “no worries” text from you—but he didn’t stop to check it.

He was already there. Already searching the restaurant window for your face.

And then — he saw you.

Tucked into the corner booth, cardigan draped over your shoulders, hair pulled back loosely, skirt gathered in gentle folds around your seat. You weren’t on your phone. You were just… waiting. Still. Present.

And it did something to him —knocked the breath out of his lungs without ceremony.

You looked... like yourself. Like someone he didn’t realize he’d missed until now. Like something familiar in a life that had started to feel increasingly distant from itself.

Not flashy. Just you.

The version that had always made sense to him.

He stood there a second longer than he should have. Caught in the stillness of it.

Then he shook it off, exhaled quietly, and pushed the door open.

The bell above the restaurant door chimed softly.

You looked up.

Your eyes met his.

And something unspoken passed between you, not dramatic, not overwhelming. Just solid. Steady.

Like you still mattered to each other.

He walked to the table and slid into the seat across from you, his body finally beginning to catch up with his heartbeat.

"Hey," he said, breath catching just slightly at the end. "Sorry. Work ran a little late. One of those days."

Your smile —soft, familiar, a little crooked— met him halfway.

"It's okay," you said. "I figured."

And just like that — the day eased.

The menus stayed on the table, but neither of you had touched them in a while. The food had come, and you both picked at it between sentences, but really— this wasn’t about eating.

You sat across from each other, bodies relaxed in a way that didn’t match the last few weeks. There was something about the stillness of the restaurant, the soft murmur of conversations around you, the flicker of warm light reflecting off the glass between you— that made the moment feel suspended. Like the world had pressed pause for a second.

"So," Hoseok said, picking up his glass and letting the condensation roll between his fingers, “how’s being a responsible adult treating you?”

You let out a quiet laugh. "It’s not."

His smile bloomed, eyes crinkling in a way that made your chest loosen. But he didn’t say anything. He waited.

You took a breath. "It’s just been weird. I thought I’d graduate and everything would… fall into place, I guess. That I'd suddenly feel like I’d arrived. But instead, I feel like I’m just floating. Like I missed a step somewhere."

Hoseok nodded, eyes on the table, thumb slowly circling the rim of his glass.

"Yeah," he said. "I get that."

There was something in his voice that made you pause. Not heavy, just real.

"I have this job, right? And I’m supposed to be grateful. Stable income, decent hours, coworkers who are fine. But it feels like I’m acting half the time." He looked up at you. “Like I’m playing the role of someone who’s got it together. I go home and I’m just… empty.”

Your chest tightened. Because yes. Yes.

"Same," you said softly. "Like I’m trying so hard to do the things I’m supposed to want. And most days, I don’t even know if I want them for me, or just because I don’t want to fall behind."

Hoseok huffed a quiet laugh. “Exactly.”

The silence that settled between you wasn’t awkward. It was safe. Like you were both letting the weight of your unspoken exhaustion rest on the table for a second.

You tilted your head slightly. “Do you still dance?”

His smile returned, faint but real. “Yeah,” he said immediately. “Always.”

And there was something comforting in that. That some things hadn't changed.

“But,” he added, running a hand through his hair, “I haven’t had much time for it lately. Work’s been nonstop. Meetings, people, pressure. I still go to the studio sometimes—late, when no one’s around. But it’s not the same.”

You nodded slowly. “It’s hard when the thing that makes you feel like you becomes the first thing you cut to survive the rest.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, soft and a little surprised. “Yeah,” he said. “Exactly.”

No one said anything for a few seconds.

You each took a bite. The food was decent, but neither of you were really paying attention to it.

“I keep thinking I should feel more proud,” you said. “Of finishing school. Of coming back. Of even landing that interview. But it’s like… I’m always two steps behind the version of myself I thought I’d be by now.”

Hoseok leaned back in his seat slightly, eyes still on you. “I feel that every day,” he said.

That was it. No lectures. No sugarcoating.

Just the truth.

And maybe that’s what made you exhale— the simple, steady reminder that you weren’t imagining it. That being young and tired and unsure wasn’t a failure. It was just where you were. Where he was, too.

When the conversation drifted into easier territory— old memories, Yoongi’s increasingly dramatic text messages, that time Jungkook tried to make instant noodles and almost started a fire— you both laughed in that full-body way that made your ribs ache a little.

It was like muscle memory.

Like your bodies remembered how to laugh together, even if your lives had taken the long way back to this table.

By the time the plates were cleared and the night began to stretch long and soft around you, you felt… better.

Not fixed. Not resolved. But steadier.

More like yourself.

And as Hoseok pulled his coat back on and walked beside you toward the door, something in the quiet felt like home.

The city air was cooler now. The sidewalk glistened faintly from earlier drizzle, reflecting streetlights in soft yellow streaks.

Hoseok walked beside you, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, not speaking much—but you didn’t need him to.

It was the kind of silence that didn’t feel like space between you. More like something shared.

He stayed close, your arms brushing once, then again. And neither of you pulled away.

You kept your gaze ahead, watching the lights flicker behind the café windows you passed, the shops closing for the night, the quiet lull of Seoul settling into itself.

"I forgot how good it feels to just talk," you said, voice low.

He glanced at you, and his smile was soft. "Yeah," he murmured. "Me too."

Yoongi's building wasn’t far now—just around the corner— and you found yourself wishing it were ten blocks further.

There was something about the rhythm of walking next to him that made you feel… settled. Safe.

But there was something else too.

Every now and then, you caught the edge of his cologne in the breeze—subtle, familiar, a little too comforting. Every now and then, you felt the shift of his gaze—quick and quiet—like he was checking on you. Or maybe… just looking.

You felt it. The awareness.

Not loud. Not disruptive.

Just real.

You weren’t pretending not to notice the way his voice dropped when he got serious. Or the way he held his shoulders straighter now, like he’d lived a thousand lives since you last stood this close to him. Or the way your own heartbeat stuttered slightly when his arm brushed yours again—and again, still, neither of you moved.

The tension wasn’t something either of you created. It just… existed.

Like the city lights. Like the chill in the air. Like the way time changed people when you weren’t looking.

When you reached your building, you stopped, turning slightly to face him.

"Thanks for tonight," you said, meaning more than just the dinner. "Really."

His eyes softened, and for a moment, he just looked at you.

Like he was remembering something. Or maybe memorizing something new.

"Anytime, Star," he said. Quiet. Sure.

You smiled, but your chest pulled a little tight.

He didn’t lean in. Didn’t touch you. Didn’t cross any lines.

But the pause that stretched between goodbye and turning away… it said everything.

You opened the door, stepped inside.

And even as it closed behind you, you could feel it:

He was still standing there.

And neither of you were pretending not to feel it anymore.

He waited a few seconds after the door shut behind you. Longer than necessary.

Your building buzzed faintly in the quiet, humming against the night like it had something to say. He stood there, hands still in his coat pockets, blinking at the sidewalk like the answers might be spelled out in the cracks.

And then he let out a breath and turned, starting the walk back.

It wasn’t a long way—eighteen minutes at most—but his head wouldn’t shut up.

The dinner had gone well. Better than he expected. You laughed like you used to. You listened like you always did. And for a second in the middle of it all, he’d remembered what it felt like to be known.

And that was the problem.

He hadn’t expected to feel that again. Especially not with you. Not like this.

The easy familiarity of your voice. The way you looked at him when he talked about work, about dance, about nothing at all. The way your arm kept brushing his. The way neither of you moved.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. The moment at your door—the pause that lasted just a beat too long.

There’d been something in it. Or maybe not. He didn’t know.

He felt... off. Like something inside him had shifted without asking permission.

He fished out his phone, fingers tapping before he could talk himself out of it.

He fished out his phone, fingers tapping before he could talk himself out of it.

hoseok

you up?

Three dots. Then a reply.

yoongi

why what happened

Hoseok snorted softly, thumbs already moving.

hoseok

calm down everything’s fine just got back from dinner with her

yoongi

her??

hoseok

you know who your sister, ______ she texted me earlier after her interview

A longer pause this time. Yoongi was typing. Then not. Then typing again.

yoongi

…okay and?

hoseok

and nothing it was just it was really good actually like we didn’t skip time kinda threw me off

yoongi

you’re being weirdly sentimental

hoseok

i know it’s annoying i’m annoying myself

Another pause. Then Yoongi sent two texts back to back.

yoongi

what happened like actually

Hoseok stared at the screen for a moment, jaw tightening. He wasn’t even sure what to say.

hoseok

nothing happened just it felt really easy like… safer than it should’ve? but also kind of fucked me up a little

Yoongi didn’t respond right away. When he finally did, it was classic Yoongi.

yoongi

you’ve always been soft about her don’t act like this is new. everyone knew.

Hoseok’s stomach dropped a little. He wasn’t sure if it was guilt or recognition.

hoseok

it’s not like that it’s not. what you mean by everyone knew?

He paused. Stared at the blinking cursor.

Then deleted the last message.

hoseok

nvm just needed to get out of my own head

yoongi

yeah well good luck with that

He pocketed the phone, heart still thudding low and quiet in his chest.

He wasn’t looking for answers yet. But the questions were already starting to form.

He pocketed the phone again, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself.

But as he turned onto the quiet street leading to his place, his chest still felt too full. Like something had cracked open during dinner. Something that didn’t want to be ignored anymore.

And he didn’t know what to do with that.

Not yet.

It was strange how quickly everything began to make sense once the job came through.

You had barely caught your breath after the final interview when the offer hit your inbox, and suddenly—your degree felt real. Useful. Worth it.

You started working within two weeks. It wasn’t perfect, and you were definitely faking confidence half the time, but it was something solid. Something yours.

The rhythm of your days changed, but they didn’t overwhelm you.

You thought, briefly, about finding your own place—making some adult, definitive move—but Yoongi, ever practical and slightly gruff, shut it down fast.

“You just started working,” he said. “Stay. Contribute a little. Save your money. Don’t be stupid.”

So you stayed. Paid your part. Did your dishes. Kept the fridge full.

And somewhere in all that normalcy, life unfolded again.

Jungkook finally landed back in Seoul, full of chaotic energy and stories from abroad. You, he, and Yeji slipped into an old rhythm like no time had passed—laughing too loud in cafés, arguing over which tteokbokki stall was still the best, sharing fries like you were seventeen again.

You didn’t realize how much you missed them until you had them back.

Yeji couldn’t shut up about a guy she’d been seeing—Namjoon, apparently, and from the way she said his name with that smile, you knew it was real. She was glowing, and you were happy for her. Like really, truly happy. She deserved someone soft and grounded, someone who looked at her the way she deserved.

And then, Hoseok...

Hoseok… well, he was just there.

Not every day. But often enough that it started to feel like routine.

He’d come over on Fridays, sometimes with takeout, sometimes empty-handed, but always with that same tired grin and that quiet ease that slipped right into your living room like it belonged there.

And then he’d stay.

Sometimes until Saturday night. More often than not — until Sunday afternoon, hoodie sleeves rolled to his elbows, coffee in hand, half asleep at Yoongi’s kitchen counter.

He still had work, of course, but when he had time to breathe, he came here. To Yoongi’s apartment. To you.

Sometimes he called ahead. More often, he just showed up. Yoongi would open the door to find you and Hoseok already mid-laugh, curled on the couch watching some late-night broadcast that made absolutely no sense but kept you both entertained for hours.

You’d put on albums and rate every track. He’d light up over synth runs, lose his mind over chord progressions, defend trashy pop hooks like they were sacred texts. You'd argue about lyrics. About metaphors. About vibes.

And somewhere between the noise and the static — it all started to feel quietly domestic.

You hadn’t missed the looks Yoongi gave you. The way he watched Hoseok set his phone down face-up on the table without hesitation. The way he raised an eyebrow when your knees brushed under the blanket and neither of you moved.

You ignored it.

Because it was easier to lean into the comfort. Because nothing had happened. Not technically.

And because nights like last Saturday made it hard to believe you didn’t need him here.

It was after 1AM, the apartment silent except for the hum of the TV, both of you curled up on the couch like some long-running tradition you never meant to start.

You were arguing over childhood snacks.

"No, seriously," Hoseok was saying, his voice hoarse with sleep, "choco pies are good, but they’re not that good. They’re like... nostalgia sugar."

"They’re iconic," you shot back. "Your opinion is wrong."

"You’re wrong," he murmured, yawning. "But go off, queen."

You smacked his knee. He grinned.

Then it went quiet for a minute. Not awkward—just still.

You shifted slightly, head tilted against the back cushion, voice softer now. "Do you ever think you’ve already peaked?"

His response came slower this time. "Sometimes," he said. "Yeah. Like I’m chasing this version of myself I already was. And maybe that version was enough, and now I’m just... tired of trying to match it."

You blinked, surprised.

Then— "I feel that too."

He turned his head slightly toward you. "You don’t talk like you feel that."

You shrugged. "Neither do you."

Another silence. But now the air felt heavier, more real.

"I think I’m scared I missed it," you said quietly. "The moment when I could’ve been everything I wanted to be."

He didn’t say anything for a while. Then: "You didn’t."

Your heart tugged. "How would you know?"

"Because I’ve known you a long time," he said. And then, even softer— "And I don’t think your best has shown up yet. But when it does? It’ll be terrifying in the best way."

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

The silence that followed wasn’t something you wanted to break.

You weren’t sure how it happened exactly. It was like six months after you landed that job. One moment, you were texting Hoseok about the weather like idiots—“is it hot or is it just me roasting from capitalism??”—and the next, he was waiting outside your office building, iced coffee in hand and sunglasses perched cockily on his nose.

“Emergency grocery run?” he said like it was a mission. You blinked at him, tired and amused. “What, like you’re my chauffeur now?”

“I’m multi-talented,” he said, offering the coffee like a bribe.

You took it.

Now you were two aisles deep in the supermarket, arguing over rice brands like you were 45 years old and living together.

“You don’t even eat this kind of rice,” you pointed out.

“I might,” he said. “Maybe I’m evolving.”

“You’ve eaten ramyeon for dinner three nights this week.”

“That’s slander,” he said. “It was two nights. And lunch.”

You snorted, tossing a bag of rice into your basket and moving on. He followed, pushing the cart like he owned the place, offering loud, incorrect opinions about produce just to hear you groan.

By the time you made it to checkout, the two of you had made a pact to try cooking something this weekend (“from scratch—none of that packet seasoning crap”) and Hoseok had somehow added a completely unnecessary six-pack of soda to your cart.

“You’re going to explode your stomach,” you muttered, swiping your card.

“I like living dangerously,” he grinned.

Outside, the sun was starting to set. You both walked slow, groceries swinging between you, and for a second… it just felt easy. Familiar. Like the best parts of the past had quietly grown up with you.

He glanced sideways at you, eyes squinting against the light. “You seem good,” he said.

You looked over. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “Like… lighter. I don’t know. You’re still annoying, but less tightly wound.”

You elbowed him. “Touching. Truly.”

But you were smiling.

Because it meant something—coming from him. Because he’d seen you when you weren’t. Because this was someone who knew you, and still came back.

“Hey,” he said suddenly. You looked up.

“I’m glad we’re doing this again,” he said. “Not just hanging out. But… like. This. Us.”

You blinked. Then nodded, voice a little soft. “Yeah. Me too.”

He nudged your shoulder with his.

Just once. Just enough.

And for the rest of the walk home, you didn’t say anything else. You didn’t need to.

You were friends again. You have been friends for all these months too.

And this time, it wasn’t just something from before. It was real now. It was yours.

You’d been thinking about it for a while—quietly, in your own head, like a grown-up secret.

Moving out.

Not because Yoongi was a bad roommate (he was mostly never home) or because you weren’t grateful (you were, deeply). But because you were starting to crave space that was only yours. A door that opened to silence, to mismatched dishes you picked out, to walls you could hang anything on without asking.

So when you brought it up, it was casual. Very chill. Totally adult.

“I’ve been thinking about moving,” you said, setting your tea down on the counter like it was no big deal.

Yoongi looked up from his phone, blinked once. “You have, huh.”

“I mean not right now, but maybe soon. Maybe in like... two or three months. Just a small place. Studio. Close to work.”

He nodded slowly. “You got enough saved?”

“Almost,” you said. “It’s close. I’ve been planning.”

Across the room, Hoseok, who was half-listening while peeling an orange like it owed him money, chimed in: “Woah. Big moves. Look at you, Miss Independent.”

You shot him a look. He grinned with juice on his fingers.

“Anyway,” you said, brushing past it, “I’ll show you the places I’ve bookmarked later.”

And that should’ve been the end of it.

But then— ten minutes later, you went to take a quick shower.

And promptly destroyed the entire fixture.

You weren’t even doing anything weird. Just adjusting the pressure knob. Except apparently the pressure knob had decided to betray you, because it snapped off in your hand with a loud CLANG, followed by a dramatic burst of water that hit you square in the face.

“WHAT THE—”

“Everything okay in there?” Yoongi called from the kitchen.

“No!” you yelled back, soaked and blinking. “I’m in a goddamn k-drama flood scene!”

By the time you got the water turned off (with the help of a mop handle and divine intervention), the floor was half flooded, your hair was plastered to your face, and you were wrapped in a towel like a cursed hotel ghost.

You opened the bathroom door slowly— and found both Yoongi and Hoseok standing there like two judgmental uncles on laundry duty.

Hoseok’s eyes widened at the sight of your damp chaos.

“...Did the bathroom lose a fight?”

You pointed at the broken knob in your hand. “This. This traitor. I’m suing.”

Yoongi sighed deeply. “How bad is it?”

“Shower’s done for. Possibly haunted now. Also, maybe mold.”

Hoseok tried—tried—not to laugh. He failed.

“That’s it,” you muttered. “I’m never growing up again.”

Yoongi ran a hand over his face. “You better not move until you pay for this plumbing mess.”

You blinked.

Then groaned.

Because he was right. You had savings... but not enough to fix this and move.

You sighed, towel still dripping. “So what I’m hearing is: I live here forever.”

“Yep,” Yoongi said, already walking away. “You’re basically married to the pipes now.”

You turned to Hoseok, who was still trying not to choke on his orange.

“Stop laughing.”

“I’m not!” he wheezed. “I’m just emotionally overwhelmed by your journey.”

You flipped him off with the hand holding the broken knob. He took a photo.

Later, when the floor was dry and your pride was wrung out and folded in the laundry bin, you sat on the couch with them like nothing had happened.

You were still here. And somehow, it didn’t feel like a setback.

You were still mourning your shower when the second wave of karma hit.

It came in the form of a very damp, very grumpy Hoseok standing in the doorway holding a tote bag and looking like a man whose life had just been personally ruined by God.

“I swear I didn’t do anything,” he said.

You blinked. “Okay...?”

“There was a pipe burst,” he explained, dragging the words out like they physically hurt. “Second floor. Whole damn line’s shut off. I can’t use my shower.”

You stared at him. Then slowly—so slowly—started to grin.

“Oh,” you said, hand on your chest. “Oh no. That’s terrible.”

“I came here for comfort,” he said.

“You came here to suffer,” you corrected. “This is called consequences, Hoseok.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t act like I caused your plumbing tragedy.”

“You absolutely did. With your rice opinions and your six-pack of orange soda. The universe heard your disrespect.”

He looked skyward. “This is bullying.”

“Shower’s in Yoongi’s room,” you said sweetly. “Right through the door. Same place I’m using. Hope you like booking timeslots.”

You walked off with that smug little bounce in your step.

But of course—of course—fate wasn’t done.

It wasn’t until later that evening, when you wrapped your towel around yourself post-shower and stepped into the hallway—fresh out, hair dripping, skin warm and soft and maybe glowing a little from your expensive body wash—that you realized the door hadn’t clicked shut properly behind you.

And who else would be standing there? In Yoongi’s hallway? With his stupid hoodie pulled halfway off and a towel slung over his shoulder?

Hoseok blinked.

You blinked.

“…Your timing,” you said slowly, “is truly supernatural.”

He tried to look away. He really did. But his eyes snagged on your collarbone before they darted back up. “I swear I thought you were done.”

“I was done, but apparently so was the lock on that bathroom door.”

“Do we need to install a traffic light system for this shower?”

You held up your hand like a crossing guard. “Red. Immediate red.”

He grinned. You glared.

And then —because the universe lives for drama —the bathroom door creaked open further behind you, letting out a curl of steam that wrapped around you both like a goddamn romance movie.

Neither of you moved.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” you muttered.

“You look fine,” he said before he could stop himself.

You turned slowly. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said too quickly. “Just—uh, you’re glowing. From the steam. Like a… sauna angel. I’m gonna go die now.”

You snorted so hard you nearly dropped your towel. “You’re a mess.”

“You broke your entire shower,” he shot back. “Don’t talk to me about mess.”

And yet, there was something in the air now. Something warm and sharp and too much.

You were both standing too close. Both freshly showered. Both way too aware of how bare the moment felt.

But then Yoongi’s voice rang from the kitchen—

“If either of you steam up the hallway again I’m moving out.”

You jumped. Hoseok laughed. The spell broke.

He ducked into the bathroom with a low whistle, brushing past you with the faintest graze of shoulder.

“Enjoy the angel glow,” he called behind him.

You rolled your eyes.

The hallway incident hadn’t been mentioned again.

Not by you. Not by Hoseok. Not even when you accidentally brushed knees later that evening while reaching for the remote.

It was buried under layers of forced normalcy and casually exaggerated sighs like, “Ugh, what a long day,” when what you really meant was: I can still feel his breath on my collarbone.

So when Yoongi got home from his night shift, dumped his bag on the floor, and walked straight to the fridge for leftover kimbap, you thought maybe—just maybe—you were safe.

You were on the couch, pretending to be absorbed in some pointless variety show. Hoseok was next to you, pretending to scroll through his phone and not glance at you every other minute.

Everything was normal.

Except Yoongi stood there in the kitchen for way too long. Silent. Staring.

You felt it before he spoke. That ominous, all-knowing pause.

Then, with a bite of kimbap half hanging out of his mouth, he finally said—

"If either of you are gonna start hooking up, just say so. I’ll clear out for a night."

You choked on absolutely nothing.

Hoseok fumbled his phone and nearly dropped it in his lap.

“What the hell?” you sputtered.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow without even looking at you. “What? Just planning ahead.”

“There’s nothing to plan!” you snapped, voice climbing two octaves.

Hoseok cleared his throat, suddenly Very Interested in a dent on the coffee table.

Yoongi sighed like he was the only sane person in a house full of bad actors. “You guys walk around here like you’re starring in a slow-burn webdrama with a ten-episode contract. It’s exhausting.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“Nothing’s happening,” you managed.

Yoongi shrugged. “Didn’t say it was. Just said if it does, give me warning so I don’t walk in on some steamy-ass KBS hallway scene again.”

You made an unholy noise of embarrassment.

Hoseok was now doing that thing where he looked like he wanted to vanish into a pixel.

Yoongi, unfazed, walked into his room and closed the door behind him like a judge declaring the court adjourned.

And you?

You stared straight ahead.

Hoseok exhaled beside you.

"...I hate him," you whispered.

“Me too,” Hoseok muttered.

But neither of you moved. And neither of you laughed.

Because the silence left behind was warm. Buzzing. And way too loud.

The apartment was still, quiet in that slow post-morning haze. Hoseok leaned against the counter, coffee warm in his hands, but his thoughts louder than the silence around him.

Yoongi moved methodically, buttering toast with the same tired precision he applied to most things before 9 a.m.

Hoseok cleared his throat. “About what you said last night…”

Yoongi didn’t look up. “You’ll need to be more specific.”

“The part where you said if we were gonna hook up, to warn you first?”

Yoongi blinked once. “Yeah. What about it?”

“You were serious.”

“Mostly,” Yoongi said. “But not wrong.”

Hoseok gave him a sharp look. “It’s not like that.”

Yoongi shrugged. “Then what’s it like?”

“She’s…” Hoseok hesitated. “She’s just important to me.”

“She always has been.”

Hoseok looked down into his coffee. “I knew, back then. That she liked me. I didn’t feel the same, not at the time. But I didn’t exactly step back either. I was always around.”

Yoongi finally looked at him, something steadier behind his eyes now.

“She’s got the biggest heart I know,” he said softly. “Always has.”

Hoseok stilled.

“She was all feelings, even when she was little,” Yoongi went on. “She cared about everything. Everyone. Couldn’t shut it off. She was stubborn, and dramatic, and she cried over things I didn’t understand… but she never hid how much she felt. Never held back from loving people, even when they didn’t deserve it.”

There was a pause, like Yoongi was letting that truth sit between them.

“I’m not like that,” he added, voice quieter. “I’ve always kept things to myself. But she—she walks into rooms with her whole heart showing.”

Hoseok blinked hard. “She still does.”

“I know,” Yoongi said. “And that’s why I’ve always had a soft spot for her. Not just because she’s my sister. But because she’s her. She’s rare.”

Hoseok nodded, throat tightening.

Yoongi studied him. “You didn’t mean to hurt her. I know that. You were just a kid trying to be careful.”

“But I still stayed,” Hoseok said. “I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea, but I didn’t want to leave either.”

“Because part of you already knew,” Yoongi said. “Even if it wasn’t romantic. Even if it wasn’t love. She mattered. She always did.”

Hoseok’s grip tightened on the mug. “And now I think… I think I feel it. All of it. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

Yoongi sighed and set his toast down.

“She’s not fifteen anymore,” he said. “She’s not sitting around hoping you’ll notice her. She’s figuring herself out, and she’s doing it without needing you.”

Hoseok looked up. That hit.

“But if you’re going to show up now,” Yoongi said, voice firm but not unkind, “then really show up. She deserves someone who won’t run when it’s inconvenient. Someone who sees her for who she is now—not just who she used to be.”

Hoseok swallowed. “You think it’s too late?”

Yoongi shook his head. “I think if you’re honest, she’ll hear you. But don’t half-ass this. Not with her. She’s been through too much for that.”

Then, softer:

“And I want her happy. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.”

Hoseok let out a slow breath. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi echoed. Then smirked faintly. “Now finish your coffee. You’re being weird, asshole.”

It started with dish soap.

Just a normal night — leftovers packed, Jungkook long gone, Yoongi face-down on the couch with one sock off and a blanket halfway over his head.

You were rinsing plates at the sink, humming softly, sleeves pushed up, when you heard Hoseok behind you.

Close.

Too close.

"You're really domestic these days," he said, leaning against the counter like he belonged there.

You didn’t look at him. "One of us has to be."

"Mm," he mused. "Something about you washing dishes is kinda dangerous, though."

You glanced back. "Dangerous?"

"Yeah." His voice dropped, just a little. "Distracting."

Your heart stuttered.

You turned fully, plate in hand, water still running. "Distracting?"

Hoseok leaned in, arms crossed, one brow raised. "Is there an echo in here?"

You rolled your eyes, but it didn’t land — not when he was looking at you like that. Like he was seeing you. Like he was enjoying what he saw.

You tried for steady. "You’re being weird."

"Am I?" he asked, tilting his head. "Or are you just not used to me paying attention?"

You froze.

Because the way he said it — calm, warm, like it was nothing — was exactly why it felt like everything.

"I'm used to you being annoying," you said, voice thinner than you meant.

His mouth quirked. "Then why do you always smile when I am?"

You didn’t answer.

Mostly because he was suddenly closer. Standing beside you now, hand brushing yours as he reached for the towel. His fingers lingered, just slightly. Just long enough to feel like an accident.

You inhaled. He noticed.

You could feel it — the pull.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you asked quietly.

"Like what?"

"Like you’re thinking something you shouldn’t say."

His smile curved, slow and dangerous. "I'm not saying it."

You raised an eyebrow. "But you’re thinking it?"

"Oh," he said, voice low. "Absolutely."

The air between you buzzed, tight and hot.

And then he stepped back, like he hadn’t just cracked the floor beneath you.

"Goodnight, star," he said, all sweet and smug, tossing the towel over his shoulder like a casual sin.

You stood there, heart pounding, hands wet, thoughts on fire.

Oh.

You’d had a terrible day.

Too many reports, too many meetings, too many goddamn requests from marketing — which, by the way, was supposed to be a creative field, not a place where people flung last-minute deck edits at you like dodgeballs.

You were frayed. Done. Running on coffee and fumes and a migraine blooming just behind your eyes.

And it was a Friday, which felt cruel. Like the universe had saved its worst for the final lap.

You didn’t want to go home. Didn’t want the quiet of Yoongi’s apartment, the mess of takeout containers you didn’t have the energy to clean, or the creeping dread of another night spent overthinking everything.

You thought about calling Yeji — but she’d texted earlier. Something about a family emergency, rushing back to Gwangju. You didn’t want to pile on.

Jungkook? No chance. The guy was finally on a date and, for once, not texting the group chat in real-time commentary. You’d let him have it.

Yoongi was probably elbow-deep in some trauma case at the hospital.

So that left… Hoseok. And that was the problem.

Because the second his name popped into your head, it stuck. Loud and neon. Comforting in a way that made your chest ache.

You didn’t think twice — you just went.

The doorman at his building recognized you and let you in with a smile. “Back again, huh?” he said. You managed a tight-lipped grin and kept walking, suddenly very aware of the fact that you didn’t have a key.

You stood in front of his door, heartbeat loud for reasons that had nothing to do with exhaustion.

You called him. Once.

No answer. You waited. Called again.

This time, the door opened mid-ring — Hoseok standing there in sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt, barefoot, hair pushed back like he’d just run a hand through it.

Your breath caught.

He looked… soft. Warm. Familiar. And stupidly attractive.

“Hey,” he said, voice scratchy from what was probably a nap. “You good?”

You tried to play it off. “Yeah. I just… had a day.”

He stepped aside instantly, letting you in without asking.

“I was sleeping,” he added, closing the door behind you, “but it’s fine. You want tea? Something stronger?”

You dropped your bag on the floor with a tired grunt. “Both?”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Coming up.”

You stood there for a second, awkward, unsure of what to say — unsure of why your throat suddenly felt tight.

He disappeared into the kitchen. You followed a moment later, watching him pull mugs from the shelf like it was the easiest thing in the world, like this was your Friday ritual.

“Long day?” he asked gently, back still to you.

You exhaled. “I wanted to cry in the bathroom at least three times.”

He poured something warm into your cup and passed it to you, fingers brushing. You held it like it could save you.

And then — his voice, lower now.

“I was gonna call you later.”

You glanced up, surprised. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. “Don’t know why. Just felt like I should.”

You took a sip of tea, tried to ignore how warm you suddenly felt — and it had nothing to do with the mug.

“I almost didn’t come,” you admitted.

“But you did.”

Your eyes met.

You shrugged. “Yeah.”

Something passed between you — the air sharpening, thickening, like the seconds had started stretching longer than they should.

And then he stepped a little closer. Just one step. Barefoot on tile.

“You can stay as long as you want,” he said quietly. “You know that, right?”

You nodded, slowly.

But you didn’t look away.

Neither did he.

And for one burning second, it felt like the only thing between you was breath.

You hadn’t planned on staying.

But you also hadn’t planned on the way the tea settled into your chest like a sigh. Or the way Hoseok handed you a hoodie from his closet — worn, soft, black with cracked lettering — and said, “This one’s good. It smells like me.” Then blinked and added, “In a clean way, I mean.”

You laughed, the first real one of the day. He smiled like that had been the goal.

You changed in the bathroom, peeled off your jeans with a groan, pulled the hoodie over your head, and let yourself fold into the fabric like it might keep the rest of the world out.

When you stepped out, he was already making up the couch.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said, hugging your arms to your chest.

He looked over at you — ruffled hair, sleep-heavy eyes, t-shirt clinging to the curve of his shoulders — and smiled soft.

“I’m not letting you sleep on a couch after a day like that.”

“You’re gonna have back pain.”

“I already do,” he said with a wink. “Part of aging gracefully.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart squeezed.

He pointed toward the bedroom with a little nod. “Go. It’s clean. Sheets and everything. I even fluffed the pillow like a gentleman.”

You stared at him. “This feels illegal.”

“What does?”

“This. You. Being nice to me.”

He gave you a crooked grin. “Shh. Don’t ruin it.”

You padded into his bedroom without another word — heart racing a little faster than it should — and curled up in sheets that smelled faintly like him and something citrusy.

And when you closed your eyes, the tension didn’t go away. It just softened — low and steady in your chest.

You drifted off wondering what it would feel like if he hadn’t stayed on the couch.

You woke to sunlight creeping through unfamiliar blinds.

For a second, you forgot where you were. Then the hoodie. The sheets. The faint sound of music playing softly from somewhere down the hall.

You sat up slowly, blinking, hair a mess.

Outside the room, you found Hoseok standing at the stove in grey sweatpants and a loose tank top, flipping pancakes like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He glanced over his shoulder when he heard you.

“Morning, star.”

God.

You made some kind of sound — halfway between a groan and a sigh — and dragged yourself to the counter.

“You cook now?”

“I do all sorts of impressive things,” he said. “Like letting sleep-deprived marketing girls take over my bed.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re too chipper for someone who slept on a couch.”

He shrugged. “I’ve had worse. College floors. Airport benches. Yoongi’s recliner.”

You blinked. “You slept in Yoongi’s recliner?”

“Regretfully, yes.”

You laughed. He beamed.

And then he placed a plate in front of you. Golden pancakes. Sliced fruit. A drizzle of honey.

You looked at it. Then at him.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, not teasing this time.

You hesitated.

Then nodded. “Better now.”

He held your gaze for a second longer than necessary.

And then — like nothing — he turned back to the stove.

“Good,” he said.

But your chest was buzzing.

The pancakes were gone. Your plate was pushed aside. The music had shifted into something softer, lazily looping through Hoseok’s Bluetooth speaker like it didn’t know what time it was.

You were still in his hoodie — sleeves pushed up, hem hitting just below mid-thigh — and the morning sun had started to press in through the windows, golden and warm.

You stretched your legs out from under the table, bare feet against the cool tile.

“Hey,” you said, blinking sleepily. “Do you have… like, shorts or something I can borrow?”

Hoseok, halfway through cleaning a pan, stilled.

You didn’t notice at first. You were stretching your arms now, spine cracking, the hoodie riding up just a little higher on your thighs.

He cleared his throat. “Shorts?”

“Yeah. It’s warm,” you said simply. “I’m kinda sweating in this thing.”

He turned —slowly— and took one look at you standing there in his hoodie, sunlight on your legs, your hair still messy from sleep, mouth soft from syrup, and felt his entire nervous system short out.

“Oh,” he said, voice a little tight. “Yeah. Uh. Gimme a sec.”

He disappeared down the hall.

You wandered over to the sink, rinsed your plate, humming softly, totally unaware that Hoseok was in his room gripping a dresser drawer like it personally offended him.

Because yes, he had shorts. And yes, he could technically hand them to you. But no, he was not prepared to watch you put them on. Not when you were already walking around like some slow-motion fever dream in his oldest hoodie — the one that clung in places it shouldn’t.

He returned a minute later, tossing a folded pair onto the couch.

You looked up, bright-eyed. “Lifesaver.”

And then — because you are the villain in this situation apparently — you peeled the hoodie off right there in the open space, still facing away from him.

He turned around so fast he almost pulled something.

You laughed. “Oh my god, are you serious?”

“I’m being respectful!” he shouted from the kitchen.

“You’ve seen me in a swimsuit!”

“Swimsuit is planned!” he yelled back. “This is—this is AMBUSH!”

You snorted, tugging the shorts on and adjusting the waistband.

He peeked over his shoulder cautiously, like he was checking for incoming artillery. And then he saw you — his hoodie bunched in your hands, tank top clinging to your waist, his shorts hanging a little too loose on your hips — and all of the air left his lungs.

You looked up. “Better?”

He swallowed. “Debatable.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, too quickly, spinning back toward the sink.

But his neck was red. His ears were worse.

The silence after was thick—not awkward, not heavy. Just…

Charged.

You sank into the couch, legs folding under you, acting casual.

He stayed by the counter like it was a shield.

"You're doing this on purpose, aren’t you?"

His voice came from behind you, flat but tight, the kind of quiet that gave away just how not-casual he actually felt.

You turned your head from the couch cushion, blinked slowly.

"Huh?"

He was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, jaw tight.

“You’re doing it on purpose.”

You tilted your head. “Doing what?”

He stared at you like you were evil incarnate.

“You’re in my hoodie,” he said, voice strained, “and now my shorts — and you’re just walking around like it’s nothing.”

You blinked. Looked down at yourself. “Oh… I mean, I was hot.”

“You were hot,” he repeated.

You smiled, soft and harmless. “Mmhm.”

He exhaled sharply, like he needed to physically push the tension out of his chest. “And the tank top? Just a bonus, huh?”

You frowned, like you genuinely didn’t know what he meant. “It’s the one I was wearing when I came. You saw me in it last night?”

“You didn’t think maybe putting both on together would… drive me insane?”

You let your expression drop into something small, almost guilty.

“Wait… do you think I’m trying to tease you?”

He blinked. “Aren’t you?”

You shrugged, all wide eyes and deadly softness. “I was just trying to be comfortable, Hoseok.”

And God help him, he almost believed you.

Except he didn’t.

[anyamaris]

Acquiescent

Pairing: Yeonjun x F!Reader

genre(s)/au(s): Non-idol au/Smut

word count: 2879

Trigger/Smut (if applicable) warnings: 

Rating: R

Synopsis/Summary: A night out with friends peaks your younger friend's interest in what it might be like to be a with an older woman.

Warnings: Unprotected sex, vulgar language, sexual language, reader is older than Yeonjun, mentions of drinking, mature 18+ minors DNI. Reader calls Jun baby boy, good boy, use of pet names.

A/N: This was supposed to be for Kinktober for @whatudowhennooneseesyou but I failed her completely and I'm so sorry. It's unedited and I am le struggle lately for writing but I wanted to get it out!

It would be nothing without @sanjoongie though and I want to say Happy Birthday again, even though you knew I was already writing this. You truly made me actually finish this. This fic was always with you in mind 🤍💜🤍

@frenchkisstheabyss and @yoonguurt thank you both so very much for beta reading this, I appreciate you both so very much!!

Tags- @cultofdionysusnet @ksmutsociety @lapydiaries@wooyoungmybelovedhusband @yoonguurt @shinestarhwaa @stardragongalaxy @kpop-stories-21 @millennial-fangirl @ericssmile @wooahaeproductions @changbinslovelylegs @yeosxxx @starillusion13 @duchesskaren @minki-moo @woosanbby @curse-of-art

@cafekitsune Thank you for banners and dividers! 🤍💜🤍

The sounds of laughter and glasses clinking fill the small restaurant as the drinks are refilled around your small gathering.

You hold your glass steady as your friend pours for you, tittering in delight at the topic being discussed.  

“Oh come on, you can’t be serious.” Ty says as she sets down the bottle of soju, returning to her mimosa.  

“He probably is. Some men don’t even know about that kind of thing.” Nari adds wryly, sipping her gin and tonic as she leans back to study the man in question.

You can’t help but grin as she glances at Hyunjin, shaking your head at the knowing look they share.

“With all the women flocking to you, I can’t imagine you’ve never-” you start, raising an eyebrow as you speak.

“Look-just because I’ve been approached alot doesn’t mean…” he interrupts, a red starting to stain his cheeks.  

“Why are we even talking about this?” Changbin chimes in, his signature pout making an appearance as his own cheeks darken.

Suppressing a giggle, you can only shake your head at them.  

“Honestly, always being in control is tiring.” Seungmin finally pipes up, shrugging as he sips his beer.  

Nodding at him as you raise your glass, he clinks his against yours without a hint of shame.  

Ty bumps your shoulder as she raises her chin to Yeonjun, eyeing him with amusement.  

“It’s all those younger girls, Jun.  You need an older woman to show you what you’re missing. ” She states, leaning back and smirking, kicking you under the table.

Nari just snickers along with everyone else as half of the table just erupts into loud noises as everyone tries to change the topic even as Wooyoung and Beomgyu come close to shattering a nearby window with their laughter.

Sighing at her blatant comment, you just decide to join the fun as the conversation continues around you.

Leaning over almost conspiratorially, you give Yeonjun a once over as you whisper-

“Noone’s ever had you beneath them as they stroked your pretty hair and called you their good little boy? Shame.” 

You can’t help the rush of pleasure at his reaction: those big brown eyes widening, the parted lips, the flush of heat to his cheeks, those adorable front teeth sinking into the plump flesh of his lower lip as he tries to adjust himself across from you.  

Ty and Nari knew all too well your little attraction to Yeonjun.

Shit, all the men surrounding you both were attractive, but there was something about the man currently avoiding eye contact across from you right now that had you smacking yourself out of your delusions more often than not.

He was younger than you, and he was always surrounded by beautiful women.  

Why not?

Between him and Wooyoung, there was a certain amount of charisma that just made people want to be around them.

But they were your friends, fantasies be damned.

Still, getting that adorable reaction to your words…you couldn’t help but feel a slight giddiness from it.

Or maybe it was just the drink.

It takes two sets of knocks to draw your attention from the draft you’re editing on your computer, the second set louder and more demanding.

“Mmm-yeah yeah, coming!”  you say aloud, taking a moment to change a sentence before you finally disengage from your work.  

Checking the time on your phone as you approach the door, you’re momentarily stunned to see it’s past 11pm.

Without a second thought, you yank open the door to a sight that is entirely unexpected.

It takes your brain a moment to process the tall man standing in your hallway, his eyes wide as he freezes at the sight of you.

���Yeonjun?” you say, glancing at your phone once more as if it has all the answers.

Yep, 11:32pm.  

“Hi.” He says simply, looking suddenly nervous and lost.

“Hi…? Is something wrong? It’s late…and I don’t think you’ve ever come over alone?” You inquire, tilting your head at the seemingly anxious man fidgeting before you.

“No! …yes? Maybe-I….I have to know-” he stutters out, and you can’t help but giggle at his sudden agitation and his inability to look at you.

“Well come inside, jeez. I don’t mean to laugh but-” you shrug, grasping his hand and tugging him inside.

“Can I get you a drink?” You ask him as his gaze darts around your place.

He merely shakes his head, his eyes finally resting on you as you look at him curiously.

He suddenly smiles, shaking his head as he runs his hand over his face.  

“I must be insane…” He murmurs, confusing you even more.

“Junnie?” you ask, taking a step towards him in concern.  

Maybe something really was wrong, and he’d come to you for advice about something.  

You likely shouldn’t laugh at him, so you find yourself reaching out to brush back the little strands of hair falling over his forehead as you test his temperature.

Unexpectedly, his entire body jerks at this gesture.

“Fuck-I just-” he catches your wrist, backing you into the nearest wall, his throat working as his eyes drift down your body.

Realization kicks in all at once, making you dizzy.

Here you were at 11pm, wearing only a tshirt and panties, with a sexy man all but pinning you to your wall.

Not a baggy t-shirt either, heat creeping up your neck as he studies you.  

Normally you could care less what others think of your curves, how your comfy clothes hug your contours, the way your nipples poke through the filmy material of the top with nothing between to shield them from sight.

Curves weren’t friends to gravity and the only thing keeping you from spilling out was the flimsy fabric holding your tits up.

Shaking off the mild self consciousness, you patiently let him take the sight of you in as you study him in return.

The tiny little noise leaving his throat as he rakes his gaze over you has your lips curling, a warmth pooling in your lower stomach as you finally come to terms with his reaction.

“Do you normally show up to women’s apartments and ogle them this late at night?” you chastise him, clucking your tongue and raising your eyebrow at the hand holding your wrist.

His eyes snap to yours, his cheeks flushing in shame as he drops your wrist like he’s been burned.  

“No-I just...I’m sorry, my head is a mess after-” he halts, turning his gaze from you as he attempts to take a step back.

Amusement swirls with desire as you watch him fumble with his words, embarrassment clearly washing over him.  

Before he can put any more distance between you, you step forward, reaching out to slip your palm against his cheek to turn his face back to yours.  

Wide, dark eyes meet yours as your thumb caresses his cheekbone, not wanting to give him the chance to back down now.

“After what, Yeonjun?” You all but purr at him, drawing out his name purposefully.  

Your nipples brush his chest as you close the remaining distance between you both, reveling in how his lashes flutter at your simple touch.  

A strangled noise escapes his throat as you press more firmly against him, his obvious arousal telling you everything you need to know.

Yet…you want to hear him say it.

“Use your words, Junnie…be a good boy.” You hum at him as his trembling hands hesitantly come up to rest on your hips. 

His hooded eyes seem to darken as the soft breath leaving him tickles your lips, your proximity allowing you the chance to study his handsome face up close.

You can’t stop from tracing a finger over the sweet little freckle below his eye as the younger man struggles with his words.  

“I…want to know…” he rasps out, voice heavy as his fingers tease over your hips.

You nod as he formulates his words, tracing his cheek until you can brush the pad of your thumb over his lush lower lip.  

“I understand.” You hum, deciding to stop torturing him as his dark eyes all but plead with you to put him out of his misery.

Before another word is uttered, you are backing him up into your room, to the edge of your bed where the back of his knees hit the mattress.  

“You’re not drunk are you, Jun?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at him as he sits down heavily onto your bed.  

Shaking his head emphatically, he only lets out a small noise of denial as his hooded gaze rakes over your body.  

“Good…we can’t have that.” Your words are soft, gentle, as you run your fingers into his dark hair, allowing him a moment to take you in.

“You’re incredible…” he hums, his hands reaching out to seek the plushness of your hips again.  

“Mmm…why thank you, Jun…but why don’t you lie back and let me appreciate how delicious you are tonight, hm?”  

His pleading eyes meet yours as your lips twitch up into a smile, running your fingers along his wide shoulders before you gently press him back down onto the bed.

“That’s why you’re here, to be my good boy and obey, right?” You murmur, admiring the long, lean man as he falls back onto your pile of pillows.  

Gods, the way you’ve always imagined him this way, high cheekbones flushed with arousal, pouty lips pink, that tongue darting out to wet them as a small whine of need thrums from his throat.  

The dark tendrils of his silky hair contrast the white fluffy pillows as he sinks into them, adjusting himself so he’s spread out before you like the most enticing buffet.

Words aren’t spoken as you climb onto the bed with him, parting his knees so you can position yourself between his legs, the soft give of the mattress making way for you to settle in nicely.  

Every hitch of his breath only spurs you on, taking your time as you place your hands on his chest, running them down to the waistband of his jeans only to tease at the button.

“Please-” He whimpers, a single lift of his hips punctuating the request. 

“You’ve never had anyone take their time with you, have you?” You ask him, toying with the pull of his zipper as you release the small metal button.  

He shakes his head, the irresistible pout almost sending you spiraling as his front teeth sink into the plump flesh.  

Tearing your gaze from his handsome face, you trail your eyes down his long body, finally taking in how much the poor man is straining against the material of his jeans.  

“You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?” You ask softly as you slowly tug down his zipper, flicking your eyes up to see his reaction to everything.

His eyes are glazed and shining brightly, throat working as little gasps and moans escape from him.  

“Yes…fuck …. Yes I can’t stop…” He groans, anticipation parting his lips as you tug down his jeans from his lean hips.  

“What did you think about, Jun?” you ask as you lean back and tug them off completely, tossing them to the side.  

It’s your turn to bite your lip now, admiring how his erection fills his boxer briefs, twitching seemingly with every little touch and word you speak.

“So many things-” He swallows, words cutting off as you press your palm gently to the throbbing bulge, running your hand up gently as his back arches from the friction.

“You look so sexy like this, Junnie…like you’re going to come undone just from a simple touch from me.”

His lashes flutter as you bring your fingertips to the waist of his underwear, teasing along the line of skin there.  

“Please…please-” he mewls, his begging turning to tiny moans as you finally give in and tug down the fabric keeping him from you.

Without hesitation, you wrap your fingers around his thick length and stroke gently from the base to tip.  

A strangled moan leaves your lovers’ lips as you twist your wrist, collecting the warm precum leaking from him to coat your palm.  

“You’re so pretty, Yeonjun.  Do you like it when I touch you like this?” You ask him softly.

His head jerks as he nods frantically, his hips lifting gently from the bed as your hand runs back down his length.  

“Fuck-yes-feels so good.” He whimpers, practically thrusting into your hand.

You just smile at his urgency, biting your lip at the sight of him writhing for you like this.

Dropping your free hand, you cup his tightening balls in your hand, kneading them gently as you watch his throbbing cock leak even more for you.

“Oh FUCK!” He moans loudly, eyes flashing open to look at you, then down to what you’re doing to him.  

Waves of pleasure wash over your body as you scan down his body, biting your lip as you work your magic with your fingers.

“Remove your shirt.” You all but demand, and he does so without a second thought, tossing it aside before falling back against your pillow.

At this point, you’ve soaked your panties through and your inner thighs are starting to get tacky, all because of the sexy man spread naked before you.

His cheeks are completely flushed now, hair fanned out across the pillow, arms beside him as he grasps at the sheets.  

“Good boy…” You coo at him, breath catching as his hips jerk, his stomach muscles clenching deliciously.  

“So close-” He whines, as his cock throbs in your grip.  

“Not yet, baby boy.  You can hold on for me, right?” You ask him gently, slowing down then removing your hands from him completely.

The loss of contact has his eyes pleading with you, little noises mixed with his panting as he reaches for you.  

“I need you-” He begs, and you can only give him a soft smile as you climb up him, positioning your knees on either side of his hips.  

Your stomach flips, internally tense and as needy as he is but you want to make sure this is all for him tonight.  

As soon as you straddle him, his hands are roaming up your sides to the sides of your tits, using his thumbs to skim your nipples through the thin fabric of your shirt.  

“You’re so fucking sexy…” He breathes out, his teeth biting his lower lip as you rock your hips along his cock.  

“So wet for you, Junnie…” You hum, reaching between you to push your panties to the side for him.  

His lips part in anticipation as you guide him to your cunt, lifting slightly to rub the head against your folds before slowly sinking down his length.  

Your cries mix with his as he enters you, his hands immediately leaving your tits to grasp your ass as he sits up and his mouth meets yours.  

Before you can even recover from the stretch of his cock, he’s crying out your name as he buries his face in your tits, his fingers digging into your asscheeks.

You allow him to guide your movements as you rock your hips, your fingers entwining in his silky hair.  

“God you’re so fucking hot, baby boy-” You cry out, already feeling the coiled tension building in your lower stomach, “Doing so good for me, that’s it-”

His words are unintelligible as his moans and cries build, his mouth occupied by wetting your clothed nipples, nipping his way up to your neck to bury his face as you begin to clench around him.

“Oh god, oh fuck, fuck -please-” he whimpers as you finally feel the cord within you snap, clamping tightly around him as your climax causes you to go tense in his arms.  

Wordless cries echo off the walls as his breath starts hitching, pulling back to watch your face contort in pleasure.

“I’m gonna-gonna cum, fuck!” He cries out.

Grasping a handful of his hair, you immediately lift off him, reaching down quickly to jerk him to completion as his eyes roll back in his head.

Hot, thick spurts coat your hand as he whimpers and whines, choked gasps finally devolving into panting as your movements slow, little shivers shaking his body with every stroke.

“Good boy, Junnie.  Shhh,” you coo at him, loosening your grip in his hair to smooth it and pet him, placing small kisses to his temples, then his cheeks, finally brushing your mouth over his plush lips.  

“Mmmmmmpphhmmm…” is the only noise he can manage as you both collapse onto the pillows, your fingers still teasing along his length.

Each little quake and gasp from the overstimulation just has you smiling as you admire the spent man beside you.

“Say it again, please…” he whispers, opening those dark eyes to gaze at you in awe.

“Ask nicely.” You hum, bringing your messy fingers up to taste his mess.

His eyes roll and it takes him a moment to recover from the sight, but then he finally responds.

“Please say it again….mistress.” 

“Good boy.” You croon at him, a sly smile creeping across your lips.

“Let’s see how good you can be….it’s going to be a long night.” 

[tiramisuucakeee]

14. SUPER SHY

written

hanni was late again, and she couldn’t figure out why her brain was messing with her schedule. art class was already in session, and she could only imagine how annoyed mr. park would be. but honestly, the scolding she would get wasn’t on her mind. it was y/n. she had been meaning to talk to her, soon, but the thought of texting made her stomach twist.

not wanting to interrupt the class, hanni waited on the patio for break to start, trying to convince herself that maybe fate just wasn’t ready for her to speak with y/n yet. but deep down, she knew her friends were waiting for her to make a move, even if it was friendly and not romantic.

“you’re so hopeless, hanni” danielle groaned, leaning against the lockers as they waited for haerin, who was still on the hunt for her phone charger.

“i’m not! it’s just… not the right time yet” hanni protested, though even she could hear how weak that sounded. maybe she was just overthinking everything.

“y/n probably thinks you hate her,” minji chimed in, raising an eyebrow. “all she wanted was help, and you’re leaving her hanging”

“i really wanted to hang out with her” hyein agreed. “but we can’t because you won’t even send her a message. even haerin wanted to meet her!”

haerin, still rummaging through her bag, shot hyein a confused look. “see? she didn’t say no!” hyein exclaimed. “think about y/n. doesn’t it make you sad she might think you’re being mean?”

“i don’t want to talk about her right now” hanni snapped, frustrated with herself. just then, a loud scream cut through the air, drawing their attention to the patio.

a crowd had formed, and hanni’s heart sank as she recognized y/n, who had tripped over a backpack and landed awkwardly on the ground. niki stood nearby, looking guilty, he’d been chasing her for his unlocked phone when things got chaotic. students rushed to y/n’s side, asking if she was okay and trying to help her.

before anyone could react further, the nurse arrived with a wheelchair, helping y/n into it, wincing with pain. hanni watched, her stomach twisting with guilt.

“you’re passing your bad luck to me” y/n managed to smile at niki, despite the pain etched on her face. “stop talking” niki shot back, but he was clearly distracted, texting wonhee to meet them at the nurse’s office urgently. “don’t order me around” y/n retorted, being wheeled away as niki followed closely behind, leaving a crowd of concerned classmates in their wake.

hanni stood there, guilt washing over her. “okay, i feel kind of bad now” she admitted, her friends exchanging knowing glances.

“finally!” haerin exclaimed, pulling her charger out and glancing at the serious expressions around them. “what’s happening?”

“we’re visiting y/n at the nurse’s office later” minji stated firmly. when hanni opened her mouth to protest, minji shook her head. “this isn’t a question, hanni. you’re going to talk to her.” hanni sighed, knowing she couldn’t escape it now. maybe this was the push she needed to finally reach out to y/n.

!

“niki, stop eating the candy” wonhee scolded, glaring at him as he reached for yet another piece from the small jar in the nurse's office waiting room. they sat in silence, the sounds of y/n being treated faintly echoing from the other side of the door. the infirmary was well-equipped, so many students didn’t need to go to the hospital for injuries.

wonhee kept an eye on niki as he reached for the jar again, determined to grab the last piece of candy from the twenty-three that had been there.

“niki….”

“what do you want now?” he shot back, but softened when he saw her expression. “fine, you can have it” he said, holding it out to her. wonhee rolled her eyes and turned away. “i can’t believe y/n got hurt because you chased her through the whole school”

“i didn’t think it would end like this!” niki replied, fiddling with the candy wrappers.

“the same thing happened with beomgyu last year when you chased him for the exact same reason,” she reminded him, shaking her head. niki fell silent, trying not to laugh. wonhee was spot on.

just then, the door swung open, revealing a group of girls who looked confused until they spotted niki and wonhee. they were all strangers to the nurse's office, except maybe haerin, who occasionally had minor injuries from basketball.

“hey, wonhee and niki, right?” danielle asked, closing the door behind her.

“yeah. if you’re here for something, the nurse is with our friend, but they should be done soon” wonhee replied as the girls stepped closer.

“oh, actually” danielle shook her head. “we’re here to see how y/n is doing”

wonhee nodded, understanding. y/n was well-liked and had a wide circle of friends. the girls were probably from her classes. they settled on the couches to wait together. after a moment, the nurse returned, surprised at the crowd. she told them they could see y/n, who was in bed 06, and shot niki a pointed look as she passed.

y/n examined the orthopedic boot on her leg, feeling strange. she’d never been seriously injured before; the worst she’d had was a tiny cut while cooking.

“oh my god, you’re okay!” wonhee exclaimed, almost jumping to hug her. several girls followed suit. y/n smiled into the embrace, tapping wonhee lightly to let go for a moment. then she noticed niki, who was shoving his hands deep into his pockets, looking away. “i’m sorry for… you know,” he mumbled.

“you better be, or jungwon will never let you live it down” she teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“hey girl!” danielle waved, stepping forward. y/n hadn’t expected hanni’s friends to come visit, but she appreciated the gesture.

“i suppose you know what happened by now?” y/n said, forcing a tight smile. the girls nodded, and hyein stood beside danielle, her gaze fixed on the boot. “are you okay now, y/nnie?” she asked, genuine concern in her voice. the girls could sense that hyein wanted to connect with y/n more than hanni did.

“y/nnie” niki snorted under his breath, earning a light slap on the arm from wonhee to keep him in check.

“i am” y/n replied, her smile warm. “thank you for coming to see me. you guys are too nice”

“oh also, we- hanni brought something for you too. she wanted to talk to you about the thing you asked her about, we totally don’t know of” danielle interrupted, and suddenly all eyes were on hanni. she felt heat rush to her cheeks, wishing she could disappear.

“uh, yeah, we brought you this” hanni said, her voice wavering slightly as she placed the drink and pastry on the bedside table. she quickly retreated back to her friends, wishing she could melt into the floor. y/n blinked at her, then at the food, picking up the drink and reading the label. “no way, i love this!” she exclaimed, cracking it open and taking a sip. “thank you, hanni”

“it’s nothing” hanni muttered, her heart racing. haerin nudged her again, urging her to say more.

“also” hanni started, her palms sweaty as the room went silent again. “my phone was acting weird, that’s why i didn’t text you about the art thing all this time” she swallowed hard, lying, feeling everyone's eyes on her.

“yeah, don’t worry” y/n said, taking another sip. “so when can we, you know, do the art thing?”

“wait, what art thing?” niki interjected, confused “did mr. park assign something?”

wonhee burst out laughing because she knew what the ‘art thing’ meant, while y/n explained that hanni was going to help her improve her art skills. niki nodded, finally understanding, he knew hanni was talented.

“uh, we can do it tomorrow at lunchtime?” hanni suggested, trying to keep it casual, not wanting it to sound like a non-casual hangout.

“yeah, sure!” y/n replied, excitement lighting up her face. “whatever the artist says” the anticipation made hanni’s stomach flutter, and she couldn’t help but glance at y/n. y/n’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, and hanni felt a rush of warmth. maybe this was the moment she’d been waiting for.

as the groups chatted, y/n leaned closer to hanni, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper “i really can’t wait to hang out with you” she said, which could have meant nothing to y/n, but made hanni freeze.

hanni felt her cheeks heat up. “really?” she asked, trying to sound casual, but her heart raced.

“definitely! hanni, you’re amazing, even mr. park missed you on today’s class” y/n said, a playful smile dancing on her lips. hanni’s breath caught in her throat, her embarrassment showing.

“i mean, it’s just… a little something i do, right?” hanni stammered, struggling to keep her cool. “it’s not like i’m a pro, if anything, i’m better at many other things”

“i think you’re way too humble” y/n replied, her eyes sparkling. “maybe we should hang out, both of us, and i can actually show you what i am good at too, art is just not my field, you know? but i am pretty sure i can beat all of these people at any trivia”

as they talked, hanni found herself relaxing, the initial nerves fading. y/n was easy to be around, and the way she smiled made hanni’s heart skip a beat. this art thing wasn’t just about improving y/n’s skills, it felt like the start of something deeper. and in that moment, y/n realized that maybe, just maybe, she was ready to open up to someone else.

!

EXTRA !

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[miumura]

( 📍 ) UGLY CHRISTMAS SWEATERS — BEOMGYU

[ DAY SIX ] of the advent calendar !

( 📍 ) SYNOPSIS . convincing your boyfriend to wear ugly christmas sweaters with you might not be that hard after all..

( ᥫ᭡ ) PAIRING . bf!beomgyu x gn!reader

( 📍 ) GENRE . fluff ~~ WORD COUNT 0.5K+ ( 545 )

( ᥫ᭡ ) WARNINGS . gyu got a little attitude (sassy men) BUT its tolerable .. imo .. other than that, nothing else ?

( 📍 ) NOTE . i heart beomgyu 😊🤍

“You’re telling me that we—no, I’m gonna be wearing that?” Beomgyu gingerly lifts one of the sweaters, holding it as if it were a bag of 2 weeks old garbage. “For our friend’s Christmas party?” The clash of colors and patterns really confused him; it seems like the designer operated on a whim.

"Come on, it’s not even bad! The theme was ugly Christmas sweaters, and I picked out the best onesI think they're cute," you retorted, defending the sweaters you'd ordered weeks ago.

"This is far from cute! Your taste in fashion must be questionable," he scoffs, nonchalantly returning the sweaters to their initial resting place on the chair.

"I've practically styled your entire wardrobe, and you've received so many compliments because of me!" you argue.

"Alright, but your sweater choices are still terrible!" Beomgyu counters.

Ignoring his protests, you insistently hold the sweater in front of him, trying to picture the look despite his puzzled expression.

“Not in a million years will you catch me wearing that,” Beomgyu declares, hands up in protest.

But, you didn’t care whatsoever as your determination knows no bounds. “Stop moving, you're making this harder.”

“What—” he starts, but you're already on a mission, determined to make him at least consider the sweater.

“It does suit you.”

“Thanks for the compliment, but you can't just say that by imagining how I'd look in it!”

“Why don't you try it on?” You extended your hand, catching him off guard. His reaction was too slow, and you ended up tossing it at him. “I'll wait.”

Beomgyu sighed, unfolding the sweater and eyeing it with skepticism. “Fine, but don't get your hopes up.”

As he struggled to put it on, you couldn't help but laugh at the sight. The vibrant colors clashed with his usual style, making it even more amusing.

“Ta-da! Happy now?” Beomgyu struck a pose, a mockingly exaggerated smile on his face.

You chuckled, "Look! It doesn't even look that bad! You can totally pull it off."

Rolling his eyes, Beomgyu played along, "Sure, sure. It looks fantastic on me. Just a bunch of silly trees and tiny elves on this sweater with squiggly lines—seriously, what were you thinking when you added this to the cart?"

You shrugged, unfazed by his words. Beomgyu often exaggerated things, and you were accustomed to it. “I expect you to stick with this—we've got just an hour until the party.”

“But can’t we switch—” His complaining tone faded as you rushed down the stairs with the matching sweater in your hand. Quickly draping it over your white shirt, you settled on the couch in the living room. As you scrolled on your phone to pass the time, you later heard shuffling in the background.

“Ready to go?” you looked up, seeing your boyfriend in the sweater you bought—he hadn’t changed it. You gave him a big smile, rising from your seat.

“Looking good there, Choi.”

“Keep it up and I’ll run up the stairs to change,” he teased, soon linking arms with you as you headed towards the door.

“Honestly, though, I don’t think I look too shabby in this,” he asserted, eliciting a giggle from you.

“What can I say? I have an eye for what works.”

“Maybe you're onto something.”

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TXT PERM TAGLIST — @flwoie @haruavrse @bearseulgs @ilovewonyo @bubblytaetae @ineedaherosavemeenow @ml8dy @wonioml @xiaoderrrr @neozon3nha @ja4hyvn @thia-aep @vampcharxter @sleepymoon27

[delugyu]

cold, cursed city (part 2)

summary: You wish your best friend would just leave your budding relationship alone.

pairings: beomgyu x fem!reader, soobin x fem!reader

word count: 26k

tags: ANGST, smut (MDNI), best friend and roommate!beomgyu, crush!soobin, possessiveness, manipulation, arguments, very bad reckless dumb decisions, codependency, beomgyu gets a bit crazy

smut tags: multiple smut scenes yet again sigh, switch!gyu, switch!reader, handjob, masturbation, fingering, squirting lollll, praise, degradation, pet names (puppy, baby, etc), overstimulation, edging, dacryphilia, mind breaking kinda, utilization of a mirror, some pussy slapping, dubcon!! please beware!

notes: the smut here is so depravedddjshjshdjdjhs 😭 mind the angst in all caps btw… don’t get too mad at me LMAO. this is the final part btw! enjoyyyy<3

Being home feels so awkward now. You feel like you have to avoid Beomgyu, and that’s something you never would have imagined. You wonder if there’s any going back now in your friendship. Will it ever be normal again? It will take some time, you think, but you don’t doubt it. You can’t doubt it. It’s just that you need some time right now.

A part of you is thankful that he leaves you alone. It reprieves you of the constant guilt you were battling with, and you can talk to Soobin without feeling like a liar. Another part of you is terrified that he’s leaving you alone. It’s so unlike him to not be clingy and talkative. You wonder what he’s been going through these past few days.

You don’t even eat dinner together anymore. When you get home from work, you grab something quick to eat and go to your room as soon as you’re finished. The only times you’ve seen Beomgyu since your last conversation is in passing, when you see his figure walk down the hall or pop back into his room.

You really hope he’s okay. You can’t stand to dwell on it too much, obsessing over how he might be dealing with this. Maybe it’s been easy for him. Honestly, he probably needed this too. He must have been going insane the same way you were in his attempts to keep you to himself.

But you do miss him. You miss him when you’re sitting at the table, staring at an empty chair across from you. You miss him when you’re wiping off your makeup, looking for his presence behind you in the mirror. You miss him when you’re laying in bed, watching a movie on your laptop all alone. You miss him a lot.

You’re getting ready for work, staring blankly at yourself in the mirror as you fix your hair. You don’t really have anything to look forward to today. You’re not seeing Soobin after work, Chaewon’s been busy all week, and Beomgyu’s not talking to you. Maybe you’ll invite one of your other friends to hang out later. You hate feeling so lonely.

You grab your purse and head to the kitchen, opening a breakfast bar to eat before you put on your jacket and shoes. You’re about to head out, but a small bright-colored paper on your fridge catches your attention. That wasn’t there last night. You step closer to the fridge and lean in to read the post-it note.

Won’t be back till late tonight. Also eat up the fruits they’re gonna go bad!

Huh, you wonder why he didn’t just text you that. You take the note off the fridge and fold it neatly into your pocket. Your hand is wrapped around it for the whole duration of your walk to work.

When you get back home, you already know what you’ll eat for dinner. You feel a little happier than you have been the past few days as you bite down on the fruits, feeling giddy at the smallest hint of reconnection with Beomgyu. Not talking to him for so long was taking a toll on you.

After you finish cleaning up, you decide to write Beomgyu a note too.

Fruit is all done. Mission accomplished

With a satisfied smile, you stick the post-it on the same spot Beomgyu put his. Maybe a part of you hopes he’ll hang onto it the same way you did with his.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Beomgyu normally isn’t awake when you leave for work; today, he is. You stop in your tracks for a second when you see him sitting at the table, resting his head on his arms. You consider stepping into the bathroom to give him time to run off to his room, but decide against it when he looks at you with brightened eyes.

“Good morning,” he says when you finally enter the kitchen. You give him a small smile.

“You’re up early,” you note as you grab something quick for breakfast. You keep your distance, standing at the counter even if you yearn to leap into the seat across from him.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he explains simply.

“About what?” You keep your guard up.

“Anything,” he says. “I just miss talking to you.” Your standoffish demeanor melts, and your eyes soften. You know how he feels.

“Me too.” You finally move into your seat, excited to finally see something besides an empty chair when you eat here. “What have you been up to recently?”

He shrugs. “Playing games. Sitting in my room. Working. What about you?”

“Pretty much nothing,” you answer. While a part of the conversation does feel weird, seeing as you’re trying to reconnect with your literal best friend, it doesn’t feel stiff or awkward. You’re more happy than anything to hear his voice again. It’s been a long few days.

“We need to do more with our lives,” Beomgyu laughs. It feels good to see a smile on his face again.

“No literally, my screen time this week is embarrassing. Netflix has seen me more than you have in the past five days.” You mean it as a lighthearted joke, but Beomgyu only frowns a little at that. He looks away for a few seconds, then back at you with a gleam in his eyes.

“Why don’t we do a movie night tonight then?” he offers. You light up at his suggestion.

“Yes! I’ll pick up some take-out for dinner too.” You clasp your hands in excitement. A semblance of normalcy is coming back to you, and it tastes so sweet.

“I’m so happy,” Beomgyu says, and it shows on his face. You resist the urge to pat his head at how cute he is.

“Me too.” You get up from your chair and throw out your trash. “I’ve gotta head out now,” you announce, looking at the time.

“Okay, have fun at work!” You feel his stare on you as you gather all your things and move towards the door.

“Thanks, I’ll try,” you say before heading out.

Work feels less stressful today. You don’t feel as frustrated at your little mistakes as you have been recently. You talk to your coworkers a little more than usual at lunch, and you even offer to help on an overdue project for the company, feeling more generous than usual.

As you walk back home, take-out bag in hand, you find yourself feeling foolish for ever worrying that you and Beomgyu couldn’t go back to normal. It was so easy to fall back into this, it’s as if it was second nature. As long as Beomgyu knows not to cross the line, this night will prove that you made the right choice. See, you can have both Soobin and Beomgyu in your life.

Your phone buzzes, and you fish it out of your pocket to check the notification. It’s a text from Soobin.

[Soobin] Hey, if you’re not busy do you want to grab dinner?

You pout, hating to have to reject him.

Omg I literally just got food :(

[Soobin] That’s okay!

[Soobin] There’s always tomorrow

Your cheeks hurt from how hard you’re smiling. Today is going so well, you almost can’t believe it. Finally, finally you get a day like this, where the world is kind to you again. Suddenly you find yourself more grateful for all the people you have in your life.

Tomorrow it is then!!

Beomgyu’s already sitting on the couch when you enter your apartment. You quickly take off your shoes and jacket so you can dash to your spot next to him, placing the take-out bag on the table in front of you.

“Hiii,” you greet while pulling a blanket into your lap.

“You’re finally back,” he says, smiling. You get yourself cozy as Beomgyu rips open the take-out bag, pulling out all the food.

“Yeah, I stayed a little longer to help with a few extra things.” You grab the remote to start scrolling through movie options. “What do you feel like watching?”

Beomgyu hums in thought. “Something scary?”

“That’s more for autumn, though,” you say. You start scrolling through some comedy movies instead. Those are always fun to watch with Beomgyu.

“Why’d you ask me what I want to watch then?” he laughs. You hold back your smile and whack his shoulder with the remote. He pouts at you in faux hurt as he places a hand over the impacted spot.

“Same reason you ask me what I want for dinner.” You scroll past a bunch of movies, trying to find one you haven’t seen that actually looks interesting. It’s a difficult task when you and Beomgyu have already watched so many movies together.

“It’s gonna take longer to find a movie than it is to watch one,” Beomgyu complains through a mouthful of food.

“Ew, finish chewing.” You keep your eyes on the screen, but you see him snicker in your peripheral. You finally land on a movie that sounds compelling, turning to Beomgyu to gauge his reaction.

He nods. “This one’s good.” You click on it and turn up the volume, then abandon the remote in favor of grabbing some food.

It feels just like a movie night a month ago would have felt. You fill the air with laughter and banter, and you can’t wipe the smile off your face. The only difference this time is that when you finish eating, you don’t cuddle into Beomgyu’s side. You have to be more mindful of keeping space between you now.

You laugh so hard at one point that you have to pause the movie to catch your breath and wipe your tears. “Oh my god, this was so needed,” you say to Beomgyu, still fighting off the last of your laughter.

“It literally was,” he agrees. “The past few days were legit the worst of my life.”

Your laughter finally dies when you hear that. “The worst? Why?”

Beomgyu laughs a little, but it doesn’t sound genuine. “I was scared that you hated me now.”

You turn your head to Beomgyu, but he doesn’t look back at you. God, did he seriously think that? You would never hate him. A weight falls onto your shoulders, and your heart aches.

“Well, don’t think like that ever again,” you say. He finally looks at you. You channel all your sincerity into your gaze. “Even if I’m mad at you, I still love you. You’re my best friend.”

It takes a second for him to react. He gives you a small smile that looks awfully forced, then looks down at his lap. “I love you too,” he says. You don’t want to ruminate on how weird that felt, so you take the remote to resume the movie.

“Back to watching,” you say, leaning back into the couch.

Once you finish the movie, Beomgyu helps you clean the mess on the table, and the light mood persists. You’re glad that you didn’t ruin your friendship with Beomgyu, cause you only feel this comfortable and at ease with a select few people. When you go to bed, you almost cry thinking about your day. You knew that you were having a hard time, but you didn’t realize how hard it was until you got a slice of your normal life back.

A feeling aside from happiness grows in your chest too, something more reflective: you feel proud of yourself. It was hard setting your boundaries with Beomgyu, but you’re so glad you did. Even this one day serves as evidence that you made the right choice.

You can barely fall asleep because you’re so happy, but you have work tomorrow, so you force your eyes shut and wait impatiently to see what the day brings.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

“How have you been?” Soobin asks as you seat yourself in front of him. The restaurant he chose is a warm, cozy one, which is a relief. You were worried that he might pick somewhere too fancy, because you had no time to change out of your office attire.

“I’ve actually been pretty good, how about you?” You’ve been looking forward to talking to Soobin again. Ever since he asked you to be his girlfriend, you’ve been itching to feel ready for the label. You won’t force it upon yourself, but you know you’ll be there soon. You’re once again reminded of how lucky you are that Soobin’s willing to wait for you.

“I’m good too,” he answers. You love his smile, you hope he never stops giving it to you. The two of you catch up a bit on life, talking about work and friends. He seems to have been busy this week.

The food at the restaurant is great, but that’s no surprise because Soobin always knows the best places in the city. The night passes quickly, and you find yourself walking back home all too soon. He accompanies you when you ask him to walk you to your apartment. You blamed it on how late it is, but it’s actually because you want more time with him.

“Are you free on Saturday?” Soobin asks, looking at you with hopeful eyes.

“For you, yes. What do you have in mind?” You want to hold his hand so bad, but you don’t know if you’re at that stage yet. You crave the weight of his hand in your own, swinging between the two of you. You want to lean into his side and engulf yourself in the brewing romance.

“I was wondering if you’d like to meet my friends? I’ve been talking about you a lot, and I know I promised you I’d introduce them.”

You light up at that, making sure to look up at him so he sees your grin. “That would be so fun.”

You’re thrilled at the idea that he talks about you with his friends a lot. Whew. Good thing you’re already outside, cause you need the fresh air. He’s everything you could ask for in a man.

“We’d be meeting at my place if that’s okay,” he says, sounding a little shy as he brings it up. You can’t hold yourself back now—you grab his hand and squeeze it excitedly.

“Of course! I’m dying to see your home. And your friends.” You can imagine the nerdy little decorations he might have lying around his place. You’d let him ramble about each and every little trinket for hours on end if he wanted to.

You’ve arrived at your street all too soon, finding yourself wanting to slow your steps to get a little more time with Soobin. “Thank you for taking me out today,” you say as you see your apartment come into view. You stop walking so that you can fully turn your body toward him. You just want one last good look before you’re off.

“Thanks for giving me the time,” he responds. His warm, sincere words always find the right way to strike your heart.

“I’ll see you Saturday, then.” You send him a parting smile, backing up a couple steps. “Good night, Soobin.”

“Good night.”

As you walk away, you have a revelation. Your body aches to run back to him, you feel like you’re missing something and you can’t quite end the night yet. There’s something that leaves you feeling only half fulfilled. There’s something more you crave.

You wanted to kiss Soobin. Your wish is left ungranted, lips tingling with the feeling of what could have been.

Your feet pause for just a second when the realization hits you again. You wanted to kiss Soobin. You wanted to feel his arms around you, wrapped in a hug that meant more than just a hug. You wanted to hold his face in your hands, feel the warmth of his skin beneath your palms. You wanted to kiss him.

Oh, your poor heart. Where do you store all this longing?

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Saturday comes faster than you anticipate. You change into outfit after outfit, trying to find the perfect thing to wear. You don’t want to over dress, but you don’t want to look like you don’t care at all either. What do you even wear to a get together for a friend group you don’t know?

You settle on a cute dress that you bought while shopping with Chaewon some time ago. It’s modest enough to wear casually, but pretty enough to make you feel confident in it. You’ll have to wear tights to save your legs from the cold, but that’s okay. You move to your vanity so you can do your hair, looking at yourself in every angle in the mirror.

“Where are you headed?” The sudden voice startles you, and you turn around to see Beomgyu standing by your door. You didn’t even notice him enter your room. You wonder how long he’s been there.

You look back in the mirror, fixing your hair. “Just meeting some people,” you answer. Beomgyu steps closer to you, only stopping once there’s just a few inches separating you. You look at him through the mirror. His eyes trail down your body.

“Well, you look pretty.” He fixes the strap of your dress on your shoulder.

Your face heats up, and you forget what you were about to do. “Thank you.”

His hand trails down your arm and stops at your elbow, rubbing your skin. “Won’t you be cold?”

“I have a jacket. Plus, I’ll be indoors,” you answer.

He hums and nods. “Are you coming back tonight?”

“I think so. If not, then I’ll be at Soobin’s place.”

For the first time, Beomgyu has the decency to not make a face when you bring up Soobin. Instead, he looks away and lets out a heavy exhale. Well, improvement is improvement. You’ll take it.

“Who else will be there?” he asks.

“Some of his friends.” You see him tense a bit at your side from the information. A slight unease fills you, but you don’t let it consume your mood. Tonight will be fun. You can’t let anything ruin it already.

“Are they all guys?”

You pause for a second in thought. “I’m not sure.”

He looks down and shakes his head in disbelief. “So you’re going to his place with a bunch of random guys?”

You pucker your lips and look down, feeling like you’re getting scolded. Was this a bad decision? Maybe you should have done this at a public place. Beomgyu’s words worry you. Soobin’s not that kind of guy, though, and you’re sure his friends are just as great as he is. He’s thoughtful and always concerned about your feelings. You shouldn’t be nervous.

“I trust him,” you say, making Beomgyu scoff. “Gyu, please.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just… worried.” He meets your eyes in the mirror. He really does look worried. You realize that maybe it’s not selfishness driving his words this time, not the need to keep you to himself, but the need to make sure you’re safe. Your heart softens at that.

“I’ll be okay,” you promise, giving him a small smile. “I’ll call you if anything goes wrong.” He nods and stays quiet for a second.

“Where does he live?” Beomgyu asks. You freeze at his question, but he’s quick to explain, “So I know where to go if something happens.”

He means well, you’re sure, but you’re still wary about giving him Soobin’s address. Of course you understand his concern, but another part of you wonders what he’ll do with it if nothing happens. He doesn’t exactly have a great streak with Soobin.

Is this you being paranoid? You feel like you have a legitimate reason to be cautious, but you also feel bad for thinking about your best friend like he’s some freak that’ll show up to Soobin’s house for no reason.

“I’ll just share my location if it comes to that.” You hope he doesn’t feel offended.

“Let me walk you to his place at least,” Beomgyu pleads. You sigh, trying not to look at him and focusing on your appearance instead.

“Don’t be so worried. I’ll be back by ten. Does that make you happier?”

He doesn’t hide his smile. “You know it does. You should watch me play League when you get back.”

You roll your eyes. “Watch you get it on with your one true love?”

“Weirdo. I love more things than just League.”

“Like Overwatch?” That earns you a smack to the back of your head. “Hey! Careful with my hair!”

You catch a glimpse of the time when your phone lights up, and you realize you’ve been taking too long to get ready. Why does time only fly in the most inconvenient moments? You take one final glance at yourself, ignoring Beomgyu’s frame in the mirror beside you.

“You sure you don’t need me to walk you there?” Beomgyu asks. You turn to him with a smile, and it takes a surprising amount of effort to not go up and loop your hands around his neck. You can’t help but feel endeared by his cuteness. You stay quiet for a few seconds just to look into his eyes.

“I’m sure,” you finally answer. “I’ll see you in a few hours.” Beomgyu sits on your bed, and you wonder if that’s where he plans on staying while you’re out.

“Be safe,” he says as you’re heading out of your room.

You look over your shoulder with a grin. “No promises!” The flash of fear on his face makes you laugh. “I’m just kidding!”

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

You gather your breath as you stand before Soobin’s door, not wanting to knock until you’ve fully collected yourself. Your heart races in anticipation—well, also because you walked twice as fast as usual to get here, but mostly anticipation. Soobin seemed to get along with your friends, so you can assume that his friends should get along just fine with you too.

Finally, you tap your knuckles against the door, swaying on your feet as you wait for Soobin to emerge. It’s cold outside, the kind of cold where your breath fogs up with even the tiniest exhale, so you hope he’s quick to answer your knock.

You give Soobin a hug as soon as he opens the door. Part of it is to feed off some of his warmth, but most of it is because you’re excited to see him. His arms wrap around you to hold you close to him, and he doesn’t let go until you do.

“Are your friends here yet?” you ask when you pull away.

“Yes, they’re in the living room,” he answers. “Did you want a drink or anything?”

You shake your head. You’re too impatient to see his friends, wondering what kind of people he hangs out with. You follow him into the living room, and your eyes immediately fall on the two boys on the couch. It makes sense that his friend group is on the smaller side. They must be very close.

You wave and introduce yourself to his friends cheerfully. They do the same, and you learn that his friends are named Taehyun and Kai. Kai seems just as shy and endearingly awkward as Soobin, but Taehyun is pretty quick to open up to you. You find yourself talking to him a lot. You’re glad that you’re not the only chatty person here.

“So how’d you guys meet?” you eventually ask them, interested in how their friend group formed. The question makes Kai and Soobin laugh.

“I was friends with both of them before they knew each other,” Taehyun starts, leaning forward as he tells the story. “I had this match I wanted them to watch”—

“Match?” you interrupt, tilting your head.

“Yeah, I was really into boxing at the time.”

Your eyebrows shoot up at the information. That explains his muscular physique. You can’t imagine Soobin watching a boxing match, though. “Oh, boxing, wow.”

“Obviously I won the match, but that’s beside the point.”

“You did not win,” Soobin chimes in with an incredulous laugh.

“Yes I did! I literally won by knockout!” Taehyun defends.

“I still feel like the other guy got way more hits in than you,” Soobin says.

“I think you’re just still mad from what happened that night.” That piques your interest.

“Why? What happened?” you ask.

“He’s gonna tell it way more dramatically than it was,” Soobin warns.

“That’s probably true,” Kai chimes in.

“I’ll say exactly what happened,” Taehyun starts. “After my match, I went to Soobin and Kai, and we all got to talking. Eventually, I brought them to the practice rooms so I could show them some basic MMA moves.”

“After basically forcing us to!” Soobin exclaims. “I tried to say no!”

Taehyun starts laughing already, seemingly caught up in the memory. It puts a smile on your face as you wait for him to finish the story. “These guys start swinging with the weakest moves I’ve seen in my life,” he says through his laughter. “And I was trying to motivate them, but when I pushed the sandbag so it would swing toward Soobin, it hit him so hard it knocked him over.”

You cover your mouth with your hands, concealing your amusement and looking towards Soobin to gauge his reaction to the story. He wears a sheepish smile and leans his head down, rubbing his arm to ease his embarrassment. Taehyun’s still laughing his ass off when you look back at him.

Kai stands to Soobin’s defense, “He didn’t really get knocked over, he just stumbled back.”

“He did more than stumble back,” Taehyun says. “He had his arms swinging in circles to save himself and everything.” That image gets a chuckle out of you.

“So upon my first impression of Soobin, I could tell he was on the unathletic side. I kind of am too, though,” Kai says.

“Don’t worry, Soobin. I don’t think I’d fare any better in the MMA world,” you say.

“We can be the world class losers of boxing instead,” he jokes.

The night lives on with lots of laughter and snacks. You start playing card games at one point, to which they have to extensively explain the rules first, and you end up having more fun than you expected to have. Turns out you’re not too shabby of a Spades player.

Taehyun and Kai head out after a couple hours, saying goodbye to you and telling you that they hope to see you again soon. You actually enjoyed yourself a lot today, so you wouldn’t mind seeing them again either.

Once Soobin’s friends are out the door, it leaves just the two of you in his living room. You see Soobin yawning and stretching out in his chair. “Are you tired?” you ask. His sleepy nod makes you laugh a little.

“You can sleep on my bed if you want. I’ll take the couch,” Soobin offers. What a sweetheart. You must be smiling so stupidly, but you can’t help it. Your heart is a fickle thing.

“Thank you, but I promised Beomgyu I’d come back home tonight,” you say.

Soobin looks out the window. “It’s so dark out, though. And it’s freezing, your jacket won’t be enough. Your legs will be ice.”

“It’s okay, I’m good at handling the cold.” You aren’t really, but you don’t want him to worry. He frowns, looking down at your outfit.

“You didn’t have to dress up for me. I think you look pretty in everything. I’d love for you to dress warmly next time.” There’s a distinct hammering in your chest now. His compliment makes you weak in the knees.

He grabs your coat and delivers it to you. You thank him as you put it on, zipping it all the way up to prepare for the cold. You smile up at him in hopes that it eases his worries.

“Let me grab you a winter hat,” Soobin says, disappearing for a minute. He emerges once more with a beanie in hand, placing it on your head for you. “There. To keep your ears warm.”

“Thank you,” you say, looking down at yourself shyly. You’re not the type to get all flustered and quiet, but something about Soobin brings it out of you.

“Thanks for seeing me, and for meeting my friends.” You meet his eyes again when he says that.

“Of course. Today was fun,” you say. You stare at each other for a few long seconds as you linger by his door. You don’t really want to leave.

Soobin is every bit as handsome as ever, and suddenly it’s killing you that you’re not all over him. You want to grab his shoulders and pull him close, let your souls intertwine for just a few moments. You want to feel his breath on your face, you want his eyes on your lips and a yearning to stir inside him.

Your heart jumps, every thought in your head is filled with something about kissing Soobin. You’re so easily reduced to instincts when your mind is clouded like this. Your face is pulled by some unknown force closer and closer toward his face. Your eyelids flutter, and you tilt your head just slightly.

All to meet nothing.

“Not yet…” Soobin says, slowly retracting his face. You watch him back away from you, and the inches start to feel like miles. A sense of humiliation washes over you. Your face heats up. Why did you do that?

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, looking up at him apologetically. At least he doesn’t seem mad or upset—that would kill you.

He shakes his head and smiles. “Don’t be.” He presses his lips to your forehead. You reach for his hand, holding it so that you know he won’t try to leave. He accepts your touch easily, lacing your fingers together and staring into your eyes. There’s a warmth in there that makes you want to lean in and try to kiss him again, but your humility saves you from that.

“Can I ask, when will you be ready?” Your voice is meek, and a part of you almost fears his answer.

“Whenever you’re ready to call me your boyfriend,” he answers softly, simply. You nod, considering his words. Your gaze must be distant because you’re so deep in your thoughts, wondering if maybe you are ready now.

Does your heart stop at the idea of calling him yours because it entices you, or because it scares you? You don’t want to waste Soobin’s time standing here to contemplate it; you know you’re going to need more than a couple minutes to figure this out. No matter how much you want to, you can’t act on impulse with him—you want to foster a love that’s true and natural.

“I think I’ll have that answer soon,” you say.

“Don’t worry about it. You could take a year if you need.” His words are so effortless, and he really means it, which pushes your heart further towards a path alongside him.

“I’ll see you soon,” you say, blinking up at him sweetly with a small smile.

He squeezes your hands. “Soon can’t come soon enough.”

You giggle, then stand on your tippy toes to kiss his cheek. “As a goodbye present.” His blushing cheeks at your action serve as a goodbye present for you.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Something changed last night. Your mind can’t stray from Soobin for too long, wondering when you’ll see him next, what he’s doing right now, how his day has been. You feel a yearning unlike any kind you’ve felt before. Your girlish heart has become something weak, so prone to go haywire at the slightest thought of him.

More than anything else, you think of calling him yours. You think of how you’d be able to spend the night at his place, cuddling up to him and falling asleep in his arms. You think of how you could stare into his eyes and call him your boyfriend. You could lean in and kiss him whenever you wanted, you could let him call you sweet pet names.

You think you might be ready. You want to be Soobin’s girlfriend.

You’re freaking out, body buzzing as you pace around your room, waiting for Chaewon to pick up the phone.

“Heyyyyy,” her voice greets through the phone, and you finally stop pacing to focus on talking.

“I got huge Soobin news,” you say, getting straight to the point.

“Tell me!!!” she screeches.

“I think I’m gonna ask him to be my boyfriend next time I see him.” That earns you an even higher pitched screech.

“Shut the fuck up, I’m so excited! Oh my god. What happened?”

“I literally just can’t stop thinking about being in a relationship with him. It feels like I’m going through withdrawals whenever I’m not with him. He’s been wanting to put a label on us, but I’ve been pushing it off till now,” you explain.

“I’m so invested in this. You would be the cutest couple ever. I will gladly be your third wheel and take all your cute Instagram photos for you,” she rambles.

“So you think it’s a good idea?” Her approval is important to you, and you’re desperate for her to give you a little more confidence in this.

“Yes, do it. As long as you make me your maid of honor.”

You laugh, so relieved that Chaewon supports you in this. You hope Beomgyu takes it just as well, but of course that’s wishful thinking.

“What’s the right way to ask him? Should I be casual or go all out with some extravagant date night?” you ask.

“Come on, it’s you we’re talking about. Obviously you’re gonna go crazy with it.” You laugh because she’s totally right.

“I’m thinking a hotel by the sea and a rose petal path to the bed. And candles, like so many it’s a fire hazard.”

“Yes, and then those eat me panties,” she adds. You burst out laughing at the idea. “Body oil too probably.”

“Oh, you got the whole vision. You want me to record it for you too?” you tease.

“No need, I’ll be hiding in your suite’s closet.”

“Thrilling. I finally get to help you live out your voyeuristic dreams.”

“Right? It’s a win-win,” she says. “But anyway, how do you think Beomgyu’s gonna react?”

You hum in thought. “I don’t know, but we’ve pretty much gone back to normal over the past few days. He didn’t put up a huge fight when I went to Soobin’s last night.”

“Girl, hold up. You went to Soobin’s place?!”

“Yep.”

She’s quiet for a second. “Did he rock your world?” You smile and roll your eyes.

“We didn’t have sex, I just met his friends. They were very nice, by the way.”

She tsks. “I’m so mad, you missed out on such a perfect opportunity to sex him up.”

“Well, I’ll let you know when that happens.”

“Please do.”

“Anyway,” you say, getting back on track. “I’ll tell Beomgyu when he gets back from work. I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it if he gets all annoying about it. It’s actually pissing me off just imagining it.”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s not his life. You don’t even have to tell him,” Chaewon reasons.

“I mean, he’s my best friend, he should know. You and him are the two people I talk to about everything.”

“Yeah, but at this point you should be more focused on protecting your peace. What Beomgyu doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

You know that Beomgyu would find out eventually, though, and then he’d be even more mad at you for not saying something sooner. Any peace you’d have would be very temporary and delicate.

Chaewon starts up again, “I honestly think you should tell him after you make things official. That way he can’t stop you from doing it.”

You hold back a groan, not wanting to weigh out the options. “He’ll be so upset if I don’t tell him first,” you say.

“Still. He knows he can make you halt those plans, and I don’t want you getting hurt again.” You frown, but it softens you to hear how much Chaewon cares about your feelings.

“I’ve got a few hours until he comes back to decide,” you say.

“Just know that I’m one hundred percent team ‘don’t tell him’. Up to you, though.”

“I’ll let you know. Anyway, I’m gonna go now. Going to rehearse this conversation in my head.” Chaewon laughs and says her goodbye, then you hang up.

You drop onto your bed with a sigh. You hope Beomgyu can keep being normal about Soobin, and a part of you really thinks he can, but what if he hates you after this? He might decide he doesn’t want anything to do with you if you’re going to be in a relationship with a guy that he hates. (Hates for no reason, but that’s not something you choose to dwell on today.)

Beomgyu should understand why you want a love life. You crave a second half, someone who will mold you into a better person and navigate the rest of your life with you. Soobin can soften your rough edges. He’s got all the patience and goodness of heart that you need in someone. You want to know that a kind of love exists that you have not yet felt, something deeper and more colorful than anything you know. You want Soobin’s eyes to melt you each time you look into them, each time you think of them. Your heart has grown tired of just being a beating thing; it needs to be lit aflame, to burn for someone, to love so hard it doesn’t fear ruin.

Do you need Beomgyu’s permission for that? Is it as if he’s some guard to your heart? No, but the threat of conflict from his disapproval unnerves you. You try thinking of the best way to break the news to him.

Some long-winded explanation where you pour out your heart would probably irritate him most. You’ll have to keep yourself from going off on tangents—the more you say, the more ammunition he has against you. It’s not like you have to defend your decision to him.

If you’re too broad or dismissive about it, he’ll assume you don’t care or you’re hiding something. His accusations peeve you like nothing else, so the more you can avoid that, the better.

Realistically, his reaction doesn’t depend on your wording, for the most part. It depends on how mature he is about you getting a boyfriend. If he can’t handle the idea, then it won’t matter how you break the news, he’ll freak out no matter what. If he can accept that you can have other men in your life, then he won’t give you a hard time about this.

All you can do is hope for the better outcome. You pray that Beomgyu has learned his lesson in maturity by now.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

When you hear Beomgyu open the door, you rush down the hall to him. You’ve spent all day considering how to have the conversation about Soobin, and you’re excited to just get it over with now. The sooner this weight falls off your shoulders, the better.

“Hiii,” you greet as you watch him take off his coat and shoes.

“Hi. You hungry?” he asks. You shake your head.

“I had lunch an hour ago.” You notice he ordered food somewhere, which he just stuffs in the fridge.

“Do you wanna hang out with me and Yeonjun tomorrow night?” he asks. “We’re gonna watch some band perform at the common.”

“Depends how I feel after work.”

“Alright. You should definitely come though.” You don’t know how to respond to that, so you just don’t. You’ve got a different conversation on your mind anyway.

After a few seconds, Beomgyu starts walking off, but you call his name to stop him before he gets too far. He looks at you expectantly, raising his eyebrows.

“I wanted to talk about something,” you say. He remains still for a second, then carefully takes a few steps closer to you.

“Bad thing or good thing?” he asks.

You hesitate for a second. “Good thing.” You’re feeling nervous again, even though you know you shouldn’t be. Beomgyu’s been fine. He’ll survive if you tell him this.

“You don’t look like it’s a good thing,” he says. He must have caught on to your anxiety. Your fidgeting hands probably gave it away. You hold them behind your back so you stop fiddling with them. You breathe in as deeply as you can without making it too obvious that you’re calming your nerves.

“I just wanted to tell you that I’m going to ask Soobin to be my boyfriend.”

You wait for a reaction. He blinks. Is that a good sign? He’s still breathing, too. Okay, so the news didn’t kill him at least.

“You’re asking him to be your boyfriend?” he repeats, as if he didn’t hear you right the first time.

Fuck, why is your heart pounding so hard? “Yes.”

He sighs and averts his gaze, looking around for a few awkward seconds. You tighten your lips, not really knowing what to do now.

“Your boyfriend?” he asks again.

You give him a curt nod. “Yep.”

You see it flash in his eyes then, something that brings you back to all those times he made your life so difficult. He doesn’t even need to say anything for you to start feeling disappointed, that expression was more than enough.

“I tried backing off, but I just can’t do it anymore. You can’t do this,” he insists. Your head is going to explode. Not this again. Things were going so well.

“Stop. I don’t want to hear it,” you say, but you know he won’t listen.

“I can’t stand it. I hate thinking about how much you like him, how you kiss him, how he’s doing everything I could be doing,” he rambles.

“I’m not hearing this,” you dismiss as you start walking down the hall to your room. You feel Beomgyu’s presence loom behind you. He sure is determined. “Knock it off, Gyu.”

He pushes the door open when you try to close it, stepping in and facing your hard stare. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t back off. You feel inclined to be stubborn and stand your ground too.

“You want me to change? You want me to be more like him?” he asks. There’s something unhinged in his expression. It’s like he’s losing his grip on his sanity. Fear creeps up your spine, but it doesn’t overshadow your frustration.

“No, I like you the way you are,” you answer.

“No you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t need Soobin.” He sounds angry, you must have really bothered him this time. That’s okay. You’ll take this over his pity parties. It’s easier to fight fire with fire.

“I don’t need Soobin, I just like him,” you say.

“Then what’s wrong with me?” he counters. He’s really worked up this time, frustration radiating off of him.

“Nothing! You need to stop with this!” you exclaim. You’ve never had an argument like this with him, fueled by rage and nothing else. There’s no undertones of sadness or attempts to remain calm this time.

“Just tell me you hate me,” he says, stepping closer to you, invading your space. You meet his gaze, unwavering, even if you have to tilt your head up to challenge his stare.

“I don’t fucking hate you.” You cross your arms, not letting your guard down.

“Then prove it,” he says. You wonder if your eyes hold as much fire as his do right now. You refuse to back down. You refuse to lose this. He wants you to prove you don’t hate him? Fine.

You don’t let yourself think about it as you crash your lips onto his. You hold his head still, but it’s not like he was going to run away. He meets your lips with equal amounts passion and frustration. The kiss is nothing friendly or nice—it’s not soft and slow, not sweet, not the dreamlike kiss you’ve been waiting to have with Soobin. This feels less like a kiss and more like war.

You don’t hold yourself back, sucking and biting at his lips carelessly. Your fingers are pulling so hard at his hair that you know it has to hurt, but you don’t care. You hope it does. His hand is on your jaw, keeping you in place so he can lick into your mouth as he pleases.

You hope he tastes your anger on your lips. You hope your tongue feels bitter in his mouth, that it leaves burns in its wake. You hope this kiss will haunt him at night, that he’ll feel you lingering hours later, that he sees your face on his ceiling when he’s trying to fall asleep.

He can never settle for friendship. The simple life could have been so good if he accepted it. You were stupid to think he’d let things go back to normal and stay that way. You hate feeling so dumb. You hate being so easy.

“Is that what you fucking wanted?” you ask as you pull away from the kiss. You wipe your mouth to clear the saliva that collected there. He doesn’t answer, only pulling you in for another kiss, unforgiving and angry. Your teeth clash and he shoves his tongue into your mouth. He tangles his hands into your hair, pushing you deeper into the kiss.

You’ve never felt so angry at him in your life. You try to channel it all into the kiss, using more force than necessary. He should pay for doing this, for getting under your skin yet again.

He growls into your mouth—you guess he’s still angry too. Why should he be? You’re making out with him and no one else. If he wants to complain about that, then he must really be losing his mind.

You walk him backwards until he sits back on your bed, disconnecting your mouths so you can look down at him. His lips are swollen and coated with saliva. He’s hungry—starving—and can’t stand not touching you for even a second, so he grabs your hips and pulls you onto the bed with him.

There goes those walls you built up. There goes those weeks of putting in effort towards you and Soobin. You lose, again. Is this how it will always be with him? Was he playing the long game all along?

He knows you better than anyone. If anyone could figure out a way to set your life off course, it would be Beomgyu.

You have to get even with him. You have to stop taking everything lying down. You stare at him, who looks up at you like he’s waiting for your next move. Fucking prick. You’ll show him.

You shove his pants past his hips and pull his cock out to find him already fully hard. You’re not surprised. Precum oozes from his slit, leaking out on his tip. When you look up to see his face, he’s biting his lip in anticipation.

“Always need to have your fucking way, huh,” you say, squeezing the base of his cock. He throws his head back and moans, thrusting up into your fist. You let go of his dick to push his hips down with angry force. “Don’t you dare move.”

You spit into your hand and jerk his cock quickly, with little care as to how rough you are with him. You squeeze his length like you’re milking him, like you’re trying to get him to burst. If you can embarrass him and have him spilling all over himself in such a short amount of time, you’d feel on top of the world.

He’s thick and hot in your hand, but you don’t let it cloud your mind. You need to put him in his place. He doesn’t deserve a spot in the lustful crevices of your mind right now. This is about balancing the scale.

You keep your stare hard even as he cries and whimpers. You don’t let him see any reaction out of you, because the last thing you want is for him to take control of the situation again. At least like this, you feel like you’re not totally weak for him.

His hips jolt up and he gasps at your ministrations. He grabs onto your wrist, trying to pry you off.

“Behave,” your order, no room for compromise in your voice.

“Baby! Baby, stop, I’m gonna”—his sentence is cut off by a drawn-out moan. It’s like his body can’t decide whether to run away from your hand or rut into it.

“Fucking do it then,” you say through gritted teeth, fucking your fist over him faster. You spit onto his cock to lubricate it even more.

“No, not yet,” he pleads, breathing heavily. It’s cute watching him try to escape the feeling, but you won’t let him. You use your other hand to fondle his balls, and once you do that, he’s a goner. He’s spilling his seed onto your hand with his head thrown back and a loud cry. His hips stutter up into your fist, and his cock twitches in your hand. You feel a bit of a power high from that.

You slow down for only a few seconds before you’re pumping him wildly again. He looks at you with wide, helpless eyes. His body’s jolting with the shocks of overstimulation, and you can’t help but let out a laugh at that.

Beomgyu whimpers your name pathetically. His arms are shaking as they cling onto yours. You don’t relent, merciless as you try to coax another orgasm from him.

“It’s too much!” he cries, and you can even hear the shake in his voice.

“Take what I give you or I’ll leave,” you spit. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No! I can take it.” He pries his arms off you and keeps them at his sides, deciding he wants to be good and listen all of a sudden.

“That’s what I thought.” You twist your hand as it goes down on his length, squeezing harder. Your thumb swipes over his slit when it reaches the head of his cock. “Cum for me, dirty little puppy. Show me how filthy you are.”

As you command it, his orgasm crashes over him immediately. You watch in awe. It’s like he’s trained to follow your words. His hot cum lands on your hand yet again, and you continue jerking him until his high is over. You have to stop yourself from making him cum a third time, too addicted to his little sounds of pleasure.

“Thank you,” Beomgyu says breathlessly. You run your fingers through his hair with your clean hand.

“Looks like the dirty pup is good for something,” you coo condescendingly.

“I am good, let me show you. Sit on my face.” Before you can even respond, he’s already lying down and sticking his tongue out. You furrow your brows at his eagerness and decide to put his mouth to use a different way. Your cum-coated hand meets his tongue, and you let him lave at his mess all over you.

“Hm, guess your tongue is pretty good,” you say mindlessly as you watch him lick all his cum off you. When he finishes cleaning your hand, he sucks two of your fingers past his lips. You smirk and slowly fuck them in and out of his desperate mouth. He swirls his tongue around your digits, then licks up between them. He circles the tip of his tongue on the skin between your two fingers as if it was your clit. You wish it didn’t make your pussy throb.

You pull your fingers out of his mouth and spread them apart, admiring the strand of saliva that forms. You take off your bottoms and panties, and Beomgyu damn near starts panting in excitement.

“Yes, come sit on my face, let me taste your cunt,” he babbles, stars in his eyes. His excitement dies when your saliva-slickened fingers meet your core instead. You make sure he has a great view as you play with your pussy.

“You got me so nice and wet, thank you puppy.” Your voice is sweet, even if your motive is to torture him. You exaggerate your reactions to your touch, moaning extra loud when you circle your clit. Your other hand disappears under your shirt to play with your nipples. You bite your lip as you push your hips up into your hand.

Beomgyu sits up and watches you with a slackened jaw. He starts leaning in between your legs, and you push him away with a foot to his chest.

“Uh-uh, you can’t touch,” you tell him.

“But look! My fingers are longer and thicker than yours,” he says, holding out his hand. You roll your hips up into your hand, remembering the way his fingers felt inside you. You slip two fingers into your cunt to make up for the sudden emptiness you feel.

You fuck yourself with vigor, pistoning your fingers into you, putting on a good show for your best friend. You want him to think you’re not some weak girl who folds for his touch every time. Even though your body yearns for Beomgyu to take care of you, you have to make a point to him.

You get so lost in the feeling of your own fingers that you stop looking at Beomgyu, focusing entirely on the pleasure taking over. That was clearly a mistake, because suddenly you feel two of his fingers entering your pussy alongside your own. You cry out at the sensation, body shaking at the stretch.

It’s hard to move your hand now, but Beomgyu seems to find a way perfectly fine. “B-bad boy,” you scold, but your voice is so shaky that it holds no real bite. When he aims his fingers up, it forces your own to sit snug against your g-spot, resting there as Beomgyu jackhammers into you.

“See? Feels good,” he says. With his other hand, he rubs at your clit viciously, needing to please you more than you can please yourself. “This is so much better, right?”

Your body is buzzing, and you can’t even respond to him. Your mouth hangs open stupidly as he pulls moan after moan from you. A foreign pressure starts building inside of you, more intense than anything you’ve felt before. Your eyes widen and you try to pull your hips away, but Beomgyu’s determined.

“P-puppy, it feels different,” you manage to stutter out. His breath hitches and he connects his mouth to your inner thigh to kiss it. He doesn’t stop his ministrations—if anything, your words encourage him to go even harder.

“You’re gonna squirt for me?” he says with astonishment, and you feel his grin growing against your thigh. It’s blinding, the way the pleasure is consuming you. His hands are wild, working at you without mercy to bring you over the edge. It’s like he needs this more than you.

“I’m—nngh, oh god,” you stammer, body twitching away, but Beomgyu’s so desperate to see you fall apart that he doesn’t let you stray from the feeling for even a second. The pressure snaps and you cry out, legs kicking out as you release all over him. You feel your juices squirting out of you, and if you were in your right mind, you would’ve been embarrassed at how much seems to leak out.

Beomgyu loves it, lapping up what spills onto his wrist and your thighs. You’re shaking uncontrollably, immediately pulling your hand from your center once Beomgyu draws back. You focus more on gathering your breath after that orgasm than on Beomgyu’s tongue licking every inch of your thighs.

You flinch when his tongue finds your pussy, too sensitive to take anymore. You push his head away and sit up, snapping your legs shut. He pouts, but sits up as well.

“Was that good?” he asks, biting down a smile. He leans in like he really wants to know your answer.

You press your palms into your eyes like you’re relieving a headache. Rationality comes back to you, but there’s no point in yelling at him now. You’re the one who shoved your hand down his pants.

“You really don’t want me dating Soobin, huh?” You feel more exhausted than angry now.

“I’ll do so much worse if you make him your boyfriend,” he says.

You blink at him. Is that some kind of threat? “What do you mean?”

“Just don’t be with him and you won’t have to find out.” You don’t have it in you to fight him. If it was this easy for you to fall back on your word and get intimate with Beomgyu again, you might as well hold off on the boyfriend label anyway. Maybe you weren’t as ready as you thought you were.

“You can leave my room now,” you say, leaning your head against your pillow. You’ll probably spend the next hour contemplating everything you’ve been through in the past month. He doesn’t need to be there for that.

“Nah.” He lays down beside you. You inhale slowly, gathering the control to not push him off the mattress.

“Whatever.” You’ll just have your mini crisis with him next to you. It doesn’t even matter.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

To your surprise, you don’t feel completely miserable the next day. Of course, you go throughout the day feeling awful about ruining your chance to be with Soobin any time soon and angry at yourself for touching Beomgyu again, but besides that you’re feeling normal.

You wish your work day would have lasted a little longer—something you never thought you’d hope for—because when you get home and see Beomgyu on the couch, you’re already feeling annoyed. You were doing so good before yesterday. Seeing him is just a reminder of how much you screwed up.

He seems as giddy as he could ever be when you approach him on the couch. You grab a blanket and curl yourself into his side wordlessly, just wanting his warmth. He accepts it gratefully, throwing an arm over you and getting you comfortable.

You can’t even really feel upset. You’re familiar with this cycle already: Beomgyu will bitch about Soobin to you, you’ll get each other off, you’ll argue some more, then you’ll hang out like nothing happened. You put yourself back in this situation, so you spare yourself the pity.

“I’m so glad we’re back to this. It was killing me to not hold you all those days,” Beomgyu says before pressing a kiss against the crown of your head. “I don’t want you to be upset anymore.”

“I’m not upset,” you say flatly.

“I want you to be happy. I’m really happy now.” You only hum in acknowledgement. You don’t really have anything to say to that.

Some time passes in which you and Beomgyu watch television, except you’re mostly going on your phone and Beomgyu’s halfway to falling asleep. You get a notification from Soobin, making you freeze for a moment.

[Soobin] We should meet up tonight if you’re available :)

Beomgyu reads the text over your shoulder. “You better not say yes.” You flinch and back away from him, clutching your phone to your chest.

“Why not?” you ask.

“Cause you said you’d go with me and Yeonjun to the concert!” he whines.

“I didn’t say I was gonna go with you and Yeonjun,” you counter. The entitlement is crazy.

“I asked you first though. If you feel fine enough to hang out with Soobin, why can’t you hang out with me?” he asks.

“What have we been doing for the past hour?”

“That doesn’t count! We live with each other, we have to hang out at home.”

“Wow, ungrateful. You should thank the universe for each second you get to spend with me, home or not.”

“I do. I can show you how grateful I am too, if you want.” You roll your eyes at his suggestion.

“I think I’m okay,” you say. When you lift your phone back up, Beomgyu takes it from your hand and tosses it gently onto the floor. You watch it land a few feet away from you. You don’t feel like getting up to grab it, so you let the device stay where it is. You settle with insulting him instead, “You suck.”

“I don’t want you to hang out with him tonight,” he complains with a pout. “I want my best friend.”

“Gyu, you’ll live.” What a flair for the dramatics he has.

“Just this once, please,” he begs. “You know you’re going to feel guilty and awkward hanging out with Soobin after what we did yesterday anyway.”

Shit. You hate it when he’s right.

You sigh, “Fine.” You’re enveloped in his embrace immediately, face smushed into his chest as he cheers in victory. “This better be the best band I see perform in my life.”

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

The concert is pretty mediocre. The band consists of some grungy college-aged boys who sing about being depressed and cheating on girls. Not quite your music of choice, but you enjoy your time as much as you can nonetheless.

Beomgyu’s arm stays slumped over your shoulders pretty much the entire time. For warmth reasons, you don’t complain, but it is pretty embarrassing to see Yeonjun looking at the two of you weirdly from time to time. He must be able to sense that something’s off between you.

Beomgyu splits off at some point to buy a water bottle somewhere, and you’re left alone to talk to Yeonjun. He doesn’t even spare you a glance at first, which makes you think he might be having a bad day.

“You like this band?” you ask him, breaking the silence. You’re confused why he glares at you when he finally turns his head your way.

“You like Beomgyu?” he retorts, voice filled with some weird scorn.

“Woah, what?”

“Aren’t you dating Soobin? Why are you letting Beomgyu touch you?”

You have no clue where this is coming from. Beomgyu must have been talking to Yeonjun about the things you two did together. “Did Beomgyu say something to you?”

“Yeah,” Yeonjun says. “He’s been telling me all about how you’re sleeping with him while seeing Soobin.”

That motherfucker. He’s bragging about banging you to other guys? You’re nearly seeing red, but you keep your composure so you don’t look crazy in front of Yeonjun. “Soobin and I aren’t exclusive,” you defend.

Yeonjun gives you a humorless laugh. “Would you be happy if Soobin was fucking other girls right now?”

The thought puts a bitter taste in your mouth. “I wouldn’t like it, but I”—

“Don’t lie. You’d cry your heart out.” Yeonjun levels you with a knowing stare. You meet it, unwavering, but you know he’s right.

“You don’t know the whole story. I tried putting a stop to it,” you say.

“And what? You relapsed like he’s some drug? You need to get real.”

You want to be mad, but what’s the point? You’re getting reality checked, and it burns, but maybe Yeonjun’s right.

“Beomgyu puts up a fight every time I talk about Soobin. He won’t let me be.” You feel defensive, like you have to prove you’re not totally at fault.

“So you let him down easy with some pussy?” he asks with sizable disappointment in his voice. God, this is embarrassing.

“You don’t get it.” It’s not like you didn’t say no to him before. You tried removing yourself from the room, you tried telling him this can’t happen, you tried everything except leaving him. It doesn’t work.

“I don’t have to get it. You should do better.” The conversation ends at that, his words left to linger in your mind.

You stand silently beside Yeonjun and stare blankly at the band on the stage. Time has got to move a little faster. You pray Beomgyu doesn’t take much longer getting back.

When he does come back, you don’t let him cling to you like a magnet. He looks at you a little weird for rejecting his arm around you, but he doesn’t say anything until you get in his car.

“Are you okay? You seem kinda pissed.” His question only serves to irritate you further.

“You told Yeonjun that we sleep with each other?” You don’t hide the anger from your voice. He looks at you with wide eyes. Clearly he knows he fucked up. “I never once let you put your dick in me.”

Beomgyu breathes out slowly, then pouts his lips and taps awkwardly on the steering wheel. You allow him his minute of shameful silence before starting up again, “Do you just not respect me? I doubt you told him what exactly led to this.”

He still doesn’t look at you. He can try all the cute, pitiful tactics he wants, you’re not falling for it this time.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, head down like he’s hating his life right now. Good, you hope he is.

“If you’re really sorry then you’ll stop doing anything more than platonic with me.” He looks at you with upturned brows and scared eyes. It’s as if you spoke his worst fear into reality.

“No, I’ll tell Yeonjun I lied, I promise,” he pleads.

“Why? You didn’t lie. I’m just some whore you get to brag about, right?”

“No! I lied, I was wrong, I should have never opened my mouth to Yeonjun. I’m stupid.” Ugh, you can’t take his self-pity.

“We’re never crossing that line again. I was stupid. I’m actually glad Yeonjun gave me that reality check.”

“I’m sorry. We don’t have to stop, I’ll just shut my mouth about it now,” he says.

“I don’t want to risk ruining everything anymore.” He has nothing to say to that. It’s eerily quiet for a moment. “Can you bring us home now?”

He puts the car in drive. The ride is silent the whole way home.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

The longest week of your life passes by, in which you barely hang out with Beomgyu, barely see Soobin, and barely talk to anyone. You consider it to be a reset week for you, trying to detach yourself from everyone else to focus on finding out what you want. With so many complicated relationships in your life, you need plenty of time to think this through.

You spend a lot of nights considering what exactly you want from Beomgyu and Soobin. You weigh all your thoughts out and philosophize them, waiting for something to click and show you all the answers. What you learn instead is that no amount of contemplation is going to clear things up for you completely.

When looking at it honestly, your life has been a mess of ups and downs since meeting Soobin. It’s not his fault at all—actually, when you try to pin the blame on someone, the dart lands like a bullseye on your own face. And it’s not that Soobin is a bad influence on your life, making you do all these stupid things; instead, it’s that you have no willpower when it comes to Beomgyu.

So, do you end things with Soobin? You rack your brain for a smart answer, but it’s hard to even think anything after forming that sentence. A pit of emptiness forms in your chest instead, and avoiding that uncomfortable feeling is within your own self-interest.

You itch to call Chaewon more times than you can count, but you don’t let yourself give in. You want this to be something you tackle without the influence of anyone else. You already know how Chaewon would tell you to solve this, anyway.

A couple nights throughout the week, Beomgyu has knocked on your door, and neither time did you let him in. Out of everyone you know, he has the biggest influence on you. Your rational mind is thrown out the window when it comes to him. You don’t think that’s something you can stop or control.

He texts you and makes sure you’re okay, which you’re grateful for. You still eat dinner with him, and you even let yourself indulge in one movie night, but you’re trying to keep your distance so you can keep your head clear.

You’re at a mental standstill, looking down a multitude of paths that have no clear end. You could move in with Chaewon and make Soobin your boyfriend. You could end things with Soobin and see if you can go back to normal with Beomgyu. You could do nothing and give up your hand in this game.

You feel like you’re finding a new law of arithmetic trying to decide what to do next. You’re not the thinking type—clearly, as if the past couple months haven’t been proof enough—so you earn no insight and all headache from this.

Go you, trying to be independent and figure out your life on your own. Look where that got you, huddled up in your bedroom and even more depressed than before. You need a drink.

Matter of fact—

Wanna go to a bar?

You don’t even have to wait a minute for Chaewon’s response. ‘Bar’ to her is exactly what ‘squirrel’ is to dogs.

[Chaewon] You already know my answer. I’m getting ready right nowwww

No boy talk or I’m ending my shit in front of you

You need one night to just let loose and stop thinking. You’ve had enough of deliberating upon the men in your life this week.

[Chaewon] Oh you need those drinks bad

[Chaewon] Okay noted

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

You don’t expect to be interrogated as soon as you open the door to your apartment the next morning, but Beomgyu’s insistent prying serves as a lovely pairing with your massive hangover.

“Where were you last night?” he asks before you can even open the door all the way. You’re too busy adjusting to how bright the room is to process his question at first. You squint to save your eyeballs as much as you can. You walk right into Beomgyu when you try to properly enter the room. He holds your waist to steady your balance. “Are you drunk?” he asks.

You shake your head and instantly regret it, since it makes it feel like your brain is sloshing around inside your skull. “Hungover.”

“You didn’t tell me you were going out,” he says. He doesn’t sound mad or accusatory, but it still irritates you because you don’t want to deal with this right now.

“Didn’t realize I had to.”

“You always do when you go out drinking,” he reasons.

You sigh, “Yeah, well, I didn’t this time.”

He scrunches your brows as he takes in your tone. “Are you mad at me or something?”

You rub your eyes. You need to bury your head under your pillow, this light is killing you, and this conversation needs to be over with. “I’m not mad at you.”

He’s quiet for a second. “I feel like you are.”

“Okay. Have fun feeling like that.” You open one of the cabinets to look for some medicine.

“See? You’re talking to me like you’re mad at me. What did I do?” All your patience leaves you at that. You don’t want to be doing this right now.

You place the pill bottle onto the counter with more force than necessary and turn around abruptly to face Beomgyu. “I’m hungover. I don’t want to talk. Take a hint.”

He blinks at you stupidly, and it just annoys you more. You scoff and turn your attention back to the medicine.

“Were you with Soobin?” he asks, breaking the ten seconds of peace and quiet he allowed you.

You groan. “Does it matter? I could have fucked Soobin last night and it still wouldn’t be any of your concern.”

“Did you fuck Soobin last night?” he asks urgently now that you planted the thought in his head. You swallow your pills in place of answering him. He holds onto your arm to stop you from leaving when you try to walk past him. “Did you??”

“What if I did? Do you think you have any right to tell me anything about it?” You didn’t, obviously, but at this point you’ll say anything to get him to stop talking.

His jaw clenches and he tightens his lips, but you don’t give a damn what displays of anger he gives you. He could pull his arm back and get ready to punch you and you still wouldn’t waver. You raise your eyebrows, waiting for his answer.

“I just—I don’t get—You’re not even…” He sure is having trouble finding his words. Some defense he’s got built up.

“Interesting.” You turn, ready to storm off to your room, but he stops you once again.

His hands stay clung to your shoulders, not even blinking as he turns you back toward him. “Please just tell me who you went out with.” He almost reeks of desperation.

You’re annoyed and you don’t owe him shit, so you don’t open your mouth to give him a response. You shrug with a straight face.

He whines and leans his head down onto your shoulder like you’ve just stabbed him in the gut. You roll your eyes. He always has to be the victim. You might just trudge to your room with him clinging onto you if he doesn’t give this up. You’ll get to your bed one way or another.

“What did I do? I’m so sorry. Why are you so mad at me?” he says, voice breaking like he’s holding back tears. He nuzzles further into your shoulder.

“Gyu, I swear, I’m just tired and my head hurts. You had nothing to do with this until five minutes ago. So please get off of me.” You push against him to try to pry him away, but he locks his arms around you. You sigh deeply, accepting his embrace because it’s not like you can run from it. You wait until enough time has passed where it’s safe for you to pull away without him freaking out.

“So you’re not mad at me?” he asks, giving you those sweet puppy eyes that you’d melt over any other time. Unfortunately, you’re still pissy and in need of rest, so you don’t coddle Beomgyu like you know he wants you to.

“No.” His lips tilt up just slightly at that. He wipes his eyes dramatically.

“Can I lay down with you then?” he asks, eyes carrying all his hope.

You shouldn’t, but you don’t want to deal with his moping if you don’t let him. “If you stay quiet and keep your distance.”

You’re already walking to your room when you hear him start complaining, “Keep my distance!?” You don’t stop to respond. Now that you have your sight on your bed, nothing could stop you from getting wrapped up in your blankets.

You fall against the mattress with a groan, smushing your head into your pillow. You register the bed dip next to you with Beomgyu’s weight, and you’re half-surprised that he allows you a respectable amount of space. A good five minutes pass in which you nearly fall asleep just listening to yours and Beomgyu’s breathing. Silence is always fleeting with Beomgyu, though, and it’s not long until he has to break it.

“I’m sorry, I can’t stop thinking about this. Did you seriously… sleep with Soobin?” Beomgyu asks in a quiet voice, words coming out hesitantly like he’s almost scared to ask.

You sigh, turning your head so you’re facing him instead of being buried in a pillow. You blink slowly, still wanting to fall asleep. He’s pouting and looks like he feels bad for even asking. Luckily for him, most of your annoyance evaporated from you the moment you laid down.

“No, I didn’t. It was just me and Chaewon,” you answer. You let your eyes flutter shut again, assuming the conversation would be over now.

Nope. “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier then?” You contemplate pretending to be asleep so that you don’t have to respond anymore, but you feel his arm wrap around your waist and you have to shove it off. There goes that idea. “And why can’t I hold you anymore?” he asks.

“Because of what we talked about after the concert.” Your eyes are still closed, but you bet he does something sassy in response like roll his eyes or curl his lips down.

“Well I think that’s stupid,” he says. You open your eyes to make sure he sees it when you scowl at him.

“You’re free to leave my room if you don’t want to respect my rules.”

“Putting rules on our friendship is so ridiculous,” he argues. “We have literally always been touchy with each other. Soobin can go cry about it if he thinks there’s a problem with that. Why should we change for him?”

“It’s me who’s putting these rules down, he never told me to do anything. It’s not just because of him, either.” Your head threatens to start pounding again.

“What else would it be for?”

“Us? Do you not worry that we’ll go too far and never be able to go back?” you ask incredulously, like the reasoning should be obvious. He must not fear losing this friendship the way you do.

“No, because I know nothing could break the bond between us.”

“Hooking up does. Don’t you see how much we’ve changed already? For the worse?” He’d be blind to deny that much.

“Hooking up didn’t change us, Soobin did,” he counters. He’s not holding anything back, overflowing with audacity today.

“I would have told you to stop with or without Soobin in my life.” Because you actually care about preserving your friendship. You know that a lifetime of shared memories is better than twenty minutes of sexual gratification.

“And you think this time will be any different from the last hundred times? You keep saying this is going to end, and then it doesn’t.”

“But I mean it this time,” you say with full confidence.

“You say that every time.”

“Then how about you make it easier for me and stop trying to get with me? It might make things easier if you actually fucking respected it when I try to lay down boundaries.”

“Or you can just say no to me, unless I’m that irresistible,” he snides. Is he serious? Does he think you’ve never tried to say no?

“Fuck you.” You turn away from him, done with this conversation. He doesn’t leave your bed, but he does keep his distance. Either he’s pissed off now too, or you’ve finally convinced him to respect you. Your bet’s on the former.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

You’re getting ready to go out, wanting to spend your Sunday with Soobin. You haven’t seen him in a while, and you feel like you need this to clarify things for yourself. You aren’t supposed to meet him until later today, but you’re planning on running some errands first, and you might as well get ready now so you don’t have to rush to do it later.

The sounds of you roaming around your room seem to beckon Beomgyu over. He walks up to you with a soft smile on his face. “Heading out?” he asks.

“I am,” you confirm. You stop struggling with the necklace you were trying to put on and hand it to Beomgyu instead. You might as well make use of his presence. “Can you put this on for me?” You pull your hair off your neck to make it easier for him.

He’s able to secure the clasp much faster than you. He pats your shoulder when you’re all set, and you put your hair back down.

He’s quiet for a few seconds before he speaks up again, “I’m sorry for arguing with you yesterday.” He looks bashful as the apology rolls off his tongue.

You weren’t expecting that. You guys don’t really apologize to each other over small arguments, you just move on. You turn to face him so he can see your honesty. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

He laughs. “I deserved it.”

You shake your head. “No you didn’t.”

You two smile at each other, and it’s times like this where life feels a little simpler. It’s surreal that you share your own little section of the world together, and that you still get to have these bonding moments years after meeting.

“I’m glad that I have you in my life,” you say. “Even when I’m hungover and annoyed at you.”

His response comes in the form of a giggle and a squeeze of your hand. You allow it, letting him be sentimental.

“Okay, I need to continue with my makeup now,” you say, pulling away to rummage through your products and find your eyelash curler. Beomgyu lingers behind you, just watching.

“This skirt is really cute,” Beomgyu says, pinching the fabric of it.

“Thanks, I thrifted it.” He hums and nods in response. A minute passes in which he silently observes you.

“You doll yourself up a lot when you go out with Soobin.” You slowly turn to face him, not understanding the point of his statement.

“Is that a problem?” you ask. You didn’t even tell him you were going out with Soobin.

“No. You look good.” You hum and pull out mascara from your vanity’s drawer. You lean forward as you apply it to your lashes, trying your best to ignore Beomgyu’s stare.

A part of you is admittedly confused that Beomgyu isn’t trying to stop you from leaving or fighting with you about seeing Soobin. Just now, he was actually the most collected you’ve ever seen him be when it comes to Soobin. You don’t want to jinx it, so you try to shift your thoughts somewhere else.

You and Soobin are going to the vintage market later, since you found out that you both share a love for vintage things. (For him, it’s old gaming systems and figurines, and for you, it’s clothes and home decor.) You’re thinking about trying to convince him to get dinner with you too, but that might be pushing your luck. You know he had some errands to run today too.

“Those are nice,” Beomgyu says. You don’t know what he means until you see in the mirror where he’s looking. You widen your eyes and straighten your posture immediately. Bent over the vanity like that, your panties were on full display under your skirt. And to think you were sharing a sentimental moment just a few minutes ago!

You scowl at him. “Thanks for staring, creep.” You shove your mascara back in the drawer.

“I’m sure Soobin would love them,” he says. You pause as you register his words. You’re not sure what his goal is, or why he suddenly switched up so much. You decide it’s best to not add fuel to the fire and just keep your mouth closed.

Beomgyu’s all fire though, and needs no fuel to keep going. “Your makeup’s really pretty too. You look like an angel.”

“What are you trying to do?” you ask, voice full of suspicion. Even in his tone, you can hear his ulterior motives.

He comes closer to you with a grin, leaning his head on your shoulder and locking eyes with you in the mirror. He wraps his arms around your waist, and you feel a bit overwhelmed by his presence.

“I know you worked so hard getting pretty, but I don’t really think you should go out today… It’s windy, and you’ll be so, so cold in this…” He slowly pulls the thin strap of your top off your shoulder until it falls limp around your arm. His finger lightly traces the skin he revealed.

You’re not so curious what Beomgyu’s intentions are anymore. They’re pretty easy to guess now. “I’ll be fine,” you say.

He pouts, continuing to trace little swirls onto your skin. “You’ll get sick,” he adds.

“That’s not what you actually care about,” you say.

“I do though.” He places a kiss on your neck as if to show his earnestness.

“Beomgyu—no, this is too much.” You try pushing him off, but it’s as if he doesn’t feel your efforts at all. You give up after the second attempt.

“You should stay home with me so I don’t have to worry about you all day.” He stares at your side profile and brushes your hair back. He places another tender kiss on your neck, higher up this time. You try to fight any heat rising in your body from the action.

“Stop this,” you say, but it doesn’t sound so confident with how your voice shakes. You turn your head to look him in the eye. He just smiles up at you from where his head still leans on your shoulder. You hold back a gasp when his finger stops tracing lines on your skin and hooks under your bra strap instead, just barely starting to pull that aside too.

You’re so flustered by his finger slowly inching your bra strap down that you barely notice when his lips are back on your neck, attached to your pulse point like your heartbeat was calling for him.

“Y-you told me I could say no to you,” you remind him as his lips continue their slow descent down your neck.

“Yeah, if you actually meant it.” He places one last kiss to your skin, then props his head back on your shoulder to look into your eyes through the mirror. He smiles as if he likes what he finds; you must look as confused and malleable as you feel.

“You lied,” you say quietly, as if it’s a revelation to yourself and not a response to him.

“I didn’t. I’m just obsessed with pleasing you.” He runs his hands down your sides soothingly, then prompts you to bend with a gentle hand on your back.

“Beomgyu!” you squeak, fighting against the hand that beckons you down. You hold on tight to the edge of the vanity to keep your body up.

“Stop thinking. Let me take care of you.” His voice is so soft and coaxing, and you feel a sizable sense of shame hit you when arousal oozes from your cunt. An even greater amount of shame finds you when your arms shake and eventually give, letting Beomgyu ease you down until you’re bent over the vanity.

“We really can’t do this.” It might be too late to keep fighting, but you don’t want to suffer the consequences of this all over again.

“Shhh, baby,” he whispers as his hand travels down your back and settles on your hip, massaging the area.

Oh god. This is so bad. You’re supposed to be hanging out with Soobin in a few hours. You can’t do this right now.

“Gyu”—

“It’s okay,” he soothes. “Stop shaking, why are you so nervous?”

“I’m supposed to see Soobin today!” you squeak. He tsks.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop thinking?” A warm hand trails up your thigh. He doesn’t go under your skirt, he stays well enough away from your center, but something about his touch is still making your head spin. No one can make you lose reasonability like Beomgyu can.

You whine, and you don’t know if it’s out of defeat or out of need. You blink a tear from your eyes and follow Beomgyu’s advice: you stop thinking.

“Gyu…” You don’t even know what you’re calling him for. You hide your face in your arms so you don’t have to watch your reflection give up her fight.

“Yes, baby?” Your hips push out in search for his touch before you can stop yourself. Tears of shame pool in your eyes, and you're glad Beomgyu can’t see your face to coddle you for that. “You need something?”

You don’t respond. It’s embarrassing how bad you need his touch, but you can’t bring yourself to say it out loud. A part of you wishes he’d leave you here like this so you could take care of your needs yourself.

He flips your skirt up with a careful hand, and you keep as still as possible. You try not to even breathe too hard. “You’re wet,” he says. “Want me to help you?”

What’s the point of asking? He went this far already. “No,” you say, and half of the reason is just to test if he’ll do it anyway.

“But you need me,” he says, brushing your hair out of your face and turning your head to him with his fingers on your chin. He looks at you like you’re a deer caught in a bear trap, like he’s being merciful to offer his help. You feel powerless when he looks at you like that.

His pitiful stare just makes you blink more tears out of your eyes, and you’d hide your face if you could, but he insists on keeping your head tilted towards him. He coos when the wet trails reach your cheeks, bringing a thumb up to wipe your tears.

“Do you wanna feel better?” he asks, continuing to spoil you with tender touches. He grabs your hand and lifts it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. You feel every bit the deer caught in the trap—Beomgyu’s got you in his claws now.

“I don’t know,” you say, pouting up at him.

“It’s okay. I’ll help you. Just tell me when to stop…” The light press of his fingertip against your clothed core makes you sigh, tension melting from your body. You close your eyes, shutting off your brain and relaxing into the feeling.

“That’s right, it feels so good, doesn’t it?” He circles your clit, keeping his touch feather-light. Even that much drives you crazy and makes your legs tremble. “Can I take these off?” His finger moves from your clit to hook beneath the hem of your panties.

“Please,” you say. He kisses your shoulder blade in appreciation.

“What nice manners.” Your panties are slowly peeled off of you until they hit the floor. The cold air hits your wet folds, making you shiver in anticipation.

“Fuck,” Beomgyu utters as he stares at your pussy. He brings a hand down and starts rubbing your clit, leaving you a gasping and mewling mess already. “I missed this cunt. God, you haunted me. You tortured me.”

He attaches his mouth to your neck, kissing down to your shoulder. You cry out when his tongue meets your skin, licking and nipping at whatever skin he has access to. You clench around nothing, making more arousal drip out of you. Beomgyu coats his fingers in the slickness and continues drawing tight circles onto your clit.

“Beomgyu!” you yelp out when he speeds up. He places a parting peck onto your jaw before leaning away to look at your face. He smiles down at you.

“You need something inside that wet little cunt? Are you aching for my fingers?” His words make you feel lightheaded. You’re already having trouble thinking clearly, but now with that thought in your mind, you’re a goner.

“Yes, I need you!” He’s quick to give you what you want, sinking two fingers in with ease. You’re left crying and panting as he fucks his digits into you, filthy sounds filling the room.

“You’re so hot,” he praises, pulling your head up with his fist in your hair. You’re forced to stare at your own reflection, met with an image of you that looks so unfamiliar. Your mouth is hung open, spilling out moans and cries as Beomgyu’s fingers continue ramming into you. Your makeup is smudged and no longer suitable to go out in. The strap of your shirt and bra still hangs limp on your arm, and that side of your neck is coated in Beomgyu’s saliva.

“I look like a slut,” you say, pouting only for a second before your mouth is forced open again around a whine.

“You look beautiful.” His fingers curl into you, searching for the spot that will have your eyes rolling back. Your legs tremble when he finds it, and you have to rebalance yourself, clutching onto the vanity to keep yourself up.

“There! Oh, god, Gyu!” His mouth is back on your throat, hot and wet as he sucks and tastes and kisses. He nibbles on your jaw, then moves up to breathe into your ear.

“Let me fuck you, let me fill you up,” he whispers. You clench around his fingers at the thought. He stills inside you and you whine. “Baby.” He holds your face so you’ll look at him. He presses a quick kiss to your lips. You’re too far gone to complain. “You need more, right? You need my dick inside you?”

He curls his fingers inside you once more, and your back arches at the sensation. You try not to get too heady at the idea of him splitting you with his cock. That’s the one thing that absolutely cannot happen, so you can’t let yourself give in to that.

“Tell me, or else you won’t cum at all,” he says, rubbing his fingers inside you so perfectly it leaves your legs shaking.

“No, please!” you exclaim, panicked at the prospect of him leaving you on the edge. Your frantic hands are quick to play with your clit and squeeze your tits, trying to get yourself off while his fingers are still inside of you.

“Are you gonna let me fuck you today?” he asks, moving his fingers slower so you won’t cum. You pout and push your hips toward him, but a strong hand of his retaliates and keeps you still.

“We can’t,” you say. Immediately, he pulls his fingers out of you. He slaps your pussy, making you yelp and shut your legs. He pries them back open and slaps you again, harder this time. His fingers collect your wetness and tease your entrance, but never slip back inside.

“Did my slut already give it up to Soobin? Because that would really piss me off,” he says, staring meanly at you as he waits for your answer.

“No! We never did anything together,” you answer, the truth leaving you easily when you’re so desperate for his touch. He huffs out a laugh.

“That’s right. You know you’re mine.” He’s so pleased that he decides to relieve some of your need, rubbing your clit. “No one else would be able to touch you like me. Tell me how I ruined you for any other man,” he prompts.

He pulls his fingers off of you and pushes his pants down, whipping his dick out and stroking it as he looks down at you. He taps your clit with the head of his cock and bites back a grin when you mewl at the action. He thrusts against your pussy, letting his length slide between your folds.

You have to cling onto reality and keep yourself from slipping into a brainless haze. It’s hard to do when his cock feels so girthy and hot against you. He would stretch you so nicely. Your cunt oozes at the thought.

“Say it,” Beomgyu demands, grabbing your face again so you’ll make eye contact with him. He leans over your body to do so, and you feel completely surrounded by him. His stare is hard and demanding. Your eyes bug out when you feel him press his tip against your entrance, pushing with just the slightest bit of pressure, but not quite sliding in. “Say it or I’ll fuck the words out of you.”

That scares you into compliance. “You ruined me for anyone else! Only you can make me cum! I only want your cock!” you chant thoughtlessly.

He laughs and smooths his hands down your body, resting them on your waist. “Good girl. Was that so hard?” He’s so condescending, but it makes you drip like crazy. He goes back to thrusting against your pussy, making you sigh in relief.

Beomgyu runs a hand under your shirt, squeezing your tits. Your back arches when he twists and pulls at your nipples while continuing to slide his cock through your folds. He takes his dick and starts swiping his tip over your clit rapidly, watching you spasm at the sensation with a grin. Your hole continues to flutter, aching to be stuffed with his cock. Unfortunately, Beomgyu takes notice of that.

“You need that hole filled, baby? Need to be nice and stretched?” He brings his tip back to your entrance. He circles around it teasingly, making you whine. You can’t let him fuck you. You need to keep at least that much from him.

“Don’t,” you plead, getting more antsy the longer he stays at your entrance.

“Don’t?” he repeats, but doesn’t move away.

“Please don’t!” you cry, unwilling to let him go that far. He finally relents.

“Then you’ll cum like this,” he huffs and goes back to stimulating your clit with the head of his cock. You moan out, pushing your hips down to feel him pressed against you more. Your mouth is dropped open in pleasure, eyes shutting as you focus on the feeling. Your legs shake and try to close, but Beomgyu urges them back open with his hand on your thigh.

You can’t form any coherent sentences, stuttering out a garbled mess of words that tells Beomgyu you’re right there. “Let go, baby, be good and cum for me,” he says, and your body obeys. You spasm everywhere as your orgasm takes over, breathing out in sweet relief. He’s moaning behind you, movements getting shakier as his release finds him.

Beomgyu pulls away so his cum lands on your ass, but his fingers play with your pussy to help you come down. Your legs clamp shut when it gets too much, and he takes that as a sign to stop. The sound of you and Beomgyu panting fills the room as you recover from your highs.

“Fuck, I wish I could take a picture of this,” Beomgyu says, staring at your ass painted with his seed. You can’t even think of a smart reply to that, still trying to get your breathing back to normal.

Beomgyu takes off his shirt to wipe you down with it. You’re glad he still has the mind to take care of you. You cringe when you feel him try to put your soiled panties back onto you. “Stop, I’ll just get a new pair,” you say, kicking his hands away.

You stand up and stretch, trying to avoid looking at your reflection as much as possible. You grab your phone to check the time. What catches your sight instead is a text notification from Soobin, and suddenly you feel sick. Beomgyu smirks when his eyes land on your screen. “You still going out with him today?”

You almost feel like you could cry. Was this his plan all along? You put your phone back down, unable to stand the guilt.

He wins again. “No, I’m not.”

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Your life recently has just been a continuous cycle of proving that you can, indeed, stoop even lower. You’re so confused how you even got to this point. Your fairytale relationship was lined up for you, it was supposed to be easy to stop whatever you’re doing with Beomgyu and make Soobin your boyfriend.

Things are more complicated and confusing than ever, a precedent you continuously find yourself in. You can’t grow accustomed to this. You’ll go crazy before you ever figure out why Beomgyu won’t quit. What is the root of his insecurity? Why is he so threatened by the idea of you having a boyfriend? You’ve already told him you won’t leave him.

When you notice that Beomgyu’s not home when you get back from work, you decide to invite Chaewon over to keep you company. You don’t feel like being alone with your thoughts right now.

She’s there in a heartbeat, and the two of you are quick to settle on the couch and watch a bit of the show she’s currently binging. You’re only half an episode in when you stop paying attention and start talking to Chaewon about life instead. It doesn’t take long for Chaewon to land on the million dollar question.

“Alright, this has been killing me since we went to the bar. What happened with Soobin?” Chaewon asks.

You want to punch yourself. This is so embarrassing. “Well…”

“I swear, if you…” she starts, and you know what she’s thinking.

“I did.” You get a hard smack on the arm for that. You deserved it, honestly.

“You fucked Beomgyu?!”

“He didn’t stick it in, but we did basically everything else,” you admit.

“Why?” she asks. “Everything was going so well.”

“I don’t know. Because I’m stupid. I tried to say no, but you know him.”

She looks a little horrified to hear that. “What?”

You scramble to explain, not wanting her to get the wrong idea, “I mean, like, I gave in and let myself enjoy it because he wasn’t stopping anyway.”

“Do you even know how concerning that sounds?” Chaewon asks, looking genuinely worried for you. “Seriously, are you okay?” She runs a hand down your arm to comfort you.

“I’m okay. Thank you.” Her eyes have lost all their hardness and accusation, and she looks at you with only pity now.

“How’d this happen? Give me the timeline,” Chaewon says, and you sigh as you try to recollect the whole story.

“I actually initiated it the first time we hooked up again,” you explain with a sense of shame. “I was angry, and he kept insisting that I hate him, so I kissed him. Then it went further.”

“I hate him,” Chaewon says with a bitter laugh. You frown, so she continues, “I do. I can’t stand him anymore. He knew he was cornering you when he said that shit.”

“Well, it worked. It keeps working. I tried again to stop after that, which is when he told me I should just say no and”—

“What the hell?” Chaewon interrupts, appalled. “As if you haven’t been saying no in a million different ways!”

“Yeah, I don’t know.” You shake your head and shrug defeatedly. “So the next time he tries to initiate something, I say no, and he doesn’t listen because he said he could tell I didn’t mean it.”

Chaewon’s jaw is dropped open. It takes a few seconds for her to get a response out. “I really hate him. I’m fuming for you.”

“Well, I didn’t tell him to stop once he really started touching me. I don’t know why. He told me to tell him when to stop, and I just… didn’t.”

“He needs to get it together. You need to give him an ultimatum.” The drastic measures make your heart pound. Beomgyu would lose it.

“I can’t,” you say. “Even if I did, he’d find a way around it again.”

“Stop giving him so much power over you. You need to detox yourself clean of him.” She says that like he’s some bacteria you can just flush out. He’s more like a parasite taking control of your whole being.

“But I live with him,” you reason.

“Then stay at mine. As long as you’re here with him, he’s going to keep doing this. He’s been messing with your head and ruining your life on purpose. It’s such bullshit. He’ll never take no for an answer,” Chaewon spits.

“What the hell are you guys talking about?” You snap your head over to where the voice came from. Fuck. Beomgyu came home.

Your heart stops. You hold your breath, staring at him with wide eyes. What do you say? There’s no excuse that could get you out of this situation.

Chaewon on the other hand doesn’t seem scared at all—she seems furious. “You,” she answers, unphased at his attempt to intimidate her.

She rises from the couch and approaches him with quick footsteps. You get scared for a second that she might hit him, so you follow her quickly. She stops in front of Beomgyu, and you stand back, observing the scene with your nerves on edge. Beomgyu doesn’t back down, staring daggers into her.

“Beomgyu, you are the most disgusting excuse for a friend in the world,” Chaewon snaps. She pokes a finger against his chest to make her point. “I can only pray that karma gets you one day and makes you see what a piece of shit you are.”

Beomgyu looks at you while pointing at Chaewon. “You’re just gonna let her talk to me like this? Did you even tell her the full story?”

You see red at his accusation. “I told her everything, matter of fact.”

“Yeah? Then she should know that you’re just as much to blame as I am,” he says, walking away from Chaewon and towards you. “I can’t believe you’ve been shit-talking me with your friends for things you chose to do with me.”

Chaewon chimes in, “How much of a choice does she have if you’re bugging her nonstop until she gives in? Crying, fighting, begging. If you were fucking normal she’d already be with Soobin by now.”

Beomgyu doesn’t turn to look at Chaewon as she speaks, so his face is still close to yours as he takes in her words. He doesn’t look remorseful at all. He just looks pissed.

“You can leave, Chaewon,” he says, voice dripping with venom. He looks you in the eye even as he says that. It sends a chill down your spine.

Chaewon grabs your wrist and pulls you a few steps away from Beomgyu. “Come sleep at mine tonight,” she urges you. “You don’t deserve to hear whatever shit he’s gonna put you through.”

“Fuck that,” Beomgyu says. “Get out of my house.” He points to the door. You’re shocked at the slight raise in his voice. He’s never done that before.

Chaewon looks at you, waiting for you to say something. You feel like the smallest person alive because you can’t bring yourself to accept her offer. It would only strain your relationship with Beomgyu more.

“Don’t be mad at me, Chaewon,” you plead, even though that’s probably too much to ask for. But she’s Chaewon, and she carries all the understanding she’s ever had, so she doesn’t get mad at all.

She squeezes your hand. “Be smart,” she says, then wraps her arms around you for a tight hug. “Text me if you need anything,” she whispers in your ear.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper in hers. She pulls away and pats your hair down, looking sympathetic.

“I’ll see you soon,” she says, heading towards the door.

“See you.” You can’t bring yourself to sound happy or excited as you watch her leave. It feels like your life force has been drained out of you, and yet you’re nowhere near done with the arguments tonight. You turn to Beomgyu, already expecting it.

“Please don’t listen to her,” he says. You blink up at him, confused. He’s not going to get mad at you? “I don’t know what she’s telling you, but don’t listen to it.”

You don’t have it in you to fight him right now. “I just chose you again, Beomgyu, even if I shouldn’t have. That should tell you everything.” It’s the last thing you say before heading off to your room. You don’t think your pout leaves your face all night.

Time and time again, you prove you can’t change. You can’t prioritize anything over Beomgyu, not even yourself. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic.

You want to believe you can grow as a person, but it’s so impossible when Beomgyu insists on bringing you back to square one every chance he gets. Chaewon’s offer rings in your head, telling you there is a way out. You could stay with her and leave behind all the mess that comes with being here.

Your eyes water. If only you weren’t so weak. You can’t imagine how that life would be better than one with Beomgyu in it. You can’t abandon him; for both his sake and your own, it’s better if you stay. You just have to get used to this being your new life.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Somehow, Beomgyu becomes the only person you don’t feel guilty being around. When you’re with Soobin, you feel guilty for what you’ve done with Beomgyu. When you’re with Chaewon, you feel guilty for not taking her advice and controlling your life more. With Beomgyu, you don’t have to feel guilty, as long as you don’t let yourself think too hard.

You end up spending most of your free time cooped up in his room. It’s better than being alone—your thoughts might send you spiraling if you’re left to deal with them on your own. If making you codependent was Beomgyu’s goal, it looks like he’s succeeding.

You let Beomgyu hold you in his bed, you let him wipe the tears off your face, you let him comfort you with peppered kisses all over your skin and honey coated words whispered into your ear. You let him do whatever he wants because it’s better than fighting with him and breaking yourself down even more.

You open your phone to see you’ve got a text from Soobin.

[Soobin] Are you free today?

Well, technically you are…

You look over at Beomgyu, still caught up in his game. You think of spending time with Soobin, lounging in some restaurant or walking across the city. It’s nice, but any of that niceness is crushed when you think of telling Beomgyu that you’re going out with Soobin. You think of his petty arguments, of the tricks he has up his sleeve, of all the right words he knows just when to say to keep things going his way. You’ve had such a shit week that you just don’t feel like ruining your weekend like that.

You send your response.

I’m not :(

You shut off your phone and lay it against your chest. You feel like you’re becoming an awful person. A few minutes later, Beomgyu cheers and claps at his screen, pushing his chair out a bit and looking back at you.

“Come look at this,” he says. You wrap a blanket around yourself as you trudge over to his desk. He points to each statistic and explains how awesome and amazing they are, looking to you for validation.

“Super cool.” You nod and try to pull an impressed look, but he can always see through your bullshit.

“Why do you sound like that? What happened?” he asks. You fight back the urge to roll your eyes. Curse him and his stupid ability to read your mind.

You sigh. “I just feel like I’m always lying to Soobin recently.”

Beomgyu, ever the asshole, just smiles at that. “Why?”

“He asked if I was free today and I said no,” you explain.

“Well that’s right. You’re hanging out with me.”

“But we don’t really have plans. We hang out like this every day.” You don’t fight it when he pulls you into his lap. You relax into him.

“Just stop dragging him along. This is going nowhere.”

“It could, though,” you say.

“It couldn’t,” Beomgyu denies with complete certainty. He runs his fingers through your hair when you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Yeah. You would make sure of it,” you say, defeated.

“Don’t act so innocent.” His voice is soft even when he says that.

“I was so set on him. You never liked me like this until you found out about him,” you say, equally as soft, no real fight in you.

“I always liked you like this.”

“No. You never acted like this.”

“I was scared of losing you to him, so I had to act like this,” he defends.

“It makes me feel crazy. Makes me feel like a bad person.”

He hums, still comforting you with his hand in your hair and an arm around your waist. He pulls you up just a bit to position you so that you’re face-to-face with him. The blanket falls off of you and onto the floor behind you. He coos when he sees your teary eyes, cupping your face.

“You’re right, I would make sure of it. I’d never let you get into a relationship,” he admits. His voice drips with gentleness, and it’s smooth as ever, but you don’t feel soothed by it. You back up when his face gets a little too close to yours.

“What if I only want to be friends?” you question.

“Then just be my friend. Don’t be his girlfriend, though,” he pleads. “Would you really hurt me like that?”

“I can’t be his friend?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

A little fire of rage is starting to burn inside you at his possessiveness. It’s like he can sense it, and he’s trying to calm it down, gently rubbing his hands down your thighs.

“Don’t touch me like that,” you demand. He moves his hands to rest on your hips instead. “Don’t touch me at all.”

He pries his hands off of you and holds them behind his head. You feel yourself getting pissed off, but for some reason you don’t make a move to get off his lap.

“Why do you treat me like this?” you ask harshly.

“Cause I’m in love with you,” he answers like he can’t hold it back anymore. Your heart stops and your eyes shoot to his own in shock. He’s looking at you with all the honesty he’s ever had. “So forgive me if I can’t stand you being with someone else.”

You open your mouth, but you have no clue what to say, so you just shut it and stare at him, dumbfounded. It takes a few seconds for rationality to hit you and urge you up and away from him. He stands up as soon as you do, holding onto your wrist.

“No, don’t go,” he begs, lacing your hands together. You lean your head into his chest and cry out in confusion. What are you supposed to do?! God, a part of you wishes you’d never even met Soobin now. If you knew it would come to this, you’d have never stepped foot in that library. It’s just not worth it. You don’t even know how you feel right now.

“What the fuck Beomgyu!” you yell as you burst into tears. Everything is ruined. You can’t be with Soobin. You can’t be with anyone. You can’t have your old dynamic with Beomgyu back. Nothing will be the same.

Beomgyu hugs you, swaying you comfortingly and slowly. You hear him sniffle. He doesn’t deserve to be crying right now. What reason does he have to cry? Everything has gone his way.

You drop to the floor and hold your face in your hands, crying into your palms. He sits in front of you and pushes your hands down, brushing your hair back. His eyes are red from his tears too, but he’s tending to you. Your stomach twists. You don’t know what to think. A guttural sob leaves you.

“Maybe this city isn’t right for you. Let’s move away,” Beomgyu offers, trying a new approach.

“Like you know what’s right for me,” you mock.

“I do,” he asserts.

“You don’t.”

“Just stop with this. Do you not love me?” he asks, angry and serious. You don’t respond. He calls your name. You look away from him.

You don’t know. Somewhere in this whole mess, you’ve lost your perception of what you feel for who. You don’t respond because you have no answer.

He whines and hangs his head, clutching his chest like you’ve just stabbed him in the heart. Always the drama queen. You feel yourself calming down a little as you see it. At least you’re not the only one breaking down now.

“You want to be with him that bad?” he asks. He looks at you with pathetic eyes, tears falling from them pitifully. You feel nothing.

He grabs you by the shoulders with urgency and desperation. You have no more fight in you, so you let it happen. He picks you up and sits you on the edge of his bed. He stands over you, holding your head up so your eyes meet. He frantically searches for something in them. You’re not sure what.

“Can you talk to me?” he requests. “At least give me that much?” He pulls your mouth open with his thumb, staring at it like he’s waiting for something to come out. You don’t know what possesses you, but you feel broken enough to not question it when you take his thumb in your mouth and suck. Perhaps you’re just used to turning to sex in the midst of heated moments now. He pulls it out and stares at you funny.

“What?” you ask. He gives a sigh of relief, and you realize it’s because you finally said something.

“We gotta talk about this,” he says.

What’s there to talk about? He told you what your whole life is going to look like anyway. You don’t even want to think about it anymore.

“Let me sleep,” you whisper. Your head is pounding.

“Okay,” he agrees, laying you back on his mattress, adjusting the pillow beneath your head. You shut your eyes. He tucks you in neatly, making sure you’re extra comfortable. He uses gentle fingers to tuck your hair out of your face. You feel his presence stick beside you like a guard dog until you fall asleep.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

You wake up with a clearer head. The room is dark, you must have slept your way into the night. You remember everything that happened and your eyes shoot open. Beomgyu’s sleeping soundly next to you. He has you right up against him, like he knew you’d try to run away as soon as you woke up. You realize that that’s what you should be doing right now.

You remember you left your phone on the bed somewhere. You feel around for it, more frantically the longer it takes, but you come up empty. A part of you wonders if Beomgyu took it. You shake the thought. He wouldn’t. You despise your mind for trying to paint your best friend as evil.

He can’t help how he feels, right? If he scared you or hurt you, he didn’t mean it. If he’s serious when he says he loves you, then he wouldn’t want to hurt you. You feel sick as you think it over. You probably shouldn’t run away. Where would you even go?

An idea pops into your mind, but you need your phone first.

Gathering your courage, you slip from Beomgyu’s grasp and get out of bed, causing as little commotion as you can. You scan the room with just your eyes, seeing if you can find your phone. You contain the urge to groan when you don’t see it anywhere. You bend down to check under the bed. Nothing.

You startle when you rise up and see Beomgyu looking at you. “What are you doing?” he asks.

“I’m just looking for my phone.” You sound so meek and unnatural in your own ears. You sound scared of him.

“Oh.” He eases back into the bed. You didn’t realize how tense he got. Strange.

You look at him speculatively. “Do you… know where my phone is?”

He furrows his brows. “Are you accusing me right now?”

Yes. “No.” It’s so much harder to rationalize the situation when you’re talking to Beomgyu. He’s quiet for a minute, and it unnerves you. You wonder what he’s thinking.

You watch him closely as he reaches for something on his nightstand. It’s his phone. He taps around on it, and you have no clue what he’s doing until you hear it ring. He’s calling you.

The vibration of your phone is muffled, but present. Beomgyu looks to his side and lifts your pillow, revealing your phone. He hangs up the call from his end. You grab your phone, feeling guilty now.

“Now you can stop looking at me like I’m some psychopath,” he murmurs off-handedly. It stings your heart.

“I’m sorry.”

He sits up and stares at you, then lets out a heavy sigh. His eyes look puffy now from all his crying before, and you figure he must not have slept much. You wonder if he stayed up crying while you slept in his arms.

“I’m sorry too,” he says. You appreciate that, because he’s got a lot to be sorry for. “I got scared and it made me act crazy.”

So you’re finally having this conversation. Your heart rate picks up.

“You did. I guess I did too,” you say. You remember how you broke down. You remember everything he said. “Did you mean it all?” you ask.

He’s quiet for a second. “I meant it when I said I loved you.”

“And when you said you’d never let me have a relationship?” you push. He looks like you just kicked him, and he bites down his response. You remember what Chaewon said about him doing that, how he only does it because he knows you’re weak for him. Not this time. Fuck that. “Talk to me now, Beomgyu. I’ll walk out of your life forever if you don’t.”

He rushes to respond now, eyes wide with urgency. “I don’t know, I’m just desperate, and—and I need you.” He stands up, but doesn’t dare get too close to you. His hands are held together in prayer. “Don’t walk away. I’ll control myself now. Please stay. Who else do I have?”

You take a deep breath, trying to not let his words hit you too hard. You need to keep a clear mind. If your heart starts getting soft, you’ll lose to him again.

“I want you to never meddle in my love life again,” you say, speaking as clearly and confidently as you can.

“But I”—

“Never again. No excuses. Let me be.”

“But I love you!” Beomgyu cries, desperate to keep you to himself.

“Stop,” you insist, locking up the iron gates that protect your weak heart. You can’t let him get through.

“I love you, I love you, I love you! You can’t do this to me!”

You feel him slicing away at the bars guarding your heart. You have to get out of here before he breaks you down again.

“I’m staying at Chaewon’s tonight. If you try to contact me while I’m gone, you’ll never see me again. Give me space.” You fear your sanity might slip from you if you take too long to head out the door.

He drops to his knees as a sob escapes him. Unintelligible pleading escapes his lips, but you can’t allow it into your mind. If you stay here a second longer, he’s going to find your soft spots and attack. Adrenaline forces you to start moving.

You leave the room, leave the apartment, but you still hear his cries. They echo in your mind and torture you as your feet take you to Chaewon’s house. You move as fast as you can, desperate to clear your head, but Beomgyu proves himself again to be a parasite, a stain you can never wash off.

Chaewon’s eyes widen when she sees you. You must look as rough as you feel. “What happened?” she asks, ushering you to her couch. She wipes your cheeks, brushing away tears you didn’t even know were there.

“Beomgyu loves me.” You choke on a sob, leaning forward until your head is buried in Chaewon’s chest, wrapping your arms around her body. You’re glad you don’t have to beg her to comfort you—she’s quick to pat your hair down and hold you while you let it all out.

“Honey, it’s okay,” she soothes. You’re soaking her shirt with your tears, but she doesn’t say anything about it.

“No, everything has changed. Nothing’s okay.” Chaewon picks your head up at that, cupping your face so you’ll look her in the eyes. You sniffle back your tears, suddenly embarrassed by them when she’s looking at you so intensely.

“You will be okay. I promise you.” She sounds so sure of it that you have no choice but to believe her. You nod, and she looks pleased at that. Once she releases you from her hold, you wipe the wetness from your face. You feel yourself calming down.

“Thank you,” you say. Even if all you want to do in the moment is wallow in your own self-pity, you can’t let that be the rest of your life. Once you feel confident you won’t start crying again, you tell Chaewon everything that happened with Beomgyu. She’s quiet the whole time, nodding as you explain the whole ordeal. You don’t have it in you to joke about it right now, and you appreciate that she doesn’t try to either.

“Well, how do you feel? Do you love Beomgyu?” she asks.

You sigh. This is a loaded question. “I’m not in love with him, but I do love him. Even after everything he did, I still love him. I probably always will.”

Chaewon nods slowly and hums in acknowledgement. She takes a minute to ask her next question. “What about Soobin?”

You pout as you ponder it. When you think about being with Soobin now, it’s not heart fluttering anymore. Beomgyu ruined that for you. Maybe Beomgyu ruined any man for you. You can’t imagine talking to another guy, now—not for a while, anyway.

“I’m not in love with him either. I don’t know how I feel now,” you answer honestly.

You get another cryptic hum from Chaewon at that. “I think you should see Soobin tomorrow and see if that clears things up.”

Tomorrow? That’s so soon. You need time to recover from today. The thought of meeting up with Soobin fills you with some sort of dread and fear.

“I don’t know if I can ever see him again,” you admit.

It’s too late for you to come back from this. The damage is irreparable. Beomgyu has carved his name into you, and you can scratch it away all you want, but the slate will never be clean again. You’ll always be marred.

“See him one more time,” Chaewon insists. “Don’t give up yet.” You feel a little bit of life leave you as you sigh. You’re not the fighter that Chaewon wants you to be. You’ve tried so hard, but it never worked.

She puts a hand on your shoulder and continues, “Text him. Ask him to go out with you tomorrow. You can still make this work.” She picks up your phone and puts it in your hand.

You look into her eyes. She has enough hope in them to encourage you to unlock your phone and go to Soobin’s messages. You stare at your texts from earlier, regretting how you didn’t just accept his offer to hang out. You wonder how differently your day would have gone.

You take a deep breath and look at Chaewon for reassurance. Her smile gives you the courage to send something over.

If you’re free tomorrow, I’d love to go out

You doubt he’s awake right now since it’s so late, but you’ll settle with seeing his response in the morning. Chaewon encourages you to get some rest, and you think half of the reason is because she’s tired too, but you don’t argue. If you’re seeing Soobin tomorrow, you’ll need as much rest as you can get tonight. You’ll sleep away the pain and open your heart up to whatever comes with Soobin tomorrow.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

You do your best to not think about Beomgyu at all as soon as you meet up with Soobin. You want to enjoy your day, and you’ll be damned if you don’t at least try. You’ve put up with so much, you need a break. A day out with Soobin could offer you that solace.

It’s colder by the lake that you walk along the edge of, but the sight is so nice that you don’t mind it. Being outside is helping you feel better, too. The lake is still mostly ice, with fresh snow piled on top of it.

“I’m glad we get to spend time together today,” Soobin says, walking slower until he comes to a stop. He looks angelic even with his nose red from the cold.

“Me too,” you say. “I’m sorry it’s been so long.”

“It’s okay, I’m sure you were busy.” You can’t look him in the eye when he says that, it hurts too much. You weren’t nearly as busy as he thinks you were. Your mind was preoccupied with someone else.

“How has work been?” You almost cringe at how surface level the question feels. You’ve been past the small talk stage for a while now, but you’re having trouble thinking of what else to talk about. It’s not like you can talk about your own life as of recent.

“It’s been okay. I miss you sometimes when I’m working in the library,” he says. Your heart should flutter at that. You should feel weak in the knees and butterflies in your stomach. Instead, you feel something inside you shrivel up. You push past the feeling, still determined to try to save this.

“I wish I went over more.” You wish you did a lot of things different.

“You still can,” he says, hopeful. You pray that he’s oblivious to your uncertainty. You smile at him, hoping it doesn’t look as forced as it feels.

“I can,” you agree. A beat of silence follows. You look out to the frozen lake. In the summer, this place is alive with the sound of birds chirping and people laughing. It’s quite different now. You look at the barren trees and strain your ears for any noise.

You don’t usually hate winter, but this year it feels eternal. You’re dying for the snow to start melting and to feel the sun again. The sight of flowers in bloom, of leaves returning to trees, is something you find yourself craving more than ever.

“Do you like the snow?” you ask, turning to Soobin.

“I love it. It makes everything look brighter.” You nod, looking back out to the world. The sunlight reflects off the stretch of snow, and you suppose it does look brighter like this. A gust of wind sends snow blowing at the two of you. You flinch, and he laughs.

“Have you ever gone skiing?” he asks.

You shake your head. “I went snowboarding with Beomgyu once, but I hated it. I had so many bruises the next day.” You laugh a little at the memory.

“I’ve been waiting to hear that,” Soobin says. You look at him in confusion. “Your laugh,” he clarifies.

“Oh.” You feel your face heat up.

“I love skiing, even though I’m not great at it. You should try. I know a great place. We can fall and get matching bruises,” he says, grinning. It puts a smile on your face, and you don’t have to force it this time.

“I don’t know if I can take up that offer,” you say.

Soobin nods. “That’s okay.”

It goes quiet again after that. Silence doesn’t bother you normally, but it feels deeper than usual when there’s nothing going on around you. You sway on your feet, kicking awkwardly at the snow.

“Are you alright? You’re never this quiet,” Soobin notes. You sigh. You couldn’t even begin to explain how you feel to him.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry I’m such a bore today,” you apologize, wanting to shrink into yourself.

“I’m never bored of you. Tell me what’s going on,” he prompts, looking at you attentively. You’re flattered at how he shows his care for you.

You stare at him for a long second, wondering how much would be acceptable to spill. “It’s just Beomgyu.”

Soobin laughs for a second at that. “That’s not the first time I heard that sentence.” He doesn’t look upset or bitter, but it still makes you feel bad. Even if he’s joking, it’s true that you keep bringing Beomgyu up around him.

“I don’t know what to do about him anymore.” You wish you had the guts to say more, but you’re a coward.

Soobin takes a while to respond to that, so long that you think he might just drop the conversation. His smile has shrunk, and you fear that he’s finally putting the pieces together. “You do what feels right,” he advises.

You swallow, trying to calm your nerves. “How do I know what’s right?” Your brows are upturned, lips pouted as you struggle to draw a conclusion. His eyes trail down your face like he’s assessing you.

“Your heart will tell you.” He has no clue the torment your heart’s been through. The poor thing is too weak to make any decisions. Following it will lead you nowhere.

You shake your head. “No it won’t.”

He sighs, and that’s when you know he’s caught onto your dilemma. “You already know what your heart wants. You’re just ignoring it.”

His words strike you with panic. You search his eyes to try to find the answer he’s come to. “What do you mean?” you ask.

“I just feel like…” Soobin starts. You hang onto his words as he struggles to finish his thought. “You’re always thinking of him.”

Your heart sinks. It feels like the world has gone weak, and everything around you is ready to collapse. Can you even deny what he said? You open your mouth to try, but any noise struggles to come out.

“So, can I ask you something?” he continues.

You nod. This moment feels so delicate and fragile, you’re scared of breaking it. Your voice comes out in a whisper when you respond, “Yes.”

“Did you like me at all?” His eyes dart between yours.

You hate this so much. You can’t protect your pride. Guilt spills out from the pit of your stomach and sickens you. Have you turned into something vile? Have you hurt Soobin so much?

“Of course I did. You’re wonderful,” you answer honestly. He wipes a tear from your cheek when it falls from your eye.

“And now?” He keeps his hand on your face. You can't stand his kindness. The knife twists further.

“I don’t know. Beomgyu—he…” You don’t even know where to go with that sentence.

“He fell for you?” he fills in. “I can see why.” He brushes your hair back. Even now, his smile is pure and soft.

“Soobin…” You’re stuck with the most impossible dilemma. A selfish part of you begs to keep Soobin around. The butterflies he summons still come back to life at times like these. You’ll never have to question his sanity. What bloomed between you was innocent and untarnished until Beomgyu dug his claws into you.

The other half of you tells you to stop torturing everyone. Yourself, Soobin, Beomgyu—you all suffer the longer you remain on the fence. You can’t have both men in your life, and you know that you’re not going to give up Beomgyu so easily. You just wish you could figure something out.

“I know your choice,” he says, breaking you out of your thoughts. How? How can he know so clearly when not even you do?

He takes your hand and brings it to his lips. The most gentle kiss you’ve ever felt is placed delicately onto it. You blink up at him. It’s almost like you can already see him flickering away.

He’s letting you go.

You feel the moment melting. You feel the world slowly coming back to life around you, and you want to ask it for one more minute. One more minute, where you and Soobin can be the only two people that exist. He’s putting your hand down, he’s releasing his hold, he’s getting ready to go. You know better than to cry and beg for him now. This is what has to happen.

“Do you know your way home from here?” he asks.

You’re crushed, but you don’t show it. “Yes.”

He steps back. “I’m glad I knew you. You’re the best thing this city has to offer.”

“That’s not true.” There is nothing more cursed in this city than you.

He smiles at you. It’s the last time you’ll ever see it. “It is. I hope he helps you see that.”

That’s the last thing he says to you before he leaves for good. You watch him walk away. Your feet don’t itch to run for him. Your hands don’t yearn to tug him back. The only thing you want now is to see your best friend.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

You try to control the way your body shakes as you stand in front of the door. You need to get yourself together. You steady your breathing. Your fist meets the door to knock on it gently, like you’re unsure if you actually want to go in or not.

You’re glad you ran out of tears already. It would be quite embarrassing for Chaewon to open the door to you crying for the second day in a row.

She assesses you with a frown. “It didn’t go well, did it?”

There’s no need to sugar coat it. “It’s over.”

Chaewon’s lips part in surprise. She’s quiet, and for the first time, it seems like she doesn’t know what to say. You walk to her room without a word, and she follows just as silently. You take your usual spots on her bed, and you try to make yourself feel something. You just come up empty.

“Are you okay?” Chaewon asks, breaking the silence hesitantly.

“I guess,” you answer. You didn’t expect Soobin to let you go. Selfishly, you thought he would never leave you. Chaewon sighs heavily, but you don’t dare to look at her right now. Whether it’s disappointment or sadness on her face, you don’t want to know.

Karma must be real. This was always bound to happen, you realize. This is some cosmic joke, some lesson from the universe to tell you what happens when you let control slip out of your hands. You dug your own grave. Soobin was always going to leave you.

A pang in your chest strikes you when you think of the beginning. Soobin’s shy introduction at the library, his giggles at your flirtations, his eagerness to keep you talking. Everything was so light and easy. You could’ve sworn there was an invisible string connecting you.

“I’m sorry. It’s killing me that I can’t do anything for you,” Chaewon says, and you finally look at her. Her eyes are brimming with tears, lips quivering in an effort to not cry. You frown and hold her hand.

“You’ve done everything for me,” you correct. If it weren’t for all her talks with you in the past couple months, you would have gone crazy long ago. You’d be caught between Beomgyu’s teeth. Now you’re here, sulking over Soobin with her, instead of going home to your other best friend. “You helped me more than you think.”

Chaewon gives you a small smile as a tear falls from her eye. Her hand squeezes yours, and it makes you genuinely smile for a second. “I’m always here for you,” she says.

“Same here, for anything.” She scooches closer to you, and you rest your head on her shoulder.

“How are you feeling?” You ponder her question for a minute, trying to match a label to your inner turmoil.

You sigh, “Numb.”

She hums. “What are you thinking about?” That question brings the pang in your chest back. You can do nothing but succumb to the defeat and hopelessness of it all.

“We never even kissed.” You stare into nothingness as you meddle with the fact. It’s a stupid thing to be upset about, but you feel like you had your one shot at romance ripped away from you. Who can you blame besides yourself?

You could’ve had innocent, pure love. You could’ve had sweet kisses and interlocked hands and a hundred cute little dates, but you traded it all for anger-laced intimacy, endless confusion, and nights ending in tears. You’re a fool.

Chaewon looks at you with such pity that it makes your stomach twist. You must seem so pathetic right now. A part of you wishes you’d run off to Beomgyu instead. He would’ve pampered you, made you forget about Soobin if only for a moment. You know you were right to see Chaewon instead, though. You’ve made enough dumb decisions with your life. You’re sick of destroying everything because you can’t let go of Beomgyu.

Chaewon seems to be thinking the same thing. “I can’t stop thinking about where you’d be now if Beomgyu never brought himself into this.”

You tighten your lips, not knowing what to say. You don’t want to think about it at all. “Yeah.”

She turns to you fully, looking more serious now. “You’re not going back to Beomgyu again. Don’t let him get away with this,” she says.

It’s not that easy. What does she expect you to do instead? Ignore him, drop him now that it’s already too late? You’d gain nothing from that at this point.

“It’s useless,” you say. She takes both your hands in hers, holding them over her heart and looking into your eyes.

“I care about you too much to watch you spiral like this. Stay with me. I’ll help you bring your things here.” She looks at you with pleading eyes. Your heartbeat races. The choice is yours.

“I can’t burden you like that,” you say, shaking your head.

“It would burden me more to know you’re letting Beomgyu win again,” she insists. You exhale shakily, trying to stop your thoughts from flying by so fast. You need a clearer mind to be able to make this decision.

“I need to think about it.” Chaewon nods, always understanding of you.

“Just let me know. I promise I’ll be there in a heartbeat.” You feel like you owe this girl the world.

You look out the window, noticing how dark it is. You would stay over her house again, but something inside you urges you to go home. You shift on the bed, stretching as you get ready to stand up again.

“I think I’m gonna head home now,” you say, and you see her eyebrows knit in confusion immediately. You know what she’s thinking. “It’s not for Beomgyu. It’s for me.”

She still looks uneasy, but she doesn’t put up a fight. You’re glad she saves her lectures on Beomgyu this once. She gives you a parting hug.

“Think about my offer,” she says as you pull away. Her eyes are hopeful, like she’s counting on you for this one thing.

“I will,” you promise.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

The moment you get home, you take yourself straight to Beomgyu’s room. It’s late, and you know he must be sleeping, but you don’t want to feel alone for even a second. You don’t want to think about Soobin.

Beomgyu’s room is slightly illuminated by the glow of his gaming setup. He looks so peaceful laying in his bed. His chest rises and falls in a perfect rhythm, and you find yourself calming down. You stand there in the doorway for a minute, debating whether or not it was too far to go and wrap your arms around him.

He stirs in his sleep. Perhaps he felt your presence—you wouldn’t doubt it at this point. The boy has always seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to you.

“Gyu?” you whisper, testing if he’s waking up or not. His eyes flutter open, so slightly and sleepily that you barely see it. When he notices you standing at his door, he shifts on the bed to make room for you. He pats the spot next to him on the mattress, and your body responds to his call immediately. It seems the magnets attracting you together have never left.

You settle in beside him, cozying up to his warmth. Your eyes are unblinking as they stare at his ceiling. You barely feel like you’re in your own body as Beomgyu tucks you into his side. You only sort of register it as the weight of his arm falls across your waist.

“You came back,” Beomgyu says, voice scratchy and deep from sleep.

“You knew I would.” He doesn’t respond. He knows it’s true.

His breathing is starting to grow slower again, and your heart pounds in unease. You won’t be able to fall asleep. You don’t want him to leave you in the real world right now.

“Beomgyu,” you say in a quiet voice. He hums in response, and you feel the vibration of it in your bones. “I ended things with Soobin.”

He freezes. You don’t even feel him breathe anymore. You keep your gaze off of him; if he’s happy, you don’t want to see it. He tries to sit up, but you coax him back down. You don’t want to be up right now.

You continue, “Or, I guess, he ended things with me.”

His silence would irritate you if you didn’t feel so numb. You focus on your breathing, still staring at the ceiling. You feel weightless, like your body could break from the slightest shove.

Finally, he moves beside you. It’s just a turn of his head, but it’s enough to make you feel a little less stiff. You feel his eyes on you, but you can’t be bothered to meet them.

“Well, I’m not gonna say I’m sorry…” he says. You don’t need to look at him to know that he’s smiling.

“I know. Cause you’re an asshole.”

“But I’m not a liar.”

“Sometimes I wish you were,” you sigh. Your life might’ve been easier in that case.

He ignores that. “I’m here for you. Whatever you want, whatever you miss from him, I’m here.”

You don’t need that. You just need a cork in your chest to fill the space your heart has leapt from. His bandages will never stop the bleeding when it’s this profuse.

“I think you were right, I don’t know if this city’s right for me,” you admit quietly, resting your head on his chest. You hope the world is kind enough to let you find sleep tonight. His response comes in the form of hugging you closer to his body. You let it happen, soaking in all his warmth and comfort. This might be the last time you see him, after all.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

You don’t say goodbye. You pack a couple bags while Beomgyu’s not home, doing your best to ignore your blurred vision from the tears welling in your eyes. Chaewon greets you with open arms when you arrive at her place.

“Just these?” Chaewon asks, picking up your bags.

“Yeah, I didn’t grab everything. I left most of my stuff there,” you explain, voice hoarse from your crying earlier.

“That’s okay.” She brings your bags to her work room, which she promised to repurpose for you as your own room. You tried saying that you could crash on her couch for now, but she insisted that she’d do this for you, even if it’s just for a couple weeks.

The room is mostly empty—Chaewon must’ve been up all night clearing it out—save for her desk in the corner. You’re reminded of when you moved into your apartment with Beomgyu. The thrill of independence, of being a young adult in a new corner of the world. Everything was exciting and new back then, and you miss the innocence that came with it.

“My friend has a twin size mattress that he’s bringing over later today, we can find a frame for that at some furniture store,” Chaewon says.

“Oh my gosh, your friend doesn’t have to do that!” you exclaim. You already feel yourself becoming a burden. “An air mattress is fine.”

“Stop, I’m probably doing him a favor helping him get rid of it. I’m not making you sleep on an air mattress, those things suck.”

“We shouldn’t buy a bed frame yet, I don’t know how long I’ll be here,” you reason, but Chaewon’s not hearing it, shaking her head and dismissing the thought with a wave of her hand.

“We can just get something cheap. I know a really good place. I got mine there for, like, three hundred.” Your eyes widen. You can’t control your natural reaction to a great bargain. “Yeah, I know. So let’s go there.”

The rest of the day goes by in a blur of setting the bed frame up, putting half of your things away, and chatting with Chaewon about how nervous you are about this.

The two of you are cramped into your twin bed, talking the night away like it was any normal sleepover. Chaewon gave you one of her LED lamps, and its multicolored glow is the only source of light in the room. You lean into her, and she lets you practically use her as a pillow.

“Did you tell Beomgyu?” she asks. Her fingers run through your hair calmingly.

“No.” You don’t know if you should feel bad for that. He is your best friend...

“You don’t have to,” she reassures. “You should mute his number. He’s going to find out fast and bug you nonstop.”

Your eyes well up once again. You would have never, ever imagined your friendship with Beomgyu would come to this. Is it for the better? You’ll hate yourself forever if this is the wrong choice. If only you could see into the future. That would have saved you a lot of trouble long ago.

“He’ll know I came to you. He knows exactly where to show up,” you say.

“He could knock on my door all damn day if he wants, he’s not coming in.”

“With how he is, I wouldn’t be surprised if he brought a blanket and started sleeping at your door,” you joke. Your laughter is quick to turn to tears, and you don’t even know why. You wipe your eyes, not wanting to cry again, but you can’t help the loss you feel. Beomgyu’s your best friend. You just wish it could’ve stayed that way.

“It’s okay,” Chaewon comforts.

“No, I don’t want to cry,” you say, sniffling back the rest of your tears. “Let’s just watch videos and fall asleep.”

Chaewon leans over to pick up her tablet at the end of your bed, unlocking it to resume the movie you were playing in the background earlier. “Do you still want to watch this?” she asks.

“We should put on YouTube,” you offer instead. You yawn, closing your eyes as she looks for something interesting to put on. You’re already asleep by the time she makes her choice.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

The first thing you see after waking up is Beomgyu’s texts. Chaewon would tell you to ignore him, but she’s sleeping soundly next to you and therefore can’t judge you for opening his texts immediately.

[Beomgyu] u out for the night?

[Beomgyu] helloooooo

[Beomgyu] ok well make sure u get to work on time

You should be getting ready for work. You shouldn’t be answering him. You don’t even know what to say, but your fingers itch to respond.

He still doesn’t know you won’t be coming back for a bit. Should you keep it that way? An ache in your heart begs you to spill everything to him. You look at Chaewon again, making sure she’s asleep. You look back to your phone with a sigh and let your fingers fly across the keyboard without a second thought.

You don’t reread the text once you send it. The only move you make afterwards is to mute his notifications. Something about it makes you feel so empty. You don’t know if you feel like a whole new person or the shell of a person. You don’t have time to linger on it either, because you have to get ready for work.

The feeling persists throughout the day. You feel like a robot, like you’re living life on autopilot, letting your body carry you around while your soul is busy searching for the important answers. You don’t care which font your boss would like best for the title on this report, you don’t care what kind of smoothie your coworker should get. You want to know how to fix your life.

Your walk back from work is much stranger now that you can’t take the path your feet have memorized so well. The thought that this could be the path you’d walk to walk everyday for weeks or even months strikes you with a sort of dismal feeling. This feels different than going to Chaewon’s place after work just to hang out. This is going to Chaewon’s place because that’s where you have to go.

You’re not granted reprieve from the whirlwind of thoughts as you make your way home to Chaewon. You question every choice you’ve made up to this point, all the way back to if moving here with Beomgyu was ever a good idea in the first place.

Is there a way to repair all the damage that has been done? The thought of starting all over again is frightening. If you ruined it all, if there’s no going back to how things were, then you might as well make a life for yourself somewhere new.

Maybe you could convince Chaewon to fly across the country with you. You picture a life where you don’t have to worry about bumping into Beomgyu or Soobin again. It both frightens and intrigues you. You can’t be so greedy, though; she has everything set out for her here. You can’t rip her away from the city that loves her so much. You just wish it was as good to you.

The possibilities of what could have been haunt you. You look at passing couples with a sense of envy, picturing you and Soobin in their place. Every store you pass, every street you walk down is a memory that you’ve made. It’s almost too much to handle.

Your feet almost stop as you pass the library. You only let your eyes linger on the building for a few seconds, but that’s long enough to make your insides twist. The warm lights that seep through the windows don’t feel comforting to you anymore. You walk a little faster and tug your jacket closer to your body. The trip back to Chaewon’s feels a little colder now.

You open your messages with Beomgyu as you near her place. You don’t know if you should be happy or scared that he still hasn’t responded. You finally allow yourself to read your parting message, feeling a little emptier as the words linger in your mind with nothing back from him.

Hi Gyu, I’m staying with Chaewon for a bit. I’ll come back if and when I’m ready. I really regret a lot of my recent decisions, and I think I just needed this as a refresh.

Don’t be mad at me. You’ll always be my best friend. Love ya

You swallow down the knot building in your throat. This is for the better. You repeat the phrase like a mantra as you make it to Chaewon’s house. You wonder when her place will start feeling enough like home, when you’ll stop craving to return to your real one. You open the door and shove down all your thoughts and feelings.

This is for the better.

notes: sorry team soobin. sorry team beomgyu. no one wins... and maybe that's what needed to happen... much love and i hope you enjoyed the read!!!

taglist: @beomgyusluver @blankliving @ewsnup @flowzel @immelissaaa @multistansimp4life @nanamongmong

© delugyu 2025, do not translate or reupload

[bibibinnie]

BABE I NEED TO HEAR UR THOUGHTS ON PERV!TXT X CHUBBY READER !!!! (if u want ofc 🫶)

THIS SERIOUSLY PLAGUES MY MIND AND I NEVER SEE PERV!TXT WRITTEN WITH CHUBBY!READER 😔

personally i think the pervert in them would just see more surface area to look at and touch and therefore, they’d fucking love chubby girls 🤭

chubby!reader with big boobs might even make them explode *cough cough* kaiandsoobin *cough*

poor boys can’t control themselves when u just look so yummy and voluptuous with ur chub spilling over the top of ur mini skirt :( and ur thick, delectable thighs on full display. if u bend over if front of them they’re done for. seeing the outline of ur pussy against ur panties will have them going dizzy 😵‍💫 immediately excusing themselves to the bathroom to take care of themselves shshsjsidin

and they’re so so cute n shy. especially once u realize what’s going on and start to purposefully tease them 🫢

-🍑

peach! ur so right..they'd see ur body as this magnificent, beautiful being for them to explore every inch of.

cw. perv!txt x chubby!reader (mostly), yj stalker-ish vibes kinda, reader wears a skirt, soob takes pics of reader without consent, masturbation, beom steals, tae records reader's voice without consent, jiggle, squeezing, bouncing tits, etc..

yeonjun would be aware of your whereabouts at all times. if you're a stylist or makeup artist or something, his eyes are always on you, looking you up and down, watching for any sort of wardrobe malfunction, skirt's too short when you bend over, shirt hangs a bit too low and the tops of ur tits keeps peeking out. he's just always...looking. and he's caught on to a few things too—you wear pink panties every monday, you don't wear bras on fridays, and you breathe a little heavier around him than you do the rest of them.

soobin definitely takes sneaky pics of ur tiddies. when u bend over and ur cleavage is on full display, he can't whip his phone out fast enough. and definitely jerks off to them in the shower later. imagining ur tits filling his big hands so perfectly...he managed to get a couple live photos of you laughing, ur tits bouncing along with ur giggle and they almost make him cum untouched holy fuck ur so hot.

beomgyu steals shit from you. he swiped the hand lotion from your purse when u weren't looking so he could use it to stroke himself, his hand smelling like you. oops, you left a hair clip on the counter? it's gone now. you left a notebook and he went to take a look, feeling guilty before he even touched it. but he just had to see what your handwriting looked like. but when he saw his name on one of the pages...he couldn't not read that, right?

taehyun secretly records ur voice nd listens to it while he works out ehehe. imagining it's u he's lifting when he bench presses. turns his frustrations into energy, thinking about throwing you around and squeezing you. every bit of you, ur tiddies, thighs, ass, anything and everthing. keeps his headphones in while he jerks off to ur voice in the shower.

hueningkai!!! idk if this counts as a perv thing, but he'd just buy stuff for you <3 leaving lil gifts from ur secret admirer all the time. pays super close attention to every little detail about you...has ur perfume memorized so he can pick it out again at the perfume shop to gift to you anonymously, making u think how did they know...? carefully watches as you bend over, catching a sneaky lil peeky of the band on ur panties so he can get you more of the same brand. changes his phone background to match urs to pretend ur a couple <3

[mymoodwriting]

Request for @not-liah (Sequel to Hybrid T.X.T) 10.2k, hybrids, domestic life, implied smut, physical attack, riots, claw marks, bleeding, hospital, false arrest, fire, death threats, kidnapping, dystopia, nomad life, ptsd, trauma, anxiety, abandonment issues, paranoia, attempted kidnapping, happy ending (@starillusion13)

“Rise and shine boys.”

It was always so nice to wake up in the loving embrace of your hybrids. You were never cold, and you never felt alone. Of course you had to get a bigger bed in order for all of you to fit, and they’d certainly fight at times as to who got to sleep by your side. At one point you had to set an order so they’d stop fighting. You didn’t want any of them getting hurt over such a trivial thing. Although the order wouldn’t stop them all from piling on top of each other to bombard you with morning kisses. It was an excellent wake up call.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough!” You giggled. “I have to get out of bed at some point.”

“No you don’t.” Beomgyu whined. “Let’s have a lazy day…”

“If I don’t get up to work, who’s gonna pay for your expensive treats? We might have to make some budget cuts.”

“What? No! That’s not fair!”

“We can have a lazy day on the weekends.”

“You heard the girl.” Soobin remarked. “Come on, we gotta get her out of bed.”

“Wait, what?”

Before you knew it all the boys had scrambled up and were grabbing you, pulling you out of bed. They were all laughing as you told them to take it easy, but soon enough they had you on your feet and were pushing you towards the bathroom.

“I’ll get started on breakfast.” Yeonjun volunteered. “Come on Tae.”

“What? Why me!?”

“Let’s go.”

They had all learned to do more around the house to help you. Their cooking was pretty good, but they always loved your home cooked meals the most. For work you now had your own little office at home. It was a nice set up, although you had to lock the door to keep the boys out. They’d still whine at the door, especially as it got close to lunch time, but you had to keep focus. It was much easier on everyone knowing the other was simply behind a door. Of course Soobin knew where the emergency key was in case they ever needed to get to you, but that was a secret between you and him.

You still preferred being home, you had everything you needed there, but your hybrids weren’t just pets. They had to look out for your health too, so they’d be taking you to the park to get some air, even if it was under the guise of them needing a walk, every now and then. There were also some hybrid friendly events that would be happening in the area where you could all go have fun together. Everything seemed to work out for you guys, and you couldn’t be any happier. It was a blessing that you found them that day cause you couldn’t imagine where you would be now without them.

“Y/n…”

“Hm?”

Sundays were mainly days to lounge around and watch TV. You were laid out on the couch with Kai resting on top of you. He found himself dozing off as you mindlessly pet his head and scratched his ears.

“I feel funny…”

“Huh? Are you sick?” You put your hand on Kai’s head. “You don’t feel hot.”

“I’m tingly…”

“Tin- where?”

“Hm?”

“When was the last time we played together?”

“Yesterday…”

“I meant intimately, Kai.”

Kai’s ears immediately perked up and he looked over at you, wide awake. You chuckled upon his reaction, petting his head again.

“You said you felt funny?” Kai nodded. “Any idea why?”

“I think so…”

“Ya! Ya!” Beomgyu came over and shoved Kai off of you. “What about me! We haven’t played in a while too!”

“Beomgyu! You can’t just shove Kai like that!”

You helped Kai sit back on the couch, giving Beomgyu a slight glare. Thankfully Kai wasn’t hurt, but that certainly wasn’t nice.

“Beomgyu, apologize.”

“Sorry…”

“Meanie.” Kai stuck his tongue out.

“Ya, I don’t want you two fighting.” You pet both of them. “Now, Beomgyu, were you eavesdropping?”

“A little bit… only one of us can lay on top of you at a time…”

“Ah, so you were jealous and waiting your turn?” Beomgyu nodded. “That’s very cute. Next time you should ask Kai to share.”

“But he’s always hogging your attention!”

“It must be hard when there’s five of you and only one of me.”

“Very.”

“Are we still gonna play…” Kai mumbled.

“You still feel funny?”

“Yeah…”

“Can I play too?” Beomgyu asked.

“Two on one doesn’t seem so bad.”

“Yes!” “Awesome!”

♥♥♥♥♥

You got used to playing with them, so even when it was more then one you always seemed to be the last one standing. It was cute to watch them sleep for once, although you made a note to change the bedsheets later. You quietly got up and went to shower, leaving the other two to rest. You went over to the kitchen but stopped when you heard the news.

“Another hybrid protest took place this afternoon. What started off as a peaceful demonstration evolved into a riot. Law enforcement officials kept things to a minimum, avoiding any casualties, although 46 people were sent to the hospital for treatment. Most hybrids that participated in the riots were arrested on the scene, but officials are still looking-”

“Soobin.”

“Hm?”

“You okay?”

You weren’t even sure how long hybrids had been around, but it felt like things would eventually develop in such a manner. As of late more and more hybrids were gathering together, asking for equal rights. They didn’t want to solely be pets or labor to people anymore. You could understand where they were coming from, although it did make you worry about your boys.

“I’m fine, why?”

“The news… how do you feel about it?”

“I’m happy where I am. We all are.”

“Okay. Let me know if you ever need to talk about anything.”

“Of course.” Soobin offered you a smile. “We do need to go grocery shopping soon.”

“Ah, tomorrow after work we can go. If you guys want something special for dinner we can get the ingredients too.”

“Great. I’ll discuss it with the others and let you know.”

“Thanks.”

Everyone adored grocery trips, although you always had to be firm with them about what they put in the shopping cart. You always made a list to make sure nothing was missed, and used it to make sure they weren’t too greedy.

“Y/n, can I have these?”

“I’m pretty sure your other box of treats is half full, Yeonjun.”

“No! It’s half empty!”

“You still have snacks at home. Next time you can get some.”

“Please, pretty please, I want these!”

“Yeonjun.”

“Please.” Yeonjun whined. “Please, please-”

A sudden scream took everyone by surprise. The boys immediately came to your side, looking around for the source. They didn’t need to wait long as more screaming erupted and people started to run. You heard as things were getting knocked over, and then there were the sounds of barking and roars.

“We need to get out of here.” Soobin stated. “Now.”

Soobin took your hand and started making his way to the nearest exit, the others right behind you. Although it wasn’t long before you found yourselves in trouble. Three hybrids got in your way, snarling and hissing. Your boys did the same, although you told them not to cause trouble. There was no reason to fight.

“We’re not some pets!” One of the hybrids yelled.

“Why are you protecting some human!” Another growled.

“Mind your business.” Taehyun snapped. “We can do what we want with our lives!”

“Is it really your life?”

“Not all humans are bad!”

“I’m not listening to a domesticated house cat!”

The hybrids moved to attack and Kai pulled you away from them, keeping you safe for the time being. You didn’t want anyone to fight, and when other hybrids were drawn to the commotion you got fearful. Kai kept you behind him, but he had to bare his own claws and fangs to keep you safe.

“Stop it! There’s no reason to hurt each other!”

You hated seeing your boys get hurt, and you couldn’t just continue to watch. You grabbed the nearest weapon-like object and hit the hybrid that was attacking Taehyun. The hybrid snarled and turned back to you only to get another hit in the face. While they were distracted Taehyun grabbed them from behind and threw them to the ground. You then ran over to help Beomgyu, only for another hybrid to get in your way. They roared and then you felt a pain in your chest.

You dropped your weapon and looked down, seeing the blood and claw marks on your chest. As the smell hit you everything started to blur. You could vaguely make out the hybrid taking another swing at you, but you didn’t feel anything. You collapsed to the floor, adding a throbbing pain in your head to the numbness that was consuming you. The second the boys had smelled blood they rushed over to you in a panic. Soobin had attacked the hybrid that hurt you, punching their face in until they heard sirens. From there all the other hybrids scrambled away.

“Y/n, stay with me.”

Yeonjun had you in his arms, Kai putting pressure on the wounds. They were all trying not to cry, talking to you so you stayed awake.

“Are you… are you ok…”

“What about you… why did you…”

“Don’t get hurt… over me…”

“Ya, we’re your emotional support hybrids.” Taehyun mumbled. “We’re supposed to take care of you.”

“Beomgyu.” Soobin called. “The sirens, go get help. We can’t move her like this.”

“Okay.”

“Y/n, hey, stay awake.” Yeonjun gently shook your head. “Tell me how you feel.”

“Uh… cold… but comfy…”

“What do you want for dinner?”

“Hm… are you gonna cook?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you want.”

“Then… surprise me…”

Kai laughed. “You trust him that much?”

“Yup…”

“Keep talking. Your birthday is coming up, what do you want to do?”

“Birthday… you… what about you… your birthday… we should celebrate you too…”

“We don’t really know our birthdays.” Soobin said. “We can figure that out together.”

“Yeah… I like that…”

Beomgyu came rushing back, paramedics right behind him. As much as they didn’t want to let go they had to step away as the paramedics took care of you. They got you on a gurney, taking you outside. The boys closely followed, but none of them were allowed to go with you in the ambulance. The paramedic did let them know what hospital you’d be taken to, so they could find you there. Soobin knew they wanted to argue but he held them back. There was chaos around them, firefighters and other paramedics around. 

They had minor injuries that didn’t require much attention so they figured they’d start making their way over to the hospital. Although amidst all the chaos police officers wound up arresting them, mistaking them for participants in the riot. They all tried to argue that wasn’t the case, that they were just helping their caretaker and needed to get to the hospital. Of course their story wasn’t believed and they wound up in a transport vehicle with other hybrids. It wasn’t until they were at a police station and being identified that the truth was revealed.

From there the officer was nice enough to call the hospital and check on your status, and to also check their story. With the situation cleared up they were let go, and Soobin made sure to ask for directions. Lucky for them it wasn’t a long walk to the hospital from the station. When they arrived Soobin asked the front desk for your room, thanking the nurse. They all headed up together, relieved that you were okay. Although upon getting to your room they realized there were two security guards outside and blocking their way.

“We’re her hybrids.” Soobin explained. “We’re here to check on her. Just tell her we’re here, she’ll let us in.”

“…”

Soobin knew the others were getting an idea to fight their way in but they didn’t need any more trouble. The night was already dragging on. Before Soobin could try to reason with the guards, someone stepped out of the room in a suit, clearly not the doctor.

“Excuse me, who are you? Why did you come out of y/n’s room?”

“And you are?”

“We’re her hybrids. We’re her emotional support hybrids so we can be here. The guards won’t let us in though.”

“Ah, so you’re the offenders.”

“Huh?”

“Security. Have them arrested.”

“What!?” Kai yelled. “On what grounds!”

“For attacking your owner.”

“That wasn’t us! The riot-”

The two security guards tried to arrest them, but this time around they weren’t going to let themselves be taken so easily. Of course this drew attention and more guards came, and eventually the police showed up as well. Things had never been this difficult for them on the streets. With all this commotion going on Beomgyu took the chance to break into the room, seeing you for a moment before being tazed. He tried to fight it but the shocks eventually cut his world to black.

♥♥♥♥♥

Instead of finding themselves behind bars, the boys woke up in a different cage. They had never been here before, but they heard about it. A hybrid pound. Kai was tugging at the chain door, but it was no use as he was still recovering from being tazed.

“Why are we here?” Yeonjun asked. “We didn’t do anything…”

They weren’t the only ones locked up. The other cages around them also housed some other hybrids. Some were beat up, others seemed like they had been here a while.

“That’s a dumb question.” A hybrid hissed. “Humans don’t treat us with any respect. They’ll throw you away with the thrash without a second thought.”

“Not all humans are like that.” Taehyun snapped. “You guys are the ones giving the rest of us a bad name!”

“Not every hybrid here participated in riots. Some here were taken off the streets, or taken from the place they thought was home. You say humans aren’t bad but you’re here with the rest of us now.”

“Something’s wrong.” Kai whimpered. “Why didn’t they let us see y/n?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll be okay.” Soobin assured. “When y/n gets better and realizes what happened she’ll clear everything up. She’ll get us out of here and then we’ll go home.”

A hybrid scoffed. “Keep dreaming.”

Since they didn’t know your condition there was no real way of knowing how long your recovery would take, so all they could do was wait. The days went on, they were fed some weird slop, but they kept hope. They couldn’t help but worry over you, but they knew you were in a hospital and getting treatment, so you’d be okay.

“Isn’t it your lucky day.” A staff member came over to their cage. “You’re going on a trip.”

“We’re gonna see y/n!” Taehyun cheered. “Finally.”

“Something like that.”

When taken out of the cage the boys were still chained up, that should have been the first red flag to them. They were escorted outside and into the back of a ban, their chains secured to the floor.

“Is all this necessary?”

“We did start a fight in a hospital.” Soobin reminded. “They’re being cautious.”

“Not our fault they didn’t let us see y/n.” Yeonjun grumbled.

“Just behave. All of you.”

“We know.”

It felt like eternity before they arrived at wherever they were supposed to be. When the door opened they were met with more security guards. The chains weren’t removed and the were escorted inside the building. It seemed quiet, except for a few people, but none of them really knew what was going on.

“Guys…” Beomgyu whispered. “I think this is a courthouse…”

“What?”

“It looks like the ones on TV.”

“Why would we be here?”

“No idea…”

Beomgyu’s guess was correct, and soon enough they entered a courtroom. None of them liked this, moreso when they saw you next to a stranger. It wasn’t a stranger for long as Soobin recognized the person next to you as the one that had them arrested in the hospital. He growled under his breath but Yeonjun elbowed him to stop. They were all confused over the matter, and they shouldn’t do anything to make it worse. You of course were their biggest concern. You were sitting next to that jerk, still dressed in your hospital clothes and sitting in a wheelchair. It looked like you hadn’t even noticed them, and that you weren’t entirely present either. The boys were moved to stand next to another gentleman that introduced themselves as their lawyer.

“Lawyer!” Kai questioned. “Why do we need a lawyer?”

“The prosecution is pressing charges against you.”

“For what?”

“The injuries y/n-”

“We got caught in the recent riot, she got injured there!”

“I know. We’ll run with that, but on that same note, the riots will certainly make it harder to convince the judge.”

“We’d never hurt her.”

“I know. This shouldn’t really be a case, but some prosecutors really have it out for hybrids as of late and will do anything to hurt them. I’ll do my best to get you all back home.”

They all had so many questions, so much worry over you. Especially how anyone got you roped into this mess. If anything this was the time you needed them most and they hadn’t been by your side at all. Once the proceeding began they could only sit back and watch how all these things unfolded. Although most of them would continue to stare over at you. Even from a distance they could tell you were tired, probably should still be in the hospital too. When they weren’t looking at you their gaze was to the prosecutor. This whole thing seemed suspicious, but they couldn’t do much about it right now. 

“The hybrids present are registered as your emotional support hybrids, correct?”

“Yes.”

Everyone seemed to know you weren’t in a position to be on the stand and talking about anything, but it seemed that the prosecutor insisted you were fine.

“Was this your idea?”

“No, I had-”

“It wasn’t your idea?”

“No…”

“Did they, the hybrids in question, suggest it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. And our records show you didn’t adopt from a shelter. So, where did you find them?”

“They were living on the street.”

“Had you interacted with them before?”

“Not really…”

“Not really, or not at all?”

“Not at all.”

“So what compelled you to take them in and adopt them?”

“I… they were cute… and I didn’t want to leave them on the streets…”

“You have a good heart. Unfortunately that’s something that can be taken advantage of.”

“What?”

“A while after you adopted those hybrids you stepped away from your job, opting to work from home, correct?”

“Yes.”

“So they have more access to you?”

“I don’t see-”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes…”

“Your honor, this has gone on long enough. What’s the point of all these questions?”

“I’m getting there.”

“Please proceed.” The judge spoke.

“Very well.” The prosecutor cleared their throat. “The hybrids in y/n’s care have been taking advantage of and abusing their owner.”

“Excuse me!” Soobin snapped. “On what-”

Security and the others were immediately getting Soobin to sit back down and be quiet. He wasn’t the only one mad over the absurd statement, but it was hard on all of them to just sit there and watch.

“As I was saying. These hybrids took advantage of y/n’s kind nature. Most people adopt one or two hybrids, but five at a time? That’s quite a big responsibility. They outnumber their owner, and can over power them with ease. Furthermore they suggested becoming her emotional support hybrids, meaning they can follow her to more places. On top of all that her recent injuries-”

“Your honor, those injuries are a result of an attack from rioters.” The lawyer cut in. “They did not hurt their owner.”

“Do you have proof?” The prosecutor asked. “The sudden riot surely put her on edge and her memories of the event may not be clear. It’s the perfect scenario to hurt her and-”

“On what grounds do these hybrids have to hurt her?” The lawyer questioned. “They’ve never done so before.”

“But they have.”

“What?”

“I had further tests run on miss y/n, revealing multiple scars, as well as fading claw marks and bites. Such injuries are known to be caused by hybrids. Miss y/n has received previous abuse by-”

“They didn’t hurt me.” You stated. “I… I engaged… with them… in-”

“Coercion and manipulation. They forced you-”

“We didn’t do anything!” Yeonjun yelled. “She agreed-”

“Sit down.” The lawyer hissed.

“Your honor.” The prosecutor spoke. “Given the information we’ve just learned it’s safe to say miss y/n is not in a good state of mind, and requires psychiatric help. These hybrids have been taking advantage of her in many ways and should not remain in her custody.”

“That’s not true.” You said. “None of that is true! It was my decision, they didn’t-”

In your attempt to change the narrative you had gotten up too fast, making yourself dizzy and pulling on your stitches. You nearly collapsed but a security guard caught you. Now everyone was concerned. Kai couldn’t help himself and jumped over the table, chains and all, wanting to get to you. Security tackled him to the ground though, and the others got rowdy too. Chaos erupted but they weren’t going to get anywhere near you. When they had been restrained the judge slammed their gavel and made a decision. Ultimately siding with the prosecution.

The boys had to be dragged out of the courtroom, screaming out your name, but you couldn’t respond. Once outside they wound tased and thrown back into the van that brought them here. They were mumbling and thrashing around in their restraints. They couldn’t believe what had just happened, and they all wanted to wake up from the nightmare. Instead they wound up back in a cage, left with nothing but despair. It all felt so unreal, and they didn’t even know what came next. They were no longer your hybrids. The prosecutor having made them out to be monsters that used you and hurt you. They weren’t even sure if you were aware of what had happened.

“Wa… what do we do now…” Taehyun mumbled. “Y/n… is she gonna be okay…”

“We can do an appeal or something.” Beomgyu said. “Right? The… the evidence…”

“Something is very wrong here.” Soobin remarked. “That whole situation… y/n… something is going on…”

“What are we supposed to do?” Yeonjun asked. “They got us locked up in cages and we have no idea where they took y/n.”

“I… I don’t know…”

“We have to get out of here first.” Kai added. “We can’t do anything in a cage.”

“Yeah… yeah that’s a good starting point.”

With a goal in mind they could all ease their nerves and focus on something else besides your well being. For the next couple of days they were quiet and well behaved, watching the staff and trying to get as much information as they could. They needed to know the rotations, as well as who had the keys to their cage. It was hard, but they still had enough information to form a decent plan. Although when they found themselves ready they received some horrid news.

“Good news you animals. We’ll no longer be keeping you here.” The person chuckled. “Your kind on the outside has caused enough trouble to justify putting all of you down.”

Those words immediately caused an uproar. Every hybrid yelling and yanking on the cage doors. It didn’t help them break free, and terror filled the atmosphere. The boys were panicking, their whole plan just thrown out the window. Before they could think of an alternative the whole building shook, the lights flickering for a moment. The staff member rushed out of the room, leaving the door open. From there everyone else could hear the loud screams. Next thing they knew a handful of hybrids came in, unlocking all the cages.

More chaos erupted as the ones who had been locked up scrambled out of their confinements and towards the nearest exit. They boys held back for a moment, letting things settle down before making their own escape. On their way out they could see other staff members being attacked and the fires that had erupted in the facility. This wasn’t their problem, so they ignored it and made their way outside. Things weren’t actually better out there. Now it made sense why they were freed. The world outside was on fire, both figuratively and literally. A major riot had broken out, and there was panic and all types of chaos around them.

“Wa… what do we do?” Taehyun questioned.

“The hospital.” Kai said. “Y/n would have been taken back to the hospital, right?”

“Do we even know how to get there from here?” Beomgyu wondered. “I don’t even know where we are.”

“I know where to go.” Soobin stated. “Let’s just try to avoid this mess.”

“That’s easier said than done.” Yeonjun commented.

“We just need to get to y/n, nothing else matters right now”

It wasn’t going to be an easy journey through this mess. Both humans and hybrids alike were looting, setting fires, and fighting one another. Sirens could be heard all around, and any law enforcement officers had their hands full breaking up fights. The boys stuck to the shadows, not wanting to draw attention to themselves, but there were still the crazy who just wanted a fight. They couldn’t avoid injury, but they stuck together and chose to run when they had the chance. Even as daylight began to illuminate the world the madness persisted. It was starting to become clear this wasn’t just one chaotic night, but the beginning of something else. They didn’t care for it, focusing on their mission.

It felt like a dream come true when they arrived at the familiar hospital. Although upon stepping inside they realized things weren’t great here. They didn’t care about anyone else though, making their way up to the floor you were on, pushing past anything and anyone that got in their way. All the pain felt worth it when they reached your room, but when they stepped inside they found it empty. Your patient information was still on the bed and outside the door, but you were nowhere to be seen. Kai and Beomgyu immediately went to check the rooms next door, finding them all empty too.

“There’s no one here…”

“They must have evacuated the patients.” Yeonjun realized. “She’s long gone now.”

“There has to be a record of where they sent her though, right?”

“Maybe.”

The boys found the nearest desk, lucky to find a computer logged in. Soobin typed in your name, finding your file. Although there was nothing in there about being transferred. According to the computer you were still in the hospital.

“There’s nothing…”

“Where would she go then?” Taehyun asked. “Where would they take her?”

“To one of the nearest hospitals.” Beomgyu said. “But which one?”

“How would we know?”

While they were discussing, Yeonjun was scanning his surroundings. Without telling anyone he ran off and tackled someone to the ground. The other guys rushed over, seeing that Yeonjun had a nurse pinned down. Before they could question him Yeonjun asked the nurse what had happened, and where patients would be transferred to. They gave them a list of hospitals, and told them that once an explosion had gone off nearby evacuation procedures were started. Many patients were moved before the chaos reached the hospital here.

“What do we do now…” Kai wondered. “She could be anywhere by now… and with the riots… we’ll wind up arrested won’t we? What if we get killed! We almost got-”

“Kai, calm down.” Taehyun pulled him into a hug. “We’ll find her… we will…”

“How…”

“I don’t know yet…”

“Soobin.” Yeonjun spoke. “What should we do?”

“We go home.”

“Huh?”

“We can’t be out on the streets right now, and we need to figure out our next move.”

“But-”

“Y/n’s in a hospital, she’ll be okay.”

“No.”

“What?”

“We have to go find her.” Beomgyu stated. “She’s alone and-”

“Look around you, Beomgyu. Everything is on fire, people and hybrids alike running wild. Look at yourself too, you’re no in condition to be traveling to another town. None of us are.”

“…”

“If we’re not okay, she’ll worry. Besides,” Soobin took in his surroundings. “I don’t think things are going to calm down easily after tonight.”

“What do you mean?” Taehyun questioned.

“Let’s just go home first.”

It was strange to be home without you. They had gotten used to you always being near them, the furthest you ever were was behind a door, but to not have you there at all, it felt wrong. They cleaned themselves up, and watched the world unfold from there. The news reported how the riot they experienced wasn’t just an isolated incident, but one of many that took place that night. To a degree they really had been sheltered, fortunate to have a roof over their bed and a loving owner. Many others weren’t so lucky, and the disparity between humans and hybrids had reached its tipping point. None of them could have ever imagined a revolution taking place.

A couple of days after they got home the news stopped broadcasting, all the channels just stopped. They all knew things had certainly taken a turn for the worse, and their worries over you only grew. It was probably just as dangerous, if not more, to go out into the world now, but circumstances have changed. They packed up some supplies, having their list and directions so they could go out and find you. Soobin kept the emergency phone with him, all of them holding onto the possibility of you calling them. They even left a note at home in case you came back while they were gone.

“So… where do we go first?”

♥♥♥♥♥

When the boys had first set out on their journey they thought they’d find you and be together again in a matter of days, a week or two, but now here they were, months later. Cutting communications was only the beginning. They didn’t really know what was going on with the world, but they only cared to find you. In the coming months they became nomads. They traveled to all the possible locations you could be, but the result was always the same. You weren’t there. Either the hospital itself was in shambles, or you weren’t on record. They even checked with the Jane Does, although none of them wanted to even fathom the idea that you were truly gone.

They weren’t the only nomads around. Many hybrids, and people, found themselves without a home. The world had turned into a dystopia in a matter of weeks. No one really knew what the future held, or how the world would move forward, but what kept them going was finding you. So as they traveled they asked about you, hoping someone had seen you, or perhaps knew where you were. They had pictures of you, and a few of your items, although the scent was faded. It was hard to keep hope, as everyday that went by felt like they were getting further and further from you until they finally had a breakthrough.

“You recognize her?”

“Yeah, she seems familiar.”

“Seriously, hold on a second.”

The boys had been in an abandoned building with some other lost souls, trying to keep warm for the night. They’d take a picture of you and spread out to see if anyone recognized you. For the most part the answer was no, but when Taehyun got a yes he freaked out. He scrambled to get one of your old shirts out for the dog hybrid to smell, and they nodded.

“Smells like her.”

“Where is she? Where did you last see her?”

When the others had heard Taehyun questioning someone they rushed over, also throwing questions at them. Soobin had to tell them all to calm down and listen. 

“She was pretty quiet, traveled with some hybrids. They took care of her but it was obvious she had been through some things. I saw the group again without her and asked, they said they had left her in a care facility.”

“A what?” Yeonjun questioned. “Care facility?”

“I heard that’s where they’ve been keeping humans, no idea what goes on there though.”

“A care facility… hybrids run it?”

“Yeah. Some places are starting to rebuild.”

“Hybrids on top…” Soobin mumbled. “Seems surreal.”

“Better than being beneath humans.”

“They weren’t all bad…”

“But the ones in power mostly were.”

“Yeah…”

“I hope you find her. I’m assuming she was your owner?”

“And we were her emotional support hybrids.” Kai commented. “We took care of each other…”

“She seemed like a good person. I’m sure she’s alright and will be happy to see you.”

“I hope so.”

It was reinvigorating to have a destination in mind, to know for certain that you were alive, and that they could actually see you again. Of course now there was the issue of finding this care facility, and they soon learned there was more than one. Thankfully that wouldn’t be much of a problem. When they found one they inquired about you, showing your picture and giving your name. You weren’t at that location, but you were in the system and they were given the address. They all stared at that piece of paper for a while, unable to believe this was where they could find you after all this time.

They wasted no time making the journey, setting little time aside to actually rest. When they arrived at the care facility they were told you were there. They stood outside for a moment, a strange disbelief gripping them tight. There was fear that maybe this was all a mix up, that they had rekindled hope only to be back at square one. Still, they had to know so they made their way inside. They went through the whole intro and asked about you again. It took a moment but it seemed that this was the place. Another hybrid came over and introduced themselves, intending to show them around the facility.

“What is a care facility…” Taehyun mumbled. “What do you do here…”

“It’s in the name, we care for humans.”

“Why though… they did a lot of bad things…”

“And we’re not them. Besides, not all humans are bad. You’re here to see the human that was once your owner, right?”

“Yeah…”

The facility was a lot bigger than they expected, and there was a decent number of humans there. They seemed to be doing alright, happy even, as if the world hadn’t fallen apart.

“Where’s y/n?” Kai asked. “I don’t see her around here.”

“Y/n is a special case.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t worry, she’s doing well, but her situation requires extra attention. She’s kept in her own room and attended to personally.”

“Why is that the case?” Yeonjun asked nervously. “What happened?”

“It’s… complicated… are you aware of the war that went on?”

“We avoided that.” Soobin answered. “And kept to ourselves while we traveled. We were lucky not to get so involved.”

“Indeed, but unfortunately y/n didn’t share in your fate.”

“What do you mean?”

“Humans were well aware they did not match us in power, even with their toys, and they’re own kind weren’t lining up to take arms. Supposedly some organization rounded up those that were injured by hybrids, intending to turn their hurt into anger and get them to fight.”

“Are you saying… y/n was tortured…” Beomgyu whimpered. “… she… she…”

“I only have the basic information of what happened. Any details… well I honestly don’t know where you could get them, the hybrid that dropped her off here let us know of her past. She never set foot on the battlefield though, the only injury she has is the one on her chest.”

“Oh… but she’s okay?”

“She’s doing well.”

The boys were led away from the main facility and to a more quiet area. They passed by multiple rooms, seeing some humans behind the glass. Eventually they came to a stop, all of them stepping closer to the window. They didn’t see anyone, but they could tell someone was lying in bed under the sheets.

“Can we see her?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“What?”

“Given her circumstances she can’t have unauthorized guests.”

“But it’s us.” Yeonjun countered. “She knows us, I’m sure she’s missed us as much as we have.”

“I understand you knew her in the past but-”

“We came here to take her home.” Soobin stated. “Now let us in.”

“Home? She is not leaving this facility-”

“Ya!”

Yeonjun suddenly tackled the other hybrid, searching them for a keycard. When he got it he tossed it over to Taehyun, who quickly got the door open. No one needed to be told what to do then, they all rushed into the room. Soobin knelt down by the bedside, carefully pulling back the cover. He couldn’t describe the joy he felt in seeing your sleeping face. He carefully brushed a strand of hair out of your face.

“Y/n…”

The others were also overjoyed to see you again, and Yeonjun made his way inside when he had a chance. Soobin pulled back the cover some more, revealing something unexpected. In your arms you had five plushies. Three dogs and two cats, all different styles but the colors of the fur matched them.

“Y/n… hey… sweetie… wake up…”

“Hm…”

You groaned, rubbing your face against the pillow. You peeked your eyes open a bit, seeing Soobin. A soft smile appeared on your face.

“Hi…”

“Hi… it’s so good to see you again…”

“You’re always in my dreams…”

“Dreams? Y/n, this isn’t a dream. It’s real, I’m here, we’re all here.”

“Huh?”

You felt a hand gently pet your head, reaching up yourself and feeling the warmth attached to it.

“Soobin…”

“Hi.”

You sat up and reached over to touch Soobin’s face. Tears began to sting your eyes as you realized he was real. He gave you a soft smile, wiping away some tears. You jumped into his arms for a hug, starting to cry. Then you felt another hand on your head, looking over to see the rest of your boys there too.

“… you… you’re all… real… you’re here…”

“Yes, yes we’re here, we’re real.”

“Get them out of here!”

“What!?”

What appeared to be security entered the room, grabbing the boys and trying to drag them out. You saw the commotion and held onto Soobin tighter.

“No, no, no, no, don’t go, don’t-”

“Everything’s going to be okay.”

As the two of you were surrounded Soobin kept a hold of you. He was grabbed, his arms being pried off of you. He tried to hold on, to fight back, but the second they could pull you away they started a commotion. You screamed and thrashed, crying for Soobin until you felt a pinch in your neck. You were left to sob until you passed out. Soobin continued to fight though, but was ultimately carried out of the room and thrown back out to the lobby with the rest of his brothers.

“Give her back to us right now!” Beomgyu yelled.

“That’s not going to happen.”

“And who are you!”

“The person in charge of this facility.”

“She’s not someone you can just keep!”

“And what right do you have to take her?”

“She’s ours!” Yeonjun stated. “We took care of her and-”

“You took care of her?”

“We’re her emotional support hybrids.”

The owner scoffed. “Very well, say I let you have her, where will you be taking her?”

“Home.”

“And where is that? Under a bridge?”

“We have a place.”

“And is it still standing? Do you have a means of providing for her? Food and other necessities. What about looking after her health? Her condition does require medication, and her injuries must be looked after with care. You said you’ve been traveling since this whole disaster started, she can’t just travel with all of you, so what is your plan here?”

“I… we…”

“We are not our predecessors. They handed over our kind to any human who could pay enough, not interested in the type of person they gave us too, or the plans they had for us, or if they were even capable of looking after us. We are not them. I can see she means a lot to you, I understand why she refused to let go of those plushies she has, but if you wish to look after her now, you need to prove that you can actually take care of her.”

“How exactly are we supposed to prove that?” Taehyun questioned.

“Right now many of us are in a state of rebuilding. Find yourselves a home, some stability, a way to continue your lives in a manner that can allow you to look after her and keep her safe. She’ll be here until then, I promise you that.”

♥♥♥♥♥

It was weird to walk out of that place without you. They had found you, and yet they couldn’t take you home. Then again they didn’t have a home. They hadn’t had one since they lost you. They were so close, and yet still so far.

“What do we do now?” 

“We go home.” Soobin said. 

“What? But-”

“We go home, and make sure we can actually look after y/n.”

Some wanted to argue, but considering how things just went down, they weren’t going to get to see you any time soon. It was a rather long journey home, but they made it nonetheless. The town they once called home was in ruins to a degree. They were fortunate enough to find the apartment building they had left behind in one piece. It wasn’t easy to get in as they had to move some ruble out of the way, but they got inside and went up to their old home. From the outside everything seemed okay, but there was only one way to know for sure. Soobin still had the key, and he was a bit shaky as he unlocked the door.

There was no light inside, electricity was cut off long ago. The sun was still out, so they had daylight to illuminate their path, and some flashlights. It was haunting to walk in there. Everything was still in its place, covered in dust, like time stopped. Yeonjun grabbed the note they had left behind in case you came back, crumbling it up in his hand. It had been so long since any of them had been back here, and it felt unfair to come back without you. Still, you weren’t lost in the world anymore, they just had to make this place a home again and they could all be reunited.

“Let’s get started.”

They got to cleaning, making the place feel like a home again. The rest of the building was abandoned, and soon enough they noticed clean up crews in the area. It really did appear that the world was rebuilding. Since no one else was around Soobin thought about taking over the building, getting it cleaned up properly and providing homes for those who needed it. He never imagined he’d wind up a building owner. It was kind of nice though, making friends with other hybrids. They had always stuck to themselves before when on the streets, and even when you adopted them they mostly stayed home. Before everything changed they were probably on the verge of a new chapter, but they took a detour.

About a week later things kinda felt like before. It was eerie to look out the window and see the world turning. The only difference was that the streets were occupied by hybrids and not humans. That was the only change. Everyone was kind, it was more of a community as they all helped each other out. They didn’t have to worry about food, or any other living necessities. Life felt like a dream, but it wasn’t complete, not yet. When the big day came everyone was giddy. Soobin was happy to see them all happy, but the big thing still had to be done. Yeonjun was also overjoyed to actually get to drive. Before it had been old junk cars, but this, this was a beauty.

“How long is the drive?” Kai asked.

“A couple of hours.” 

Beomgyu whined. “We’re gonna be gone all day?”

“We’ll be home by nighttime.” Soobin explained. “So don’t worry.”

A road trip was fun. Usually it was the things you did along the way, but they were excited for the destination. They could see how much things had changed, how the world had grown. Although they all got serious upon arriving at the care facility. It was still there, and as the promise went you’d still be there too. Soobin took charge, being the first one in. Things did look different, but he kept himself together, at least one of them had to.

“We’re here for y/n.”

“Hm… follow me.”

Soobin couldn’t imagine what you went through when adopting them. They just got taken to the vet and got their shots. Who knows what you did on the other end. This was probably the closest he’d get.

“How is she?”

“She’s been well, although after your last visit, and your actions, she’s needed some extra care. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”

They were led back over to the room you had been in before. This time though they could see you were awake, sitting in the corner with a book in hand, your plushies in your lap.

“We’re not gonna get dragged out by security again, are we?” Taehyun questioned.

“No, but that depends on her. If she’s alright with you, then everything will be fine.”

This time they were allowed in. When the door opened you looked up, you were expecting a staff member but instead saw some familiar faces. Tears stung your eyes and you got up, rushing over to your boys. They met you halfway, pulling you into a hug.

“Are you really here?”

“Yes, yes we are.” Yeonjun assured. “And we’re gonna go home, for real.”

Yeonjun wiped away your tears, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. He helped you to your feet, giving you a piggyback ride. Beomgyu picked up your plushies following behind and played with them a bit. You hadn’t been outside of your room in so long, so it was a bit scary. You snuggled against Yeonjun, just holding on. If this was a dream you didn’t want to wake up. When you stepped outside the fresh air was nice and you took a deep breath.

“Pretty…”

“Just like you.”

Kai opened the back door of the car, getting in first and then helping you get in. Before Yeonjun could get in, Taehyun shoved his way inside, reminding him that he was the driver and wanting to sandwich you in. They each held one of your hands, Kai nuzzling your neck and making you giggle. Beomgyu hopped in after the others, Soobin doing a headcount, staring at you fondly for a while before shutting the door.

“Do you have everything?”

“Yes.” Soobin answered. “I’ll make sure she takes her medication, and we’ll keep a close eye on her injuries.”

“They’ve mainly healed by now, but still need care. The last thing to note is that you will need to bring her back for an evaluation.”

“I understand.”

“Then you can be on your way. Expect to hear from us in a few weeks.”

“Will do.”

Soobin got in the car, hearing your laughter. The two with you were tickling you, smiles on everyone’s face. This whole scene was different, but it was right. The journey home had a lot more happiness, but as night fell everyone in the back fell asleep. Now it was just Yeonjun and Soobin in the front.

“Is there anything I should know?” Yeonjun asked.

“About what?”

“Being y/n’s owners. The roles have changed for us.”

“Not entirely. We still look after each other, we’re just the ones responsible for her this time.”

“And that’s not a common thing. Hybrids having humans around.”

“Not yet, but I’m sure that’ll change. Not all humans were bad.”

“True.”

When they arrived back home the pair gently woke the others up, but they let you sleep. Soobin got you out of the car and carried you inside. Although as they got to the apartment you began to wake up. Seeing your home, it made everything else feel like a dream, and you had finally woken up.

“We… we’re home…”

“Yeah, we’re home.” Beomgyu kissed your cheek. “Finally.”

“Let’s get you to bed.” Taehyun smiled.

“No, I want to stay up.”

“You’re gonna mess up your sleep schedule if you stay up.” Yeonjun pet your head. “Besides, I’m sure we’re all tired from the trip.”

“Okay…”

You had a little pout, but let Soobin carry you over to the bedroom. He put you down and you crawled over to the center of the bed, snuggling the sheets. It all smelled like home, and it made you feel safe. One by one the others crawled into bed too, cuddling you and holding you close. You hadn’t noticed the silent tears on your face, but they did. Kai gently wiped them away, whispering soothing words that you were alright, and nothing bad was gonna happen again. Even if you wanted to stay up, you wound up easily falling asleep, surrounded by the warmth of your loved ones.

♥♥♥♥♥

Even if the boys were overjoyed to have you home, they found themselves having some trouble sleeping. They’d wake up randomly, seeing everyone else asleep, or maybe even catching another awake. Still, they returned to sleep, that is until Beomgyu woke up to discover you were missing.

“Y/n… y/n!”

His panic woke the others up, and they all quickly scrambled out of the bedroom, running around the house. When Taehyun found you by the window he called out to the others, going over to hug you from behind.

“There you are…”

“Hi.”

“Don’t scare us like that.”

“You were all sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Still.” Soobin said, coming over. “We were worried.”

“Sorry…”

“It’s okay. We’re all still here together.”

“What are you doing up?” Yeonjun asked. “Trouble sleeping?”

“Yeah… I didn’t see much before, but now… things have changed… it’s the same view, but it’s also not…”

“Things have changed.” Soobin agreed. “But we’re all together again.”

“Yeah…”

“Y/n.”

“Hm?”

“When… or if… you ever want to talk about what happened… we’re here for you.”

“What about you? What happened to you? That night… and the coming days are fuzzy…”

“Are you sure you want to talk about it now?”

“I want to know…”

Soobin pulled you close to him, holding your hand. Daylight was peeking over the horizon, slowly welcoming the new day.

“After that incident… we wound up arrested, mistaken for rioters. We cleared things up at the station and got directions to the hospital. Although when we got there there was security. They wouldn’t let us in your room… and we got arrested for real…”

“What happened at the hospital?” Taehyun asked. “Why couldn’t we see you?”

“I’m not so sure… I was given medication… I remember someone looking over my wounds… talking about revenge… that whole court scene… I don’t know what happened… but you’re okay right?”

“Yeah, of course.” Yeonjun assured. “We got separated from you and… the world changed, but we’ve been looking for you ever since.”

“You lived on the streets again?”

“We had to find you.”

“Hm…” You stared out the window. “I don’t know what happened to me… it’s all a blur… yelling and pain… talks of revenge and helping… none of it made sense… I didn’t know what was happening… or what was going to happen… but I was so worried about you…”

Tears started falling down your cheeks, and the boys gathered around to comfort you. Beomgyu wiped them away, kissing your head and assuring you everything was okay.

“We’re all okay now. This isn’t a dream.”

“Promise…”

“I promise.”

“I’m so sorry…” Soobin added. “If we hadn’t… we should have stayed home…”

“It’s not your fault.” You reached over to pet him. “What matters is we found each other again.”

“I’m sorry…”

“We’re here now.”

“I know…”

“How did you…” Taehyun mumbled. “The place we found you… how did you get there…”

“I’m not entirely sure… I was rescued from that hell… the hybrids were so nice… and we traveled together but… I know I wasn’t all there… and I knew I was holding them back…” You took a moment. “Where was I? The hybrids were nice…”

“It was a care facility.” Kai explained. “No idea who started it, but it’s a place where humans are looked after and safe.”

“Like an adoption center… things really got flipped around.”

“I don’t know much about adoption, but we’re gonna take good care of you.”

“I know you will. Shall I make breakfast?”

“I can do it!” Beomgyu volunteered.

“Let’s do it together.”

In a strange way things did go back to the way they were, although you no longer had a job. It was like your weekends had been extended indefinitely, but you didn’t have to worry about anything else. When you asked about it Soobin just told you it was his responsibility and not to concern yourself with it. To a degree it left you feeling a bit uneasy, but you had to trust him, and remind yourself how it was before. You never burdened them with your struggles of work, or made them worry about the roof over their heads. You figured it out and worked hard, now they were doing the same for you.

Now that you had more time on your hands you focused on some old hobbies. You got better at cooking, even tried your hand at pastries. The amount of flour you’d have to clean up was hilarious, and the boys certainly looked funny with it in their fur. Overall, everyone was happy, and that’s what mattered most. You could enjoy every day without a worry in the world. Although there were things you kept to yourself, or at least you thought you did. The boys were aware you had trouble sleeping, waking up from nightmares that you wouldn’t remember in the morning. It would probably be worse if you didn’t take your medication.

They had gotten used to waking up over your soft cries, pulling you into their arms and holding you close until you calmed down again. They’d never bring this up to you, wanting you to remain happy and healthy. Whenever you’d sleep in someone would stay with you too, making sure you weren’t alone. Everything was good, and because of that they had forgotten about an important event coming up. Well, the little ones seemed to have forgotten but it remained fresh in Soobin’s mind. Not to mention as the days went by he started to get concerned about it.

“Why don’t we go out today?” Kai asked. “To the park or-”

“I wanna stay home.” You chimed in. “Let’s have a movie night. We can be in a big cuddle pile.”

“That sounds great!”

No one seemed to notice at first, and Soobin wasn’t concerned either, but he soon realized there was a pattern going on.

“Y/n, what are we missing in the pantry?”

“Oh, I can make you a list.”

“You gonna come with us to the store?”

“I thought we had items delivered to us?”

“Yeah, but we want to go out today.” Beomgyu said. “You should come.”

“Uh… I’m good.” You smiled. “Just be safe, and hurry back.”

“Will do.” Taehyun cheered.

Yeonjun stuck back with you, chilling in a pillow pile on the floor with the TV on. You were mindlessly petting Yeonjun, humming to yourself.

“Y/n.”

“Hm?”

“Should we make plans for a little journey?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m curious to go to some places and see what they’ve become.”

“They’re probably all better, or gone.”

“But don’t you wanna go see?”

“I’m okay. I can see a lot from out the window.”

“You’re right. Just an idea.”

When the others came back you jumped out of your seat to help them, wanting to put all the items away and discuss dinner plans. Yeonjun stayed put, soon joined by Soobin.

“Hyung.”

“Hm?”

“Y/n hasn’t been out of the house since we brought her home.”

“I know.”

“Her evaluation is coming up.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think she’s gonna wanna go…”

“I think you’re right.” Soobin sighed. “We need to bring it up before the day of, and talk about this.”

“Any idea why she’s like this?”

“The last time she stepped outside she didn’t come home for months. I understand why she’s not eager to leave, for anything.”

“True.”

“We’ll talk to her tomorrow, so let the others know, but in secret.”

“Will do.”

Soobin was dreading this, alright imagining the worst case scenario. You probably weren’t going to be happy with the conversation, but it couldn’t be avoided forever.

“Morning, y/n.”

“Hi, Soobin…”

“You sleep okay?”

“Hm… yeah…” You snuggled against him. “You?”

“I always sleep well when I have you.”

“Me too.”

“It seems like a nice day, should we go out?”

“Nah… let’s have a lazy day.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” Soobin took a breath. “Y/n.”

“Hm?”

“Your evaluation is coming up.”

“My what?”

“It’s your check up.”

“Oh, a doctor is gonna come here?”

“No. We need to take you back to the-”

“Take me back?” You got up. “Take me back where?”

“The care facility you were at so they-”

“Why?”

“For a check up. You-”

“Someone can just come here.”

“Y/n, I know you’re scared, trust me, I’ve been there, but everything’s going to be fine. We’ll leave in the morning and-”

“No.”

“No?”

“I don’t wanna go.”

“You have to. It’s impor-”

“I said no.”

You got out of bed and left the room, Soobin quickly chased after you. He grabbed your arm and pulled you back, although you fought against him.

“Let go!”

“Y/n, we need to talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I don’t want to go.”

“You have to.”

“You can’t make me!”

“Y/n, you haven’t been out of the house in weeks now.”

“I’m fine!”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am! And if I’m gonna go out it won’t be for some dumb check up!”

“It’s not dumb! You have a huge scar on your chest and you have trouble sleeping sometimes!”

“I… I do not…”

Soobin sighed. “Y/n, please. Everything-”

“No! I said no!”

“Y/n…”

The others had heard the commotion and came over to the hallway. They knew Soobin was gonna talk to you, but they hadn’t thought it would turn into shouting. Taehyun stepped towards you, taking your hand.

“None of us ever liked going to the vet, we were scared something would happen and we wouldn’t come back home with you… so we get you’re scared…”

“I’m not sick.”

“We know, but it’s still important to have a check up, and it’s more than just that…”

“A lot happened.” Beomgyu added. “We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“But I-”

“I am not losing you again.” Soobin stated. “And if we don’t go for your eval, they’ll take you away.”

“… wa… what? Why?”

“Cause we have to be better.” Yeonjun said. “We have to be sure we can and have been taking good care of you.”

“But you are, I trust you and-”

“A lot has changed, remember? Humans may not have always been nice to our kind, but we won’t make them suffer the way we have.”

“So check ups… and all that… are mandatory…”

“Yes.”

“We’re all gonna go and come back.” Kai remarked. “It’ll be a road trip, and nothing bad is gonna happen. We promise.”

“You can’t promise that…”

“But I can promise that no matter what happens, we’ll be together.” Soobin pulled you towards him. “No one is ever going to separate us again, I promise, we promise. We love you.”

Soobin pulled you into a hug, the others soon joining in. They all surrounded you, making happy noises and making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. You still had a lot of worries, but in times like this they reminded you that you still had them, you always would. You had each other, and nothing was going to change that, not even if the world changed around you.

“I love you all too.”

[hearts4cheol]

Hiii, I'm here to make a request jsjsjs

So a comfort scenario with Taehyun x fem or gn!reader with prompts 2 & 37

Idk any scenario but reader comforting Taehyun when he's burned out or sad about something.

Tysm ❤️❤️❤️

Yess of course!!

I honestly gelt a litte bad while writing this idk why LMAO but I hope it satisfies you!! 🩵🩵

Also this is the first ever x y/n that I have ever written so I apologize if it sounds rushed or all over the place 😭🙏🏻

edit: i was aiming for gn!reader 😭 but i got confused while writing this so apologies 🙏🏻 i will definitely practice writing gn! imagines off tumblr so it will be perfect the next time I post something similar!!

Violets are Blue // Kang Taehyun

Idol: TXT — Kang Taehyun

Prompt(s): 2 & 37

- “Please don’t cry. I can’t stand seeing you cry.”

- “You look like you need a hug.”

Genre: Fluff, comfort, a little bit of crying

Pairing: Kang Taehyun x Fem!Reader

Plot: Taehyun comes back home quietly, giving you short answers as he refuses to look you in the eye, you realised that something was wrong and you immediately approached him to comfort him.

Word count: 0.9K smthn

It was pretty rare to see Taehyun this quiet, ever since he got back from work. He would always greet you with a big smile on his face and immediately starts sharing what happened to him during work.

But today was different, he had walked in with a dull expression on his face, giving you a small greeting as he puts his bag down and takes off his shoes, you were immediately puzzled, following him as he stepped inside the kitchen.

You crossed your arms, eyes watching him with curiosity. “Tae? How was work?” he raises his head a little as he finally hears your voice, sighing deeply, Taehyun opens the fridge and starts looking for a can of soda.

“It was fine, like usual.” you didn't understand him, there was no ‘usual’. He would always tell you a different story every single day, somehow managing to involve Beomgyu in every single one of them.

Silent steps approached him as you bent down and grabbed the soda can that was sitting right in front of him, he turned around, his attention on you but his head hung low.

With your eyebrows furrowed, staring at him with sad eyes as you tried to get a look at his face, but he just wouldn't let you.

“Babe, what happened? Can you look at me please?” your hands slowly moved and reached up to cup his cheeks, tilting his head upwards so you can lock eyes.

But you didn’t expect it, “Tae?” his eyes were red and puffy, and his nose was a little bit red as well. He was crying.

You've been dating Taehyun for about a year now, sure he gets sad and pouty sometimes but you've rarely seen him cry. And when he does you know it's something serious. “You look like you need a hug, baby, yeah?”

Taehyun silently nods and snakes his arms around your waist, pulling you into a tight hug as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, eyes closed as his breaths slowly start to become uneven.

Without waiting any time you hugged him back just as tightly, softly rubbing his back as you tried to soothe him down. He didn't want to look at you, he felt embarrassed, crying over something that might not even be of great significance.

The feeling of his crying figure held by your own was killing you, it pains you to see him like this, silently crying and gripping onto your (his) shirt.

Your hugs were always a comfort place for him, whether he was happy, sad, or afraid. They made him feel safe.

Feeling your own eyes water, you carefully wiped away your tears as you tried to control your breaths.

Seeing your boyfriend vulnerable and crying makes you cry as well.

He lifts his head, cheeks still damp with salty tears as his eyes lock with yours as if his eyes couldn't get any softer, you instinctively wipe any tears that still threatened to fall.

“Sweetheart...” Taehyun’s deep voice caught your attention, clearing his throat, he proceeds to stare at you with pain-stricken eyes while managing a small smile on his face.

“Please don’t cry... I can’t stand seeing you cry...” you feel the palms of his hands gently rest on your cheeks, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones.

It was his turn to wipe your tears away, you couldn’t help but give him a small, sad smile. “Why—” small hiccup, “were you crying before you came home?”

The both of you have calmed down now, while you were worried about him, Taehyun was busy getting lost in your eyes, it might sound cheesy to some people but it was true.

“Baby, did you know that you look very cute right now?” you stare at him dumbfounded, he was trying to joke around to lift your mood, and it was working.

Small giggles left your lips, “I was the one who was supposed to make you feel better, ya know.” his smile eventually grew wider, “Come here.” sniffing his nose before pulling you back in for a second hug.

Your arms wrap around his neck, hugging him closely. “Are you gonna tell me which person from the company made my boyfriend cry?” it was his turn to let out a chuckle, slowly shaking his head as he then pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“You don't need to worry about that, trust me everything has been solved.” he softly spoke as he held you, you then nod, snuggling into his chest as he pats your head. “Let's not stay in the kitchen sweetheart, I know we're both tired from standing.”

Both of you slowly detach from each other, Taehyun’s hand found yours as he slowly intertwines your fingers, dragging you to the couch that was placed in the middle of the small apartment. “Movie?”

His suggestion results in a big smile forming on your face as you nod, letting go of his hand as you hurriedly grabbed a blanket from your room.

As you walked back to your boyfriend, you have already found him, the couch spread out into bed mode as he laid down with the TV and Netflix open.

“Let’s not talk about this anymore, I want you to think about anything else, focus on the movie, and enjoy your time with me.” your big, bright smile never left.

With the blanket covering you both, you snuggled into your boyfriend ‘s side as he places an arm around you.

How can he focus on the movie when you're right beside him?

[pommpuriinn]

Meeting The Jonas Brothers

🧷 Joohyung meeting one of her many idols

After finishing their US leg of tour they had no time to rest and headed straight into a recording studio with a new producer Ryan Tedder. He introduced a song he been working on and was very excited to share with everyone including Bang PD who flew from South Korea just to see his group’s first stadium show. Joohyung was so excited for this new experience and even being in his at home music studio gave Joohyung ideas on how she wishes for her future home to look like.

“So, what do you think?” Ryan spun around to see the group and Bang PD. “We love it!” Yeonjun answered with a big smile. “It’s a perfect summer song.” Taehyun added loving everything about the song. “If we record the song it has to be released during the summer. It’s too perfect not to.” Joohyung spoke in Korean, luckily they have a lovely translator in their team. “I agree.” Bang PD nodded. “Same here, but I think I have something that will make the song even better.” Ryan basically had a light bulb on top of his head with the idea he has. “You guys chill here and eat some of the burritos we got coming while I figure something out.” Ryan got everyone food and made his way out of the room.

“The song is so good! I know moas are going to love it.” Soobin said, as he unwrapped his burrito. “I know right! I can’t wait—also it’s a perfect song for lolla.” Beomgyu took a big bite of his burrito, happy with the thought of performing there again with a summer song. “I could just imagine how crazy the crowd would go.” Kai smiled just with the thought.

“Did you like it PD?” Joohyung asked before taking another bite of the burrito. “I really did enjoy listening to it and everyone voices sound amazing on the track.” That perked Joohyung and the rest of the boys up. Just hearing the praise from their chairman really makes them happy since they don’t really hear much from him. “And I really agree with you and releasing the song just a few weeks before your big performance at lollapalooza.”

It wasn’t long before Ryan came back and sat down on his chair. “Ok I have really great news guys.” He got everyone’s attention. “I just got off the phone with some really friends and I told them about this track we have been working on and I even gave them a little sample of what we did right now. I think this would up the song some more and even make it better and they immediately agreed, and they are the Jonas Brothers. Have you heard of them?”

Joohyung almost dropped her poor burrito on the floor. “Oh my god really?!” The members were just as stunned. “Yeah are you guys a big fan?” Ryan smiled at their shocked faces. “I listen to them when I was little.” Joohyung couldn’t hide her huge smile. “That’s great! But we would have to fly to New York to meet up, is that ok?” He looked at the team and Bang PD. “Yes, of course we fly over there.”

Joohyung could jump out of her seat but she didn’t want to be embarrassed. She has listened to the Jonas Brothers since she saw them on Disney channel when she was still a kid. They were honestly her first boy group she has ever liked and still listens to their older music today. “Look, noona is about to burst!” Kai laughed at how Joohyung was trying to contain herself.

Next thing you know they got a private jet to fly over to New York which was an amazing experience, and if txt could take more private flights like this Joohyung would always be happy flying. She spent most of the flight eating and cuddling next to Beomgyu while sleeping. There was no time for shopping or going out to eat, they immediately went into another music studio and this is where Joohyung would start fangirling a bit because the Jonas Brothers were going to meet them. In the back of Joohyung’s head she was scared that they might not act the way she anticipated since they mostly likely might not know who txt is.

Luckily for Joohyung the Jonas Brothers were the exact opposite of what her worries were. “Hi I’m a big fan.” Joohyung shook their hands. “Really? For how long?” Joe asked. “Since Disney.” Joohyung answered with a smile. “Oh my god it has been years then.” The three were a bit shocked at how long Joohyung has been of fan of theirs. “Thank you for the support then.” Nick thanked Joohyung with sincerity.

“We also heard some of your guys songs and they’re really good.” Kevin told the members, which instantly brought smiles to all the members. “Really?!” Taehyun gasped. “Yeah and we’re so excited to do this with y’all.” Joe said. “Let’s show ya what we recorded.”

Everyone sat down and was ready to hear what the Jonas Brothers recorded. Joohyung felt like she was dreaming hearing theirs bc txt’s vocals in one song, it was definitely a dream come true. “Of course we still have to fix certain things, but how did it sound?” Nick asked looking at everyone. “It was amazing!” Yeonjun spoke for them. “I love it~” cupped her cheeks smiling.

Both groups took turns re-recording some lines so everything could blend together. Even their staff started discussing about shooting an MV for the song and even have promotional pictures along with the release. They started off give little hints about who was working with txt with pictures including tiktok their staff filmed and posted. Without surprise Joohyung immediately agreed to film funny tiktoks with the Jonas Brothers to show the fans of both.

Joohyung went to bed with a huge smile on her face and a life time goal checked off her list.

[igotbulletproof-insomnia]

Time Lord X TXT

This is basically me imagining if Hueningkai as a Time Lord, with Taehyun, Beomgyu, Yeonjun, and Soobin as his companions. A bit of crack treated seriously, if you will. As such this is written more as a summary/retelling, kind of scene-by-scene. I might write more. I might not. We’ll see.

So, we start with Taehyun and a slightly older male; he looks to be in his late twenties or early thirties. The two of them enter what looks like a medbay, and Taehyun is panicking. His demeanor is calm, he’s asking questions and offering solutions, but his hands are shaking and his words are coated in a thin layer of defeat. The older man is dying, and Taehyun can’t save him. But the older man smiles, bittersweet, and comforts Taehyun. He gives a brief explanation of regeneration, reassuring his friend that he’ll be the same person, just different. And then his skin is glowing, his features are morphing, and he’s changing in front of Taehyun’s eyes.

Now, we meet Yeonjun. He’s checking his socials, sharing his latest Youtube upload. He’s a mildly successful influencer with a sizeable following, but he doesn’t make enough money to live off of the internet alone. Accounts updated, Yeonjun checks the kitchen for food. His cousin, Beomgyu lays across the sofa, also scrolling social media. He whines about a friend of his who hasn’t had much time for him this semester. They shared almost all of their classes together, but it seemed like he just couldn’t be bothered to spend his free time together. Yeonjun listens while checking the cabinet and fridge. They’re all empty save for some spices and a nearly expired bottle of gochujang. He checks his bank account to see a few dollars, enough to ramen for the next few days until his ad revenue arrives.

On his way to the convenience store, a kid falls onto him. He’s giant, an almost stocky build and just as tall as Yeonjun, but a baby face, so it’s hard to place his age. Yeonjun thinks it’s safe to assume they’re in the same age group. So the kid seems to have passed out, which is probably why he crashed into Yeonjun. Yeonjun tries to wake him up, but he’s unresponsive. Yeonjun doesn’t exactly have money to pay for a cab right now, so he puts the kid on his back, buys a few fever tablets and enough ramen to last him and his cousins for the night, and takes the kid home.

Yeonjun passes by Taehyun, returning from the local pharmacy with an assortment of flu medicines and fever reducers. He doesn't know what he’s doing, is just getting off the phone with his mother, but he’s determined to nurse his Time Lord friend, Kai, back to health. He’s feeling confident about this task until he approaches the TARDIS, parked around the corner from a convenience store, to find the door open. Running inside, Taehyun finds the medbay is empty. He asks the ship to run a scan, hoping Kai has just wandered off somewhere else inside. Unfortunately for him, he gets a CCTV replay of Kai wandering out of the TARDIS, dazed and feverish.

Back home, Yeonjun unceremoniously drops the kid he found off onto the sofa. It’s late afternoon, going into early evening, so he calls his Jin-hyung and asks if he needs another delivery boy for the night. He starts to boil water for his ramen and agrees to come into the restaurant within the next hour. Soobin comes home and asks about the kid on his sofa. Immediately, he takes responsibility for his health, grabbing a wet towel to keep on his forehead and an icepack from the freezer. He tries to coax him awake to drink water; the kid becomes aware enough to not choke, but he’s still half asleep and can’t answer any questions. Yeonjun takes the opportunity to ask Soobin to watch over the kid while he goes to work. They talk about finances and bills for a moment, just communicating so that they’re on the same page and no one takes on a responsibility someone else already claimed.

Here, we cut to Beomgyu leaving a cafe with his friend, Jimin. The two of them say their goodbyes before he sees Taehyun, looking frustrated and lost. Taehyun is out searching for Kai, following a seldom-used sonic tool the Time Lord doesn’t normally bother with. He’s trying to use the setting to find a non-human/non-earthling, and, well, it’s working too well, if not efficiently. So the two of them continue tracking down what amounts to every intelligent, non-human life form within a certain radius, and it keeps leading them to every alien except for Kai. It’s chaotic, but fun. It’s clear the two of them have missed spending time together.

Yeonjun has been running deliveries for a while now. He drops an order off with a gruff looking man and picks up the returned dishes from the floor in front of the apartment door. In the process, he finds what looks like a small stuffed toy with a keyring around its wrist. He knocks on the door and asks the man inside if it belongs to him and receives a blank look in response. It was found between the dishes and the wall, so if the man won’t claim it, Yeonjun decides that he will. He grins at the cute trinket and attaches it to his own keyring, then clips the set to his belt. As he bikes off, the little bear seems to sigh with relief.

Taehyun and Beomgyu keep up their search for another hour or two. It’s getting darker and the aliens they’re running into are beginning to seem more and more threatening. They call it quits just when they run into a small group of aliens discussing a hostage and ransom situation they’ve set up, and how some human has gone and helped the being escape. The aliens are big, burly, humanoid and pissed, planning to sell said human on an intergalactic black market for interfering. Taehyun believes this is the lead they need to continue chasing, Kai’s name is written all over this scheme. However, it’s late and Beomgyu insists they go home to sleep. He’s tired and it won’t be easy to keep their wits if they’re falling asleep on themselves, even the aliens are retiring for the night. Reluctantly, Taehyun agrees, only because he interrupts his own argument with a yawn.

At home, the kid on the sofa is still asleep. Beomgyu startles at the sight, but ultimately shrugs off his hyungs’ antics. He checks his messages as he prepares for bed, and for once there’s a message from Taehyun, saying thanks for his help and setting a meeting time and place for their adventure in the morning. Beomgyu is giddy with the prospect of playing with his friend again in the morning. Yeonjun comes into the apartment soon after and checks on the kid, changing the cold towel on his forehead and exchanging the icepack under his back. Yeonjun shows off the little plush he found, and it’s noticeable to the audience that it’s posed differently from before. We get the sense that there is more to this little trinket than Yeonjun has picked up on, but before we can think too much more on that, we enter a new day. The keychain swings on Yeonjun’s belt once again, as he enters an older classmate’s studio.

Taehyung is a graduate fashion design student, but a senior undergrad for photography. Yeonjun often works as a model and “living doll” for this hyung when he has projects coming due, and today is no different. The two of them muse over some design sketches, and Yeonjun asks for feedback on his end-of-semester project. Yeonjun has a few outfit changes, modeling both “feminine” and “masculine” looks for Taehyung.

Meanwhile, Taehyun and Beomgyu meet at the apartment building where they overheard the suspicious conversation. Taehyun adjusts his tool to follow their biometric signature specifically. The aliens aren’t too far ahead, seeming to have just begun their day. In the daylight, their skin is a very pale orange, almost like someone with a weird tan, and their faces are reminiscent of a pug. Their clothes aren’t particularly strange, but seem almost pirate-like, the way the pants are baggy, the blouses billowy, and the jackets almost oversized. While they walk, Beomgyu asks Taehyun what happened to him over the past semester. They clearly still get along, and neither of them seem to hold any grudges, so why did they drift apart? Taehyun admits that he met a new friend, an alien who used a spaceship and time machine to take him on interesting adventures. Slowly, he just drifted away from his old friends and towards the alien.  He stopped thinking about the few friends that he did have and gravitated towards his new friend. He didn’t realize he was hurting anyone when he pulled away. Beomgyu isn’t sure how to accept this explanation. On the one hand, it was all very exciting, so he understood Taehyun, but on the other hand… he was just told that he wasn’t supposed to care that Taehyun had all but disappeared from his life, that Taehyun didn’t find him interesting enough to keep his attention. The idea makes him want to punch his friend in his perfect nose, but before he can verbally express his frustration, Beomgyu realizes the aliens they followed seem to be zeroing in on one of the art buildings, the one Yeonjun is now exiting. Panicking, Beomgyu makes a split decision to distract the aliens from his cousin, drawing the attention to himself and Taehyun instead.

Chaos follows. Beomgyu is naturally loud and endearingly obnoxious, but he’s really making a nuisance of himself, the way he shouts insults and runs circles around the tan aliens. He tries to tackle one and whines about a bruise before running off, barely dodging a gold bangle and chain it tried to place on him. Yeonjun calls Beomgyu’s phone, warning him not to get himself killed playing too many games. Beomgyu claims he’s just acting for a videography student’s project. Taehyun laughs at the explanation and wonders why he didn’t just invite his best friend along on his adventures instead of avoiding him. The two of them manage to distract the aliens just long enough to lose sight of Yeonjun, which must have been Beomgyu’s plan all along, because when the aliens get bored and approach the fashion school, he lets them.

Yeonjun vlogs on his way home. He doesn’t do much, just records a conclusion to his day, having taken video of his time with Taehyung. He’s been recording the creation of his final project over the semester, hoping it might be a good video for the algorithm. His fashion and vlog videos seem to do pretty well. With the project on his mind, Yeonjun visits a fabric store to browse and maybe have some idea of what will be available when he’s ready to start. He attends an early afternoon class and bums lunch off of one of his friends. Across town, Yeonjun attends Hoseok’s dance class with Jungkook, another senior from school, and one of Taehyung’s photography classmates. All the while, the little bear doesn’t do a whole lot through the day, just peers curiously at the world around him, sneaks a bit of food from Yeonjun’s friends, and bounces along to the music during dance class.

Taehyun and Beomgyu feel like they’re running a wild goose chase across their corner of Seoul. The aliens don’t seem to have noticed their tail, but Taehyun is starting to feel a little hopeless. He should have been led to Kai by now, for sure. And yeah, this whole lost hostage situation feels like it’s worth his time, but what power does he have, really? He can’t accomplish anything without Kai. He doesn’t have the knowledge or the cleverness that his alien friend does when it comes to these sorts of things. When Taehyun expresses this, the two taking a small break for a late lunch of local street food, Beomgyu argues that he’s just not used to doing things on his own yet. He was clever enough to find a tool to track down non-humans, he knew enough to decide these aliens will lead him to Kai, so Taehyun will figure out how to save his friend when the time comes. 

At the end of the day, Yeonjun returns home. Soobin has been taking care of the kid throughout the day and reports that there hasn’t been much of a change in his condition. The fever seems close to breaking, but he hasn’t woken for much more than a few sips of water every hour, and even then the kid barely makes the effort before passing out again. Yeonjun thanks his cousin and takes a shower. He checks social media again, uploads a few of the selfies he’s taken throughout the day, as well as a clip of the choreography he learned in class. He’s interacting with his followers when his front door bursts open and a trio of big, burly aliens snatch him up. They attach a cuff on his wrist and he goes stiff, unable to move. They find his keyset and retrieve the teddy bear trinket. One of them notices Kai and sniffs at him. “The Time Lord will bring us a hefty price too.”

When Taehyun and Beomgyu track our villains to the apartment building, Beomgyu is dismayed to see Yeonjun being dragged like a doll behind the big burly aliens, while Taehyun focuses on Kai, passed out in their arms. Beomgyu immediately runs inside to check on Soobin, worried he might have been caught in the crossfire of whatever happened in the apartment. Taehyun is torn between following Beomgyu into the apartment and rescuing Kai, but he still has no plan and feels better with Beomgyu by his side. He can always track down the aliens later, they have to be on this planet for a reason. Inside, they find Soobin is safe, napping in his bed through whatever altercation took place. Beomgyu is relieved, but overwhelmed -- Yeonjun has been kidnapped, the kid they were nursing is apparently a centuries old “traveler.” He takes a moment to scream into a pillow and sort his thoughts out, then decides to rescue his cousin. They gather a few things at the house, dense items that can serve as blunt force weapons, portable cell phone chargers in case of intergalactic travel, Yeonjun’s camera to record what happens, just in case things go south. Catching on, Taehyun wraps his hands with bandages, fingers sporting half of Yeonjun’s large ring collection. He doesn’t know what he’ll be able to do, knows that Kai likes to solve things non-violently when possible, but Taehyun is a squishy human who can’t regenerate, so if it’s a matter of using his fists or losing his life, he was going to make sure his fists hurt. Beomgyu locates his old boy scouts pocket knife. It was a trinket he packed by chance, had hardly used it beyond cutting open packages, but those alien guys are huge and he wasn’t above killing for his family. He just hoped it wouldn’t actually come to that.

Taehyun’s sonic tool leads the pair to another apartment building, one we recognise to be where Yeonjun found the small teddy bear being. They climb the stairs to the top floor, the previously bright white light dimming to a fuzzy soft yellow color. Taehyun stops at the top to determine a plan, and the pair argue; Beomgyu is more inclined to burst in and see what happens, while Taehyun prefers to have ideas prepared. However, when Beomgyu hears something like an initialization process, he shoves open the door -- heavier than it looks -- and finds himself in what seems to be a spaceship of sorts, not a hallway they expected. The room is dark and looks like a storage hull of sorts. Taehyun recognizes the various stages of aerial departure over the loudspeakers and panics. They have a lot less time to locate Kai and Yeonjun than they expected, less than five minutes if Taehyun remembers the sequence correctly.

So the pair run through the ship, doing their best to sneak around, but valuing speed over stealth. It doesn’t take terribly long to find the hostages -- a cell full with several species of beings stiff and standing like dolls, while Kai continues sleeping. Taehyun gives the sonic device to Beomgyu, who struggles to find the correct setting to unlock the ring keeping Yeonjun paralyzed. Taehyun kneels beside Kai, marveling at how young and small he looks now. The two of them could be classmates. He struggles to pull Kai onto his back. Kai might be younger and smaller now, but he’s still built solid. The speakers have announced a sixty-second countdown by the time Beomgyu finds the right setting and begins unlocking everyone’s cuffs. It’s at this point when Kai blinks, awake for the moment to praise Taehyun on a job well done. “Just make sure everyone gets home,” he says, then passes back out. Taehyun immediately feels the pressure of completing such a large task. There are at least ten other people here, not including his friends, and the spaceship might use an operating system Taehyun is familiar with, but he doesn’t know the ship model or the controls, let alone how to drive. Then there’s the group of aliens holding them hostage in the first place and Taehyun doesn’t even know how many there are! Sure, he came prepared for a fight, but he was only prepared to fight for as long as it took to get his friends and get back to the TARDIS. Which was also not an option because Taehyun for sure couldn’t steer that fancy ship if he asked it nicely.

“What do I even do?”

“There’s only five of them,” Yeonjun says.

“And if I free everyone, we’ll have a whole bunch of these things,” Beomgyu holds up Yeonjun’s ring. “Let’s cuff them.” He makes quick work of the rest of the hostages’ cuffs, collecting them between himself and Yeonjun

“Does anyone know what model ship this is?” Taehyun asks the group at large. “If we incapacitate those guys, could you steer yourselves home?”

“They stole this ship from me in the first place,” says someone with three pairs of eyes stacked atop one another and a vicious smile. “If you get me my ship back I’ll make sure everyone here gets home.”

Getting the cuffs on the kidnappers is easy, but not quick. The engines are at full roar and the countdown reaches ten before the last cuff is locked around a muscled arm and the ship secured. The original pilot aborts take off before thanking the boys for their help. They have their deputy -- someone called Fern with a long scar across their face -- take the thieves to the prison cells. The boys watch Fern press a couple of buttons on the cuffs, and the orange aliens shrink down to the size of a child’s “life-size” doll. Beomgyu blinks, excited at the display while it hits Yeonjun that his adorable keychain had never been a toy in the first place. Beomgyu vows to buy a new one for his cousin, but Yeonjun rejects the idea, heart broken and a little distrustful. What if it’s just another alien? Beomgyu looks down at his keyring, considering, but dismisses the idea. How likely would that happen twice?

So the three of them walk home, Kai still asleep on Taehyun’s back. It’s evening now, late enough that Taehyun might as well spend the night with them. Taehyun offers to buy takeout in return, and so the four of them are sitting on the apartment floor when Kai finally stretches and sits up, groaning over his good sleep. And Taehyun sits there staring because… Kai is adorable. He hadn’t been cute before -- the previous, middle-aged version of him and been stoic but kind, the Remus Lupin type if Taehyun could compare it to anyone. But this kid sat, drowning in his old clothes, pouting at having woken up. Even his pronunciation was cute. Taehyun couldn’t help the grin that found its place on his face.

“You,” he teases, “are a lot of trouble, do you know that?”

Kai blinks at him. “Oh. Was I?”

The two bicker until Kai drags the others into their fight.

“You found him,” Kai points vaguely in the direction of the cousins, “and he knew where I was!”

“I didn’t know who you were!” exclaims Beomgyu.

“Shhh,” Kai holds a finger up, only to get distracted by his clothes. He frowns, disliking how short the sleeves are, even while they pool at his elbow. He decides then that he needs to get back to his TARDIS. He wants to change clothes, and check his health since regenerating. His body feels the way it should, but it never hurts to be sure. Soobin offers to walk him wherever he’s going, and Kai tries to deny the offer, citing Taehyun as an adequate escort, but now Yeonjun’s insisting on making sure the two of them get to this ship in one piece and un-kidnapped, and Beomgyu insists on sticking with Yeonjun, so all five of them leave the apartment to walk Kai “home.”

“Home” looks like a storefront, next door to the convenience store the Choi cousins frequent. Yeonjun hadn’t paid attention to the dim lights and gated door when he passed the previous night, had only seen the sickly kid in a too-big sweater that fell into his arms. Kai pulls the door open with the gate and walks into the shop. The Chois frown, uncomfortable with where the night has led them. Taehyun easily follows, used to the various appearances of the TARDIS, and Beomgyu, trusting Taehyun trails after. Soobin and Yeonjun trade skeptical looks before entering the door last.

And the TARDIS is… not what they expect. They expected TARDIS to be a foreign word for “home,” and then expected to walk into an abandoned shop of some sort, complete with dusty floors and empty spaces. Instead, they find themselves in a very clean, very high-tech looking space. The walls are round and covered in a deep, bright blue, tile, similar to those used for sound proofing tile. Several sets of narrow staircases lead up to a balcony dotted with various lounge spaces, those walls covered with some sort of white square tile pattern over the blue. At the center of the room were several white tables, placed together to form a circle around a tall glass column. A holoscreen of sorts hovered above one of the tables, although the boys were all standing on the wrong side to attempt reading what it said. Kai stands in front of another screen, tapping and swiping away at whatever he reads there. Soon, each table has a holoscreen lit, numbers and readings scrolling too fast for any of them to read.

“So,” Kai begins, startling the Chois out of their awe. Taehyun seems to have disappeared somewhere further into the ship, through the dark doorway behind Kai, perhaps. “You’ve nursed me back to health. You rescued me. And now, you’ve walked me home. Thank you for taking care of me.” He bows, then turns back to his screens. He taps a few more times, swipes some shapes onto other screens, and then stops, sighing. The ship rumbles beneath his feet, and he feels safer, knowing that he’s in his ship and very little can get in without his permission. Kai suddenly seems much older than he looks. The lines of his shoulders don’t look like he’s just awoken from the great sleep he claimed. 

“What did you do?”

Kai looks up and screams.

“Why are we shaking?” Yeonjun continues, eyes bugged, mouth pouting. He reaches for the nearest staircase, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process.

“What are you doing here?” asks Kai. He knows he dematerialized the ship, he wanted to let it hover somewhere in the time stream for a while, until he’s gone to the med bay and has checked on his companion. He knows he’s still exhausted from regenerating. His thoughts are still bouncing too fast in his head, he’s still in between two personalities, he isn’t thinking clearly. So when he finalized his destination, engaged the engines, and looked up, Kai didn't expect to still have four guests.

“We just walked you home,” says Soobin. “Where else would we be?”

“But I left you behind! We’re in flight! I just left your planet!”

“You didn’t, so bring us back!” Soobin argues.

“I can't, I just set her on autopilot!”

“Then unset it!”

Kai deflates. “She… really doesn’t like when I change my mind. We’ll be in flight for a while.”

“She?” asks Beomgyu. He’s the only one who doesn’t seem upset by the turn of events.

“I have a test next week!” cries Soobin, and it really does look like he’s on the verge of a panic attack. “I don’t have time to go gallivanting all over space, I need to be at home!”

“Oh!” Kai smiles, happy to offer a solution. “My TARDIS is also a time machine! I can get you home five minutes after we left, no problem. You’ll definitely be able to take your test.”