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lovelyhan · 24 days ago

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— starcrossed losers ⟢

at age fifteen, you’re betrothed to a prince named jeonghan. at age twenty-five, you’re set to marry him. so when your father gives you a chance to find love all on your own, you immediately take it. now if only jeonghan would stop fucking sabotaging every relationship you’re trying to get into.

★ FEATURING; jeonghan x reader

★ WORD COUNT; 21k words

★ TAGS; princess!reader, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, magic & fantasy, betrayal (not frm jh), angst, minor character death, blood and violence, smut (MINORS DNI)

★ NOTES; two years... it took me TWO YEARS to write this and post it AJAHDSFJSHFDGDF i am sorry? SO DEEPLY SORRY!?!?!? but that aside, this probably only starts to get more jeonghan-centric at the 10k word mark... OUGH..... i needed to do a lot of worldbuilding AHAHAHAHA BUT I PROMISEE it's for good reason!

this is part of the it’s complicated series.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

★ SMUT TAGS; vaginal fingering, making out in places where you shouldn't, semi-public sex (that's it for this part unfortunately...)

Your life changed forever on a Tuesday morning.

As a princess, your days were dictated by a perfectly curated schedule. Every hour accounted for, every moment neatly placed in a grid of expectations and duty. It should have felt restrictive for most girls your age. But not for you. You liked the structure. The routine gave your life shape and purpose. You didn’t have to wonder what the day might hold or scramble to meet your obligations. All that was required of you was to show up, shoulders squared, chin high, and play your part in the ever-charming production of royal daughterhood.

Mondays and Wednesdays were for lessons with your private tutor—arithmetic, magical history, the foundations of politics and diplomacy. Tuesdays and Thursdays belonged to physical training. Fencing and archery were your common favorites. Fridays were reserved for etiquette, where you were taught about flawless posture, graceful curtsies, and a hundred ways to say no without ever using the word. Meanwhile, weekends were for socializing, when nobles from Ancarra and beyond paraded their heirs and fortunes before the court like trinkets at market.

On this particular Tuesday, Changkyun’s form was sloppy—left shoulder too low, footwork too eager—and you exploited it mercilessly, driving him back across the mat with a flurry of perfectly timed lunges. He faltered on his retreat, lost his balance, and went down with a sharp oof before the tip of your foil points just shy of his collarbone.

You didn’t smirk, but it took effort.

Flat on his back, your fencing partner let out a groan and flung an arm over his eyes. “You’ve been spending too much time with Master Yesung. He’s turned you into a menace.”

“I’ve always been a menace,” you tell him, withdrawing your foil with a flick. “You’re just slow today.”

From the far end of the training hall, a low, throaty rumble of approval rolled across the floor like distant thunder. You glanced over your shoulder to find Reya lounging on the polished stone, tail twitching like he’s amused with your victory. The massive white tiger regarded you with half-lidded pride, resting his chin on his paws like the king he thinks he is.

Changkyun gave Reya a wary glance. “He still hates me.”

“He hates everyone,” you replied fondly. “Except me.”

You didn’t say the rest: that Reya is more than a pet. That you hadn’t tamed him—you found him, half-starved and snared by a hunter’s trap in the snowfields. That when your magic surfaced and it turned out you weren’t a fire-wielder, or a stormcaller like the other gifted scions of noble houses but simply a girl who could speak to animals: everyone acted like you’d been cursed with the art of babysitting.

That is not real magic, they said. It will never be useful in court.

So you honed your body instead.

Foil. Footwork. Form. You mastered it all, until no one dared question your worth out loud. And maybe Changkyun is the only person who ever looked at you without that shadow of disappointment on everyone’s faces when they thought you wouldn’t notice.

Your fingers brushed as you help him to his feet, and your heart lifts—

—just as Royal Advisor Siwon clears his throat.

The sound snapped through the air like a blade cracking on steel. You and Changkyun jump apart.

“Your Grace,” Siwon said, bowing deeply. His silver-rimmed spectacles gleam in the sunlight. “The king requests your presence. Immediately.”

You blinked. “I’m in the middle of training.”

“I’m afraid this takes precedence, Princess,” he told you with the faintest edge of regret in his tone. He’s always been considerate of your feelings. “The matter is… personal.”

Your stomach twisted at that.

Moments later, you pulled off your gloves, tucking them under your arm beside your training foil. Reya got up from his corner with a huff as he padded silently toward you, his presence at your heel like a silent question.

“I’ll return,” you told Changkyun, though you’re not sure you will.

The halls of the Castle of Ancarra were quiet at this hour, but never truly still.

Morning sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, spilling pools of color across the floor dancing faintly over the stone as if the palace itself breathed. The scent of blooming flowers drifted in through open archways from the garden courtyards beyond, clinging to the walls like perfume. Somewhere distant, you heard the faint hum of magic wards being tuned by the royal mages, that soft shimmering sound like glass being struck gently by wind.

You, on the other hand, smelled like sweat.

Each step echoed a little too loudly as you padded down the eastern corridor. Beside you, Siwon walked with his usual glacial calm, every inch the model of a court advisor. Reya prowled silently behind you, massive white paws silent against marble. His fur rippled like snowdrifts in motion, and his blue eyes tracked every passing flicker of movement with the lazy wariness of a predator who knew he had nothing to fear.

You squinted up at Siwon, who maintained his pace without so much as glancing at you. “You know, if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m going to assume I’m dying.”

“I assure you, Your Grace,” he replied without inflection, “you are not.”

“Then I’m being exiled.”

“Also incorrect.”

“Then what is it?”

He gave a patient sigh, the kind adults always gave when they thought you were being childish. (You were fifteen, not five, but that never seemed to matter.) “It is not my place to say.”

You groaned. “That’s what you always say.”

“Because it is always true.”

“Can you at least tell me if I’m going to like it?”

“Some might consider it an honor.”

“...Will you make me one of those snowman figures with your frost magic to shut me up?”

Siwon glanced at you, startled but amused. “I thought you already outgrew those, Princess.”

You huffed, and Reya let out a rumble behind you—his version of agreement, no doubt. You didn’t like the way this was heading. Siwon’s face gave nothing away, as usual, and there’s no way to break through his defenses.

Rounding the corner near the west wing stairwell, you nearly collided with one of the younger palace maids, who let out a startled yelp and nearly dropped her stack of linens.

“Oh! Princess!” she gasped, eyes wide as saucers. “You’re still in your fencing kit?”

You look at her bizarrely. “Yes? It’s fencing day?”

Regardless, she looked horrified. “Your hair is all—your tunic—oh dear, you’re soaked. I-I’ll have the other attendants prepare a bath immediately. Do you want rosewater or lavender? I can call for your blue silks, or maybe—”

“She won’t have time for that,” Siwon interrupted mildly, stepping forward. “Her Highness is expected in the king’s study at once.”

The maid faltered. “Oh. I see. O-Of course.”

You offered a weak smile. “It’s fine. My father’s seen worse. Remember when Reya broke into the aviary and I spent half a council meeting covered in goose feathers? This can’t be worse than that.”

Behind you, your tiger gave a low, pleased chuff. You could feel his smugness. The maid tried to laugh politely but gave up halfway through. She curtsied and retreated with all the urgency of someone fleeing a burning room.

You scratched behind Reya’s ear absently as you continued walking with Siwon. “You’d think they’ve never seen sweat before.”

“You are a princess, Your Grace,” Siwon said. “The ideal princess does not perspire. She glows.”

“I’ll be sure to glow after I’m dead.”

Siwon did not react.

Which, of course, was the worst reaction of all.

He reached the grand oak door at the end of the corridor and knocked twice with the back of his hand, the sound deep and final before opening the door.

“After you, Princess,” Siwon said, and you stepped across the threshold, sweat-streaked and bracing yourself for the sentence that would ruin the rest of your youth.

The scent of ink and parchment greeted you first.

Not the cloying perfume of court scrolls but something plainer. Vellum stacked in rows, ink dried in the well, candle wax crusted in yellow pools on the old wooden desk. A fire smoldered low in the hearth, casting long shadows over the high shelves. A half-eaten plate of bread and cheese sat untouched near the window, forgotten beside a ledger the size of a paving stone.

Your father sat behind the desk, hunched over a thick sheaf of correspondence, pen stilled in his hand.

The King of Ancarra was not a large man, not like the kings in your history books who towered over battlefields in gleaming armor. He was wiry, silver streaking his dark hair while the creases at the corners of his eyes deepened not by age but by long nights and hard decisions. He looked up when you entered, and the tiredness in his face softened.

“Bug,” he said, smiling gently. “You’re here.”

As Siwon left you two your own devices, you bowed because you were expected to. But when you straightened, you didn’t hide the concern in your face. Not even that old, endearing nickname could dispel your unease.

“You look awful.”

He barked a tired laugh and set the pen aside. “Thank you, sweetling. That’s what every man longs to hear from his daughter.”

You stepped forward, Reya padding behind you with the faintest growl of warning. He never liked this room. Maybe it reminded him of confinement, or maybe he just hated the smell of parchment.

“You’re still doing all the ledgers by hand,” you said, eyeing the mountain of work.

Your father didn’t deny it. “Who else would?” His smile was wry. “The ministers mean well, but they’d outsource my soul if I let them. I trust my own hand better.”

You bit your lip. He’d always been like this—stubborn in his solitude, steadfast in his refusal to lean on others. Ever since your mother died, he’d carried everything himself. That day was etched into your life, even though you weren’t old enough to remember it. You were told she passed giving birth to you. That her last words were your name. Your father never married again, never even considered it.

Part of you always wondered if that was loyalty, or guilt.

You moved to stand beside him, your sweat-streaked fencing gear looking very out of place in the quiet glow of his study. “You could have waited for me to change.”

He gave a soft hum. “Didn’t want to waste time. I know how long it takes for you to pick a ribbon for your hair.”

You gave him a playful glare.

And then, his expression changed—just slightly. The weariness didn’t fade, but something settled in beside it. A sort of gravity you’d seen only a handful of times in your life.

He gestured to the seat across from him. “Sit. There’s something I need to tell you.”

The hairs at the back of your neck prickled, but you do as you’re told. Reya let out another disgruntled noise as he curled at your feet, frost blue eyes squared on your father. Shortly after sitting down, you folded your hands and straightened your spine like you’d been taught.

“Is something wrong?” you asked.

“...You’ve grown,” Your father’s fingers brushed across the parchment before him, as if searching for the words inside it instead of in his own mind. “Fifteen now. Three years left until you’re given the Dawning Crown.”

That doesn’t quite answer your question.

The Dawning Ceremony was a rite of passage for every member of Ancarran royalty. On your eighteenth birthday, the veil of childhood would be lifted. You’d stand before the court in ceremonial robes, swear your oaths beneath the kingdom’s banner, and receive the Dawning Crown—a silver circlet that marked your right to advise the throne, to lead, to inherit.

But something told you that wasn’t what the king summoned you for today.

“Yes,” you said warily. “What of it?”

Your father looked up at you then. His eyes—tired, kind, and quietly burdened—searched your face as if trying to memorize it before he said something you wouldn’t forgive.

“I’ve arranged a betrothal for you.”

Silence dropped between you like a stone into water, and it rippled in your chest. You blinked, as if you’d misheard. “What?”

“A betrothal,” he repeated gently. “To Prince Jeonghan of Seraphia. The engagement will be announced before the year’s end. You’ll be married once you both come of age.”

Your throat went dry as you sat there stiffly, the rest of your body frozen while your brain scrambled to catch up. Outside, you could hear the distant flutter of birdsong through the windows, absurdly cheerful for the moment. Reya stirred at your feet, sensing your shock.

“But…” You swallowed. “I thought I would— I thought I’d be able to choose.”

Your father’s face flickered with regret, but his voice was firm. “I did what I had to, bug. This alliance is necessary. Seraphia’s port routes feed half our inland trade. And their King trusts Jeonghan to succeed him one day. He’s… he’s a good boy.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Tried not to make a sound like a dying bird.

Jeonghan.

You remembered him only in flashes. A diplomatic visit when you were thirteen. A boy with moonlight hair and a smile made of silk and sunshine. All the noble daughters swooned while he bowed and kissed their hands like something out of a storybook.

But you saw it.

You saw the glint of amusement in his eyes when he flattered people just to watch them squirm. The flick of his wrist when he’d “accidentally” stepped on your dress train. The way he’d offered you a honeyed tart, only for you to discover it was filled with chili paste. Your lips had burned for hours.

You scowled. “I would’ve preferred his brother. Joshua at least has a soul.”

The king’s sigh was long and worn, as though he’d rehearsed this conversation a thousand times in his head and never found a version where it didn’t end with you furious.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted,” he said quietly. “But it’s what’s best. For the kingdom.”

You could feel the pressure in your chest start to swell—tight and hot and helpless. You shoved back from your chair, the legs scraping loudly against the polished floor. Reya’s ears flicked at the sound.

“So that’s it?” you demanded. “You marry me off to another kingdom and hope I forget everything I wanted? What about Ancarra? Who do you expect to rule when you’re gone, if I’m stuck in the next kingdom over with a husband I didn’t choose?”

Your voice rang louder than you meant it to, but once it started, it wouldn’t stop.

“Father, I’ve trained my whole life to help you. I’m learning about the laws, the politics, the treaties. I’ve fought and studied and bent over backwards to prove I’m not some fragile little girl just because my magic doesn’t shoot lightning out of my hands!” you sniffled, barely breathing with how much your throat feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. “And now you’re saying it’s all just... for decoration?”

Your father closed his eyes.

For a moment, the silence returned. Not heavy like before, but much more somber.

“You think I don’t want you here?” he asked, and your heart cracked at the roughness in his voice. “You think I haven’t dreamed of the day I’d see you on the throne beside me, crowned and proud, finally free to shape this kingdom with your own hands?”

The king stood behind his desk, and the gesture felt too slow for the weight of what he carried.

“You’ll still rule Ancarra in my place one day, bug,” he said, his voice low with weariness. “But I’ve seen the parts of you that mirror the worst of me. The way you shoulder everything on your own. The way you keep others at a distance, offering only what’s required and nothing more. I know that kind of loneliness. I’ve lived it. And I wouldn’t wish it on you.”

He looked at you then, and the weight behind his gaze was heavier than any crown.

“I’m not trying to chain you to another kingdom. I just want you to have someone by your side. Someone who sees you not as a sovereign, or a symbol, but as a woman. As a queen who doesn’t have to stand alone.”

You turned away, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the anger from spilling out again. Just minutes ago, you’d been silently fretting over your father’s terrible habit of grinding himself into the ground—and now he was saying you were the same. That you’d inherited his loneliness like it was part of your bloodline.

Reya brushed against your side, his fur warm and solid as a low huff vibrated in his chest. You’re not alone, he said. I’m still here.

But the comfort didn’t dull the sting. It didn’t make the room feel any less like a cage.

“Please, bug,” he said softly, reaching across the desk to take your hands in his. His grip was warm, steady, and just a little too gentle. “I need you to trust me. Just for now.”

You looked at him—at the sleepless shadows beneath his eyes, the ink smudged into the creases of his fingers, the quiet burden he carried alone because he never let anyone close enough to share it. Your chest ached.

You nodded, once. “Just for now.”

Life went on, as it always did.

Your schedule remained unchanged—lessons, training, etiquette, more training. The castle walls stayed the same shade of honeyed stone, and the banners still rippled with the wind in Ancarran silver. No one treated you differently, but that was the worst part. The servants still curtsied, the guards still bowed, and Siwon still handed you your briefing scrolls with quiet efficiency. As if nothing had changed. As if your future hadn’t just been carved into stone.

But when you walked through the halls, people looked at you a little longer. Nobles smiled a little too kindly. Maids paused mid-task to whisper behind their hands.

Reya sensed the shift, too. He stayed closer than usual, his great striped head brushing your elbow when you walked, his breath warm at your back when you slept. His presence grounded you, but not even he could quiet the nervous churn in your stomach as the ceremonial dinner approached.

The Seraphian royal family arrived two days after the harvest moon. Their procession was the usual fanfare—banners and courtiers, guards in gilded armor, a fleet of pearl-dappled carriages led by plumed steeds. You watched it unfold from the balcony with arms crossed, ignoring the way your heart drummed harder when you spotted Jeonghan stepping out in gold-trimmed robes, his hair ink-black and tied back with a silken cord.

It used to be much lighter, didn’t it? Though there were always rumors about the eldest Seraphian prince—that he changed his hair as often as his wardrobe, either by spellcraft or cosmetics. You weren’t sure which unnerved you more.

The ceremonial dinner was held that evening in the Grand Marbled Hall. Candles glittered in every chandelier. The finest cutlery had been polished to mirror-shine. You were seated at the right of your father; Jeonghan sat directly across from you, grinning like this was all terribly funny.

For the sake of appearances, you were perfect. Pleasant and regal as you should be. You smiled when prompted, clinked your glass when toasts were made, and managed not to stab anyone with your fork. But once dessert had been cleared and the nobles began drifting into smaller pockets of conversation, you stepped away from the main table.

And, of course, Jeonghan followed.

“You’re brooding,” he said, appearing at your side like a shadow. “It’s a charming look on you, truly. Very mysterious, but also very tragic.”

“I’m resisting the urge to toss you into the fountain,” you said coolly, still upset over Reya being barred from the ceremonial dinner. Siwon claimed your tiger would terrify half the guests into fleeing back to their homelands, but honestly? That’s exactly where you want Jeonghan to be.

All of a sudden, Joshua materialized behind him with a sigh. “Brother, maybe you shouldn’t antagonize your future wife during the first dinner.”

The older boy raised an innocent brow. “I’m simply trying to get to know her better. It’s called bonding.”

“It’s called being a smug little shit,” you muttered, turning to Joshua. “Remind me again why they didn’t marry you off instead?”

“Because I’m only thirteen, Princess,” Joshua said with a rueful smile. “And unlike Jeonghan, I can’t talk my way out of anything. Or into it.”

Jeonghan pressed a hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

This was what your interactions looked like for the next few years.

Time wore on in polished routines and reluctant familiarity. Your lessons deepened. You traded your fencing foil with a sword. Your council briefings grew longer. And through it all, the shape of your future loomed larger, carved into every careful glance from the court, every politely worded expectation.

Jeonghan visited often enough to fulfill duty, but never more than that. He was cordial in public, infuriating in private. He knew just how to smile at the other noble girls, how to offer a compliment sweet enough to make them blush. But never you.

You weren’t sure when it started to bother you.

He didn’t try to charm you. Didn’t send letters. Didn’t hover by your side during banquets or take your hand when music played. Instead, he teased you, irritated you, challenged you. When you dueled with the court trainers, he’d lean against a post with a smug grin and critique your footwork. When you won a mock debate in strategy lessons, he’d ask if you were aiming for tyrant or empress.

He wasn’t cruel. Just… completely uninterested.

And so, you mirrored him. Distant, cool, and unimpressed.

It was easier that way. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that you preferred it like this—that it was better if neither of you cared. That way, when the Dawning Ceremony finally arrived, and the court crowned you with silver and called you queen-to-be, you wouldn’t look for him in the crowd. You wouldn’t hope he was watching. Wouldn’t wonder if he saw more than just a political pawn.

You were eighteen now. The veil of childhood had been lifted. The Dawning Crown gleamed in your reflection like a weight you’d only begun to feel.

The door creaked open behind you. Your stylists fell silent at once—one still halfway through pinning the final clasp on your ceremonial mantle. When they turned and caught sight of who had entered, they dipped into low bows, murmuring deferentially before excusing themselves in a flurry of silks and whispered footsteps.

You met your father’s reflection in the mirror.

He looked tired. Always did, these days. The strain of kingship lived in the soft slump of his shoulders, in the silver threading through his dark hair. But tonight, he wore a quiet pride that almost softened it.

“I still remember when you used to run barefoot through the garden, covered in dirt and insisting you’d seen a dragon in the clouds,” he said, his voice low and fond. “And now look at you.”

You turned to face him fully. The ceremonial robes felt heavier under his gaze—woven from Ancarran silver and river-blue silk, embroidered with threads that shimmered like starlight. The Dawning Crown had been nestled into your hair not ten minutes ago, and already it felt like a permanent weight.

“You’ve grown into a fine heir,” he went on. “The court respects you. The people speak your name with hope. I have no doubt you’ll rule even better than I did.”

The words landed gently, like feathers instead of stones, but you only offered a small nod. “Is that all, or did you come to deliver another surprise engagement?”

He huffed a laugh. “Not today.”

A shape lingered in the hall behind him. You turned toward the figure, and felt your spine straighten when he stepped inside. You recognized him immediately.

Lord Kwon Soonyoung of the River Quarter. Young for a noble, but sharp-tongued, quick-witted, and endlessly frustrating to the older lords who couldn’t keep up. He spoke boldly during court sessions, often to your quiet amusement. Not because he was reckless, but because his suggestions made sense. Because they weren’t rooted in pride or greed or tradition-for-tradition’s sake.

You could tolerate Soonyoung.

More importantly, Reya mirrored the same sentiment. Your beast stirred at your side but made no noise. His tail thumped once against the floor, and when Soonyoung reached out, Reya allowed him to touch his head—without biting or growling or snarling.

You blinked. “He never lets anyone do that. Not even the king.”

Soonyoung smiled faintly. “I bring very expensive jerky to council meetings.”

Your father gave a dry cough that might’ve been a laugh. “I thought it was time you had an advisor of your own,” he said, shifting his weight. “Someone who understands your vision. Who won’t cower, but won’t sabotage you either. You’ll still have access to the council, of course. But from now on, Lord Kwon will report directly to you.”

You glanced back at Soonyoung, one brow arching.

He inclined his head solemnly. “If you’ll have me.”

And despite the crown digging into your temples, despite the pressure mounting outside those palace doors, you found yourself almost relieved for once.

The kingdom held its breath as the sun dipped low behind the peaks of Ancarra, casting long shadows across the capital. From the grand plaza to the marble steps of the palace, thousands had gathered to watch you rise.

The Dawning Crown sat heavy atop your head—woven silver and moonstones, forged centuries ago for this moment. You wore it like you wore the future: unshaking, though it pressed against your every thought.

You stepped forward beneath the carved arch of the Grand Marbled Hall, every bell in the capital chiming at once. Your people stood below. Nobles flanked the raised pavilion. The wind caught your cape and made you look more like a figure from myth than flesh and blood.

Jeonghan, of course, was in the very front of the crowd, cloaked in Seraphian white and gold. His black hair fell loose tonight, ribbon tied lazily at the nape of his neck, and his expression is half amused, half something else. He didn’t look proud. He didn’t even look solemn. That damn prince simply looked like he was waiting for something only he knew the shape of.

You tore your gaze from him as the High Chancellor stepped forward.

His voice carried through the twilight air: blessing your name, your bloodline, your title. You bowed your head at the proper moment.

When it was your turn to speak, you found your voice more easily than expected. You spoke not just as a daughter, but as a queen-in-waiting. You spoke of duty, and legacy, and of your people—of Ancarra’s strength. The crowd answered with a roar.

And just like that, it was over. The stars blinked to life overhead. The music would begin soon. So would the toasts, the dancing, and the procession of noble flatterers lining up to be seen. But first—you slipped from the velvet crush of the crowd and found Soonyoung waiting just off the ceremonial steps, where the torchlight flickered low and Reya prowled like a sentinel in the dark.

He stiffened when he saw your expression. “Princess?”

You pulled him aside, away from the footmen and ladies-in-waiting, and met his eyes.

“You’re my advisor now,” you said, voice low but steady.

He nodded.

“Then this is your first task,” you whispered. “If you cannot stop my betrothal to Jeonghan… delay it. Months, years—I don’t care. Just buy me time. As much as you can.”

Soonyoung blinked. “And if they ask questions?”

“They won’t.” You stepped closer. “Because you’ll be clever. And because no one—not the council, not the court, not even my father—can know that it was me who told you.”

Your advisor hesitated only a moment longer.

Then he smiled, something sharp and wolfish. “Consider it done.”

Years passed like storms over open fields—loud, relentless, and gone before you could catch your breath.

Your title grew heavier with each passing season. Every month brought new scrolls to sign, new decisions to weigh, new nobles testing your patience and pretending not to. But by your side, always, was Soonyoung.

He proved himself more than just a quick wit and a clever tongue. He was tactful when you were tired, bold when you hesitated, and disarmingly good at navigating court politics without letting it twist him. Most importantly, he did as you asked: he stalled. And stalled. And stalled.

Soonyoung often cited economic instability. He sowed polite doubt about timing. He suggested further diplomatic exchanges. And every time the matter of the betrothal crept to the surface, he found a way to push it back under without leaving fingerprints. For that, you trusted him more than most.

Still, no amount of clever maneuvering could keep Jeonghan away.

The Seraphian prince was a constant thorn in your side. Not overtly cruel but sharp enough to get under your skin. He made biting comments over tea with the council. Danced merely once at galas, and always with just you, even if his smile never reached his eyes. He acted the perfect prince in public, all grace and golden formality, but in private he still found delight in teasing your temper and smirking when it frayed.

And you matched him, blow for blow. It was the only way you knew to survive it.

You tried everything else. You proposed policy changes that would jeopardize the alliance. You drafted appeals to dissolve the arrangement. You whispered to other members of court, trying to find a crack in the centuries-old yet unspoken agreement binding Ancarra and Seraphia. But the betrothal endured, untouched, like some ancient curse carved into stone.

You were set to marry each other once you both turned twenty-five, and not even Soonyoung could circumvent the inevitable for longer than he already had.

On the eve of your twenty-fourth name day, you couldn’t bear it any longer.

You found your father in the observatory, where he often retreated these days, away from court noise and council bickering. He looked older now—softer around the eyes, silver threading his entire beard—but still steady, still listening.

“I’ve done everything you asked,” you told him, voice low but urgent. “I’ve honored the engagement. I’ve strengthened our kingdom. I’ve waited. But please…” Your hands clenched at your sides. “Please let me find love on my own. Not in a treaty. Not in an obligation.”

The king looked up at you, quiet for a long moment. And in that silence, your heart thudded so loudly you feared he could hear the break in it.

Your father didn’t answer right away. He looked at you for a long time, like he was peering through the layers of duty you wore like armor—past the queen-in-waiting, down to the little girl who used to trail behind him with ink on her sleeves and admiration in her eyes.

Then finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair, wearier than you’d ever seen him.

“If you must,” he said softly. “Then choose. But do it wisely.”

And just like that, the floodgates opened.

Soonyoung, ever your loyal accomplice, was the first to act. But your father’s advisor, Siwon, was ten steps ahead. Between them a list was compiled: eligible bachelors from noble families across the continent. Men with good standing, decent lineage, tolerable personalities. A thick folder of names, portraits, court records, and correspondences appeared on your desk within the week.

“You asked for love,” Soonyoung reminded you, lifting an eyebrow. “Not obscurity. We still have to make it look… proper somehow.”

You stared down at the endless sea of faces, all of them smiling too politely. The illusion of choice wrapped in silk and gold. It wasn’t exactly what you’d hoped for, but it was something—a sliver of agency in a life that rarely allowed any.

Near the end of the list, a familiar face stopped you cold.

Im Changkyun.

The boy who used to spar with you in the training yard until both your arms gave out. The only one who never pulled his strikes. Who called you “lightfoot” just to get under your skin and laughed when you beat him anyway. He’d left court years ago to pursue something abroad for a few years—you hadn’t heard from him since.

You held his portrait a moment longer than the others.

He looked older now, jaw sharper, eyes steadier. But something in his expression was the same: direct, unafraid. You set the image aside, just slightly, like a card at the top of a deck.

“Considering him?” Soonyoung asked, not even trying to hide the curiosity.

You didn’t answer. Not really. Just tapped the edge of the page and muttered, “He’s not terrible.”

Several days later, you invited Changkyun to the castle.

The back gardens were quiet this time of day—just enough sunlight spilling through the high hedgerows to illuminate the walking path in pale gold. The magnolias were in bloom, their wide petals fluttering in the breeze like fallen silk. You waited near the old stone bench beneath the olive tree, Reya sprawled lazily in the grass at your feet like he didn’t weigh as much as a small carriage.

Siwon and Soonyoung lingered at the archway entrance, trying and failing not to look like posted guards. You’d already told them three times that Reya was protection enough—and given the way the striped beast flicked his tail with bored menace, you were fairly confident no one would get within lunging range without permission.

Still, you appreciated their presence. Just as you appreciated the way the household staff had been strictly instructed, sworn to silence, and double-compensated for their discretion.

No one from Seraphia could know.

You heard footsteps before you saw him—light, careful, and familiar. When Changkyun emerged from the vine-draped path, the first thing you noticed was how tall he’d gotten. His frame was broader, shoulders squared. His hair was longer now too, tied back against his nape.

But then he grinned, and you knew it was still him.

“Well,” he said, stepping into the clearing with a casual ease that made Reya lift his head. “Some things don’t change.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Your taste in terrifying pets.” He nodded at your tiger. “Still looks like he wants to eat me.”

Reya snorted through his nose. You weren’t entirely sure it wasn’t a laugh. “He does. But only a little.”

Changkyun bowed low, more mockery than formality, then straightened and met your eyes. “Your Highness.”

“Don’t,” you said, voice softer than you expected. “Not here.”

His expression eased. “Alright, Lightfoot then.”

You nodded despite the jab, the name fitting better in his mouth than you remembered. And for a moment, standing there in the hush of a secret meeting surrounded by the scent of olive and magnolia, you felt like a girl again. A little reckless. A little hopeful.

“So,” Changkyun said, glancing past you to where the advisors waited in careful silence. “Am I here for tea, or a political inquisition?”

You smirked. “That depends on whether you’re still terrible at fencing.”

“Oh no,” he groaned. “You’re going to beat me again, aren’t you?”

“If you’re lucky,” you said, turning to lead the way deeper into the garden. “If you’re not, Reya will.”

And Reya, as if understanding perfectly, bared his teeth in a lazy grin.

You walked side by side with Changkyun through the garden path, Reya ambling behind like a silent chaperone. The quiet between you wasn’t uncomfortable, just tentative. It had been years, after all. He’d grown into his frame the way trees settle into their roots—steady, grounded, and unpretentious.

You stopped at the far end of the gardens beneath a low-limbed willow, leaves swaying like curtains in the wind. When you turned to face him, the words tangled briefly on your tongue.

Changkyun tilted his head. “You’re fidgeting.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he said, grinning. “Same way you used to before you asked to borrow my practice foil. Or when you were about to do something reckless.”

You huffed, cheeks warming. “I’m not here to be reckless. I’m being strategic.”

“Same thing, in your case.”

You gave him a look, then sighed. “Fine. I’ll be frank with you.”

“That’s new.” He raised an eyebrow in mock surprise.

You ignored him. “You’re here because I’m… looking.”

His expression shifted—curious, but not alarmed. “Looking? For what?”

“A husband,” you said quickly, like yanking a bandage off. “Someone suitable enough that my council and court will approve. Someone who could make this kingdom feel less like a cage, and—” You stopped, biting the inside of your cheek. “Someone I could maybe stand.”

Changkyun blinked, taken aback for a moment, then leaned in slightly. “But… aren’t you already betrothed?”

You stilled before carefully saying, “It’s complicated.”

He looked at you for a long moment. Not pressing, not even judging, but he did take a moment to read between the lines.

“Right,” he said finally, with a nod. “Complicated.”

You were grateful he didn’t pry further.

Hmph, you thought. If Jeonghan were this thoughtful, I wouldn’t have a problem with it.

You immediately wanted to punch yourself. What? No. No. Why in the world—? You shook the thought off like water from your hands. Ridiculous. Completely and utterly—

“I’m flattered,” Changkyun said gently, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts. “Really. It means a lot that you’d even consider me.” His eyes dimmed just a little. “But I can’t.”

Your heart paused. “Can’t…?”

He nodded, almost apologetically. “There’s someone else. We’ve been together a while now. She’s not from a noble house, so it was never going to be public, but… we’re expecting a baby in the spring.”

It hit you like a brick wall of mortification. “Oh, gods—Changkyun, I didn’t know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put you in a—”

“No, no,” he said, holding up a hand. “I know you didn’t. You never would have tried if you did. I’m honored you thought of me, but I’ve already made my choice.”

You took a step back, mortified beyond belief. “I just tried to poach a taken man.”

“With a pregnant partner,” he added with a teasing grin. “A bold move, even for you.”

“Stop laughing,” you hissed, trying to suppress the heat crawling up your neck. “This is a diplomatic disaster.”

And of course, when you turned to stalk back to the garden entrance, you saw them—Soonyoung and Siwon, standing just where you left them, whispering like schoolboys and failing horribly at hiding their laughter.

“You both knew, didn’t you?” you growled.

Siwon cleared his throat and looked up at the sky. Soonyoung offered a helpful shrug. “We just wanted to see how long it would take for you to find out.”

“You’re both fired.”

“You’ve said that four times this month,” Soonyoung said cheerfully.

“And it gets less believable every time,” Siwon added.

Behind you, Changkyun laughed again. Reya huffed. You tried very hard not to fling yourself into the hedge and disappear.

You went back to the drawing board with a vengeance.

The wall of your study, once reserved for regional maps and grain forecasts, was now a collage of organized chaos. Pinned parchments fluttered in the breeze from the open window—portraits, lineage charts, summaries of estates and personalities. It looked less like a matchmaking effort and more like a war room. Reya had taken to curling up just outside your door, wisely avoiding the flurry of thrown quills and muttered curses.

Siwon and Soonyoung stood to one side, arms crossed like generals surveying a battlefield. They were your most loyal—yet infuriatingly conniving—advisors, offering unfiltered commentary with the energy of drunk gossip mongers.

“Lord Hwan?” Siwon suggested, tapping one parchment with a silver quill.

“Too stiff,” you replied without a hitch. “He talks like he’s trying to sell me on an insurance scheme every time he opens his mouth.”

“What about the Crown Viscount’s second son?” Soonyoung asked. “Handsome. Educated. Keeps birds.”

“He also believes women shouldn’t sit in council chambers. Next.”

After a while, the portraits dwindled down to just a few names that hadn’t been immediately dismissed. Among them, a new face caught your eye—a boyish nobleman from the southern coast. You remembered him. Soft-eyed but sharp-tongued. He has an earring glinting in his official portrait, a reputation for charity work, and biting courtroom wit.

“Boo Seungkwan,” Siwon said, noticing your gaze. “Heir to the wine barons of Chasan.”

“Isn’t he the one who screamed at the High Treasurer for misappropriating village taxes last winter?” you asked, intrigued. “

Soonyoung grinned. “The very one. Rumor has it the Treasurer nearly cried.”

You plucked Seungkwan’s page from the wall. “I like him.”

“He’s a bit dramatic,” Siwon offered.

“He’s principled,” you corrected, pinning the portrait near the top of the selection board. “And I’ve had enough of spineless men. Give me someone who isn’t afraid to raise his voice when something’s wrong.”

“He also sings,” Soonyoung added helpfully.

“Even better.”

You three stood there a moment, gazing up at the organized chaos—your court of candidates, your silent rebellion. It could be the most brilliant plan in the world, or the one that precedes its impending doom, but you’re more than willing to take a gamble.

It didn’t take long for you to make the journey to Chasan.

You traveled in an unmarked carriage with Soonyoung at your side, no royal banners or official escorts. Siwon had protested—loudly, thoroughly, and with increasing despair—but your father, ever the silent observer of your misery, gave his blessing with one condition: Keep a low profile.

Chasan was warm with early spring, the hills rolling green and gold beneath a sun that glinted off the distant sea. When your carriage pulled up to the modest but elegant estate of the Boo family, no one rushed to greet you. No horns. No footmen. Just a confused stable boy blinking at you like you’d ridden in on a cloud.

You glanced at Soonyoung, who raised an eyebrow.

“Guess no one told them the queen-to-be was dropping by.”

“I did write in the letter that I’d come in person,” you muttered.

One of the household servants scurried out after some frantic internal shouting. “Our deepest apologies, Your Highness, Sir Boo is in the lower vineyards at the moment. We… we weren’t expecting you so soon.”

“It’s fine,” you said, already stepping down from the carriage. “We’ll find him ourselves.”

Soonyoung caught up, eyes scanning the gentle sprawl of grapevines that stretched toward the southern slope. “Maybe you’ll get to see what he’s like in the wild,” he joked.

You shot him a look.

The two of you wandered down narrow earthen paths between sun-dappled vines, boots crunching softly over tilled soil. A few workers paused to bow, but no one made a fuss. Chasan was humble in the way that made you ache a little. No gold plating, no marble archways. Just earth, sky, and the scent of crushed grape skins in the wind.

“There,” Soonyoung whispered, grabbing your elbow and pulling you behind one of the taller vine trellises. You followed his gaze and stopped short.

Boo Seungkwan was farther down the row, partially shielded by the grapes, one hand still gloved in working leathers. He was laughing, light and warm, as he leaned close to the young servant boy in front of him.

And then, without hesitation, he kissed him.

Not a scandalous kiss. Not a stolen one either. But soft, sure, and heartbreakingly tender.

You stared, your heart thudding with a strange sort of… sorrow. Or maybe guilt. You hadn’t meant to intrude. You hadn’t expected this.

Soonyoung gently nudged your arm. “Guess we’ll be checking him off the wall.”

You swallowed and turned away, careful not to make a sound as you whispered, “Let’s go. He deserves to enjoy this moment without a royal shadow looming over it.”

Neither of you spoke again until you were halfway back to the estate, the quiet breeze tugging gently at your cloak.

“…Siwon is never going to stop laughing about this,” Soonyoung said at last.

You sighed. “I know.”

That crushing defeat hit you harder than you thought.

You didn’t speak to anyone for days. Not after Seungkwan. Not after Soonyoung tactfully burned the last of the correspondence in your fireplace while Siwon wordlessly updated the registry of Unviable Matches with a heavy sigh.

Maybe this was your fate. Maybe it had always been. Maybe you were foolish to think you could outrun the gods' ink when the story had already been carved in gold. Betrothed at fifteen. Crowned at eighteen. Wed to Jeonghan by—

You didn’t let yourself think the year aloud.

Your advisors, mercifully, didn’t try to coax you out of your misery. No jokes. No teasing. No “we’ll find another” or “what about this one.” Just silence and quiet presence.

Siwon left your tea in the mornings and your scrolls at dusk. Soonyoung started keeping his sarcasm locked behind his teeth. Even Reya laid his massive head across your lap while you read, his usual restlessness tempered as if he, too, knew your storm was not one that could be barked away.

You went through the motions. Court duties. Decrees. Oversight reviews. But your spirit dragged its heels, worn and brittle. And after nearly a week of going nowhere, you couldn’t take the stillness anymore.

So you left.

No guards or carriages. Only a cloak over your shoulders and Reya at your side, his striped form padding silently beside you as you stepped out into the humming heart of the capital.

The city had always been your balm. Cobblestone streets. Songbirds in the eaves. Familiar chatter from vendors and weavers calling out their wares. The people greeted you with warmth, not fanfare. They knew Reya by sight now—knew his name, even—and parted for him without fear. Children ran up to scratch his ears. Old women offered you candied dates or weathered blessings.

You wandered further through the market square, slowing as a tapestry caught your eye. It looks new, strung between two wooden posts—its threads shimmering silver in the sunlight. A dragon this time, coiled mid-roar and stitched with care and pride.

Before you could move on, a small hand tugged at the hem of your cloak. You looked down to find a boy, no older than ten, staring up at you with wide, serious eyes. In his hands, he held a delicate ring of daisies and chamomile.

“It’s a crown, Your Highness,” he said shyly, holding it out like a secret. “Not the fancy kind, but it feels nice to wear.”

You crouched to his height, gently taking the floral gift with both hands. “Then it’s perfect,” you whispered. “Thank you.”

Thank the stars you hadn’t worn your Dawning Crown. It would’ve felt like mockery now. You slipped the flower ring over your head and straightened. The child beamed. Reya gave a gentle huff of approval, as if to say: See? You still matter to the people.

You exhaled slowly and looked over the rooftops where the palace glittered far above the city.

You weren’t ready to give up yet.

After purchasing some trinkets to bring home to your father and your lousy advisors, your footsteps take you further beyond the market. The flower crown sat a little lopsided on your head, but you made no move to fix it as you settled onto the edge of the city square’s old stone fountain.

Reya laid down beside you with a content grunt, his chin resting on his massive paws as his tail flicked idly across the cobblestones. A warm breeze blew, catching the scent of fresh bread and sun-warmed stone. Pigeons cooed and strutted about the square like they owned it.

One of them hopped closer, cocking its head.

“Well?” you asked it. “I don’t have food but you get conversation. Fair trade?”

The pigeon blinked, unimpressed. You’re not who usually feeds us. Where’s that baker girl with a soft voice and flaky biscuits?

“Hm. She’s got better treats and a softer voice,” you laugh. “You birds have standards.”

Another pigeon joined the first, eyeing Reya suspiciously. Why do you always drag around that oversized tiger? He looks like he eats things like us for fun.

Reya rumbled low in his throat without lifting his head. Keep talking, feathers. I haven’t had lunch.

The pigeons flapped backward in alarm, cooing indignantly.

Savage! Barbarian! You wouldn’t dare—

“Ignore him,” you said, stifling a smile. “He likes pretending he’s scarier than he is.”

Reya huffed again, this time clearly offended.

One pigeon scoffed. He nearly ate one of us the last time you were here.

“And one of you tried to steal his jerky. Actions have consequences.”

You sat there for a few more minutes, chuckling quietly at the birds' gossip—half of it nonsense, half of it accurate enough to be alarming—until you heard a voice behind you. Gentle and familiar in a distant, unexpected way.

“May I join you, Your Highness?”

You turned your head, and nearly gasped.

Standing just beyond the sun-dappled edge of the fountain was a boy you hadn’t seen in years. No—not a boy anymore. He was taller now, broader at the shoulders, his dark hair falling just past his collar. Instead of court finery, he wore a pared-down version of Renxing armor: travel-worn, softened at the edges, the pauldrons stripped away and the gold embroidery dulled by dust and sunlight.

You blinked, almost laughing from the sheer surprise of it all. “Minghao! Stars, it is you.”

“It’s good to see you again, Princess.” He caught your hands when you reached out—steady and familiar.

But before the moment could settle, Reya let out a low growl, rising onto all fours. His ears are pinned back, blue eyes locked on your old friend with unmistakable suspicion.

“Oh, stop that,” you said, stepping in to soothe him with a hand on his head. “Reya, Hao’s a friend. Not lunch.”

Something’s wrong, he growled, muscles coiled beneath your touch. He smells like fire and blood.

You hesitated, fingers buried in Reya’s thick ruff as his growl faded to a low, vibrating hum. His tail didn’t flick, his gaze didn’t waver.

Fire and blood…

Minghao probably did smell like both, even if you couldn’t catch the whiff. Maybe in the way old battlefields did. Burnt magic clung to his clothes like smoke. His hands bore the marks of sword work, knuckles darkened with bruises that hadn't fully healed. Still, he was a fire elemental. And the general of the Renxing army. What else was he supposed to smell like? Roses?

But hostile as he was, Reya had never reacted like this before.

You gave his ear a scratch, more for your comfort than his. “He’s just being dramatic,” you said lightly. “Doesn’t like surprises. Or anyone who’s taller than me.”

Minghao smiled. “I could kneel, if that helps.”

“Don’t tempt him.”

He chuckled, stepping closer with a graceful ease that didn’t match the war-weathered armor. “Did he say anything interesting?”

“No,” you lied smoothly, straightening up. “Just a lot of growling and wounded pride. Why? Worried he’s giving away secrets?”

“Only curious,” he said, voice soft. “It’s not every day a celestial tiger growls at me like I kicked his favorite moonstone.”

“You did once steal a peach tart from my plate. He never forgot.”

“I regret nothing.”

You looked him over, still stunned. The years had sculpted him into something sharp and striking. There’s a faint scar curving along his forearm, and the unmistakable presence of someone used to command. But his eyes… his eyes were exactly the same.

“I didn’t even know Renxing was sending delegates.”

“Technically, soldiers,” Minghao amended. “My father offered support in fortifying your kingdom’s defenses. He sent me and a small contingent to assist in training.”

“That’s the official reason, isn’t it?” you teased.

He chuckled. “You’ve grown sharper.”

“And you haven’t changed at all,” you interject with a beaming smile. “Do you still carry that lopsided bow you used to train me with?”

Minghao grinned. “I retired it years ago. But I remember those lessons well. You nearly took out my eye once.”

“It was one time,” you said, rolling your eyes. “And you moved too close to the target!”

Reya, however, didn’t find this reunion nearly as delightful. He rose behind you, placing himself between Minghao and your side with a deliberate flick of his tail.

You gave him a dry look. “He taught me archery, Reya. If he meant to hurt me, he’s had a ten-year head start.”

“I must’ve offended him in a past life.” Minghao chuckled, giving a short, respectful bow towards the tiger.

“He just doesn’t like being left out of things,” you said, motioning for Minghao to sit with you by the fountain again. Some of the pigeons scattered as Reya circled, settling beside you with an annoyed huff. You pretended not to notice the way he kept one sapphire eye trained squarely on your old friend.

“It’s strange,” you said, watching the breeze stir the trees across the square. “I feel like I should’ve known you were coming. Or that I would’ve felt it somehow. We used to be glued to the hip during all those summer visits.”

“We were children,” Minghao replied gently. “But I remember it, too. I was glad when my father chose me to come here. I hoped I’d see you again.”

You flushed, just a little. “Well… you have. And I’m glad. Really.”

“I’ll be staying at the castle with the soldiers,” he told you. “We begin drills in a few days. Until then, I thought I’d take a walk through the city. See what’s changed.”

You grinned, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Not much. The pigeons are still rude.”

A few feet away, one of them let out a coarse squawk. You’re the one talking to birds like a madwoman. Can’t even find a husband.

You lobbed a pebble at it. “You eat garbage.”

Minghao watched in silent amusement as you finished your not-so-private argument with the town’s most opinionated pigeons. When you finally noticed his expression, you offered a sheepish grin.

“I missed this,” he said, the corner of his mouth tugging up.

You raised a brow. “The pigeons?”

“You,” he said, laughing softly. “You’ve always had a… unique way of handling the world.”

“You say that like it’s a flaw.”

“It’s not.” His gaze lingered, warm and thoughtful. “It’s just—very you.”

Reya let out another displeased noise. But you were too caught up in the moment to notice the way his muscles stayed coiled beneath his striped coat, the faint bristle in his fur. He didn’t like this reunion.

But you? You were just happy to see an old friend.

Back at the castle, preparations for your guest had moved quickly. One of the east-facing guest rooms—typically reserved for visiting dignitaries—was swept, polished, and perfumed with lavender water. Minghao’s soldiers were escorted to the royal barracks, where Ancarrian efficiency met them with warm cloaks, strong cider, and a welcome that was formal but kind.

By morning, the dining hall was bathed in golden light, sunlight spilling through the tall arched windows. The table had been set with a surprisingly casual spread: flaky breads still warm from the oven, crisp autumn pears, spiced porridge, and thick cream served in polished stoneware.

You were already there, hunched slightly over a steaming cup of tea, still groggy but determined not to show it. Reya was helping himself to whatever lavish breakfast the castle chefs had laid out for him, utterly absorbed in his bowl. From the way his ears twitched with contentment, your tiger was clearly pleased. You only looked up from your own food when you caught the quiet rhythm of approaching boots.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” Minghao said, bowing first to your father, then offering you a softer nod. “Princess.”

“You’re early,” you replied, smiling into your cup but it drops the moment Reya starts baring his teeth at your friend again. “Reya. Knock it off.”

Your father chuckled. “He tells me his men were stretching at dawn on the south field. Quite the commander.”

“Discipline is second nature in Renxing,” Minghao said, lowering himself into the seat next to yours with smooth, princely ease. “Though I’ll admit—your lands make it easier. Crisp air. Clear skies. Even my men look taller here.”

“Flatterer,” your father said, grinning. “Careful, or you’ll find yourself a permanent guest.”

“That would be no punishment,” Minghao said, his eyes catching yours for the briefest moment, light with mischief.

You bit back a laugh and nudged the basket of pastries toward him. “Try the honeyed ones. They’re dangerous enough to make you not want to leave.”

He did, and the way his face lit up made you grin. “You weren’t exaggerating.”

Across the room, Soonyoung and Siwon stood with the servants near the door, their posture still and unreadable—save for the way Soonyoung’s brow lifted slightly when you leaned in, listening to something Minghao murmured beneath his breath.

You talked like it had been days, not years. He spoke of Renxing’s northern reaches—wild coasts and glass-shelled beetles that migrated through frozen rivers. Of teaching a recruit to read by bribing him with hawthorn sweets, only for the boy to repay him in river crabs. Your father listened with gentle amusement, but it was you who laughed the most

And then, without warning, the thought crept in like smoke curling under a door.

What if it were him?

The match with Jeonghan had been sealed long ago, your fate marked in ink and crown and ritual before you could even attend council meetings officially. But what if it hadn’t? What if you hadn’t spent your whole life dodging destiny like it was a creature waiting to pounce?

What if love was simple?

A shared pastry. A soft story. Warm hands over tea and morning sun.

You looked at Minghao again—his easy smile, the grace in his posture, the power quiet and controlled beneath the silks and steel. And in that stolen, treacherous heartbeat, you let yourself wonder.

What if it had been him instead?

Before your thoughts could wander dangerously, however, your quiet meal was interrupted.

You noticed the change before you heard it. A flicker of movement by the door. A servant, breathless and wide-eyed, darted toward Soonyoung and Siwon. She was whispering something too fast for you to catch.

Minghao was still speaking beside you, animated as he described a night march through an ancient canyon in northern Renxing where their footsteps echoed like ghosts trapped in a glass cage. His voice was smooth and warm, and you wanted to listen, truly you did—but your gaze kept slipping back to the door.

Soonyoung’s arms were folded now. Siwon murmured something in return to the servant, nodded once, then approached the table with the quiet stride of someone who only ever brought important news. The king glanced up at the shift in mood, and you followed his gaze as Siwon stopped just behind your chair and bent slightly at the waist.

“Your Highness,” he said softly, his eyes flicking toward you, “Prince Jeonghan of Seraphia has just arrived. He’s asked to speak with the princess at her earliest convenience.”

There was a beat of stillness.

Minghao’s story paused mid-sentence. He looked toward Siwon with faint curiosity, but said nothing. Your father gave only a slight nod, an order to let him join breakfast, and returned to his tea as if this were a perfectly ordinary disruption. But your hand, still resting near the plate of fruit, curled into a quiet fist.

Moments later, the doors opened with their usual hush, but somehow it felt louder this time. Jeonghan stepped in, haloed in sunlight through the high windows. He was still draped in Seraphian silks, still unfairly beautiful.

His hair was brown now, swept back with a soft curl falling over his brow in a way that seemed carefully unintentional. He moved with that same effortless poise you had grown up watching and (grudgingly) admiring.

Minghao, ever-so gracious, stood as Jeonghan approached, offering a nod before shifting seats to the other side of the long table. It left the space beside you open intentionally.

Jeonghan slid into the empty chair like he’d belonged there all along. “Good morning,” he greeted, his voice dipped in velvet, his smile almost disarmingly warm. “I apologize for the surprise visit. I was in one of my moods and thought—why not go see my future wife?”

You gave him a withering look, but it faltered when he leaned in just slightly and added, “Joshua sends his regards. He’s recently been engaged himself, you know.”

“Oh?” the king said, lifting a brow. “Congratulations are in order.”

“Yes,” Jeonghan said with a calm nod. “The daughter of one of our royal mages. She isn’t of noble blood, but she’s well-versed in magic and negotiations. My brother’s always had a soft spot for strategists.”

“Sounds like he inherited that from someone,” Minghao said mildly.

You raised a brow. Jeonghan only smiled, utterly unbothered. “Hardly. I prefer my companions predictable. Less likely to start a war over breakfast.”

A chuckle moved around the table.

Then Minghao tilted his head and said, almost idly, “And he’s not using magic, still?”

Jeonghan blinked. “Pardon?”

“Joshua,” Minghao clarified with a small smile. “Both of you, actually. Last I heard, neither of the Seraphian princes had taken up their birthright. The royal bloodline in Seraphia is known for its strength in enchantment, no? And yet you keep it buried, still?”

You stiffened a little. Not in shock, but because the question came from nowhere. Your spoon hovered above your tea. Magic was always a strange subject between nations. But the abstention of Seraphia’s recent royalty was somewhat a hot topic among the surrounding kingdoms—Ancarra included.

Minghao, for his part, was infamous across empires as a fire elemental prodigy. The youngest to command a regiment of war mages in Renxing’s history. His aura carried that same warmth now, flickering low like a hearth. Reya, beside your chair, shifted uneasily. His icy blue eyes fixed on the man across from him like a second set of judgment.

Jeonghan’s gaze didn’t waver. “Our magic is not the crown’s priority. Seraphia thrives through diplomacy, not flames.”

Minghao leaned back, folding his hands. “A shame, really. I always wondered what it would look like—royal Seraphian magic unleashed.”

You didn’t miss the slight tension in Jeonghan’s jaw.

And that, more than anything, gnawed at the back of your mind as Minghao took another sip of tea. You sat there in your seat with perfect posture and a polite smile, but the thought slipped into your skull like a splinter.

You’ve never seen Jeonghan use magic.

Never seen him spark even a flicker of it. Never caught a rumor, never heard a whisper. Not even from the palace gossip mill, which had happily speculated about the color of his undershirts once and still hadn’t shut up about the time he laughed too hard at a coronation toast.

And you would’ve asked. You should’ve asked.

But that would’ve required speaking to him longer than a required greeting, longer than the bare-minimum exchange you both had perfected over the years—smiles for the court, ice behind closed doors. You found out about Joshua’s affinity by accident, really. He’d once stopped to admire a hedge maze in your gardens, and when he touched a dying stalk, it bloomed again beneath his hand. Simple and gentle, much like the boy himself.

But Jeonghan?

Nothing.

No elemental surge. No runic marks. No rumors of illusions, or voicecraft, or even basic wards. Either he had nothing—or he was hiding something so carefully, so deliberately, that no one had been able to name it.

And now Minghao was here, a walking blaze of power, and Jeonghan was smiling like none of it even mattered. You reached for your teacup, mostly to keep your hands busy.

You didn’t like mysteries. Especially not when they sit beside you, pretending to be harmless.

The silence stretched just long enough to begin tasting uncomfortable. Minghao’s smile didn’t falter. Jeonghan’s posture remained infuriatingly elegant, but you could tell—if only because you’ve spent years learning how to read him—that he’s ready to change the subject.

It’s your father who spared him the effort.

He cleared his throat and gently set his goblet down. “And how long will you be staying with us this time, Prince Jeonghan?”

You turned slightly toward the head of the table, grateful for the break in tension. Jeonghan flicked his eyes toward the king and answered smoothly, “Just a few days, Your Highness. I was passing through the border en-route from the east and thought it best to pay a visit.”

“An unannounced visit,” Soonyoung muttered under his breath from his post by the door. Siwon nudged him with an elbow.

The king chuckled, brushing past the remark. “It is always a pleasure, no matter how sudden.” Then he glanced toward you. “Perhaps you and my daughter might walk the gardens this afternoon? The roses have finally bloomed this year.”

You almost choked on your tea.

Jeonghan nodded with a faint, serene smile. “Of course. It would be an honor.”

Your spoon clinked against porcelain just a little too hard. Reya emitted a low growl from under the table, whether in protest of the plan or of Minghao’s lingering presence, you can’t tell.

Minghao, to his credit, simply sips his tea again. But his gaze flicks to you, then to Jeonghan, curious. Assessing.

And for the first time in a long while, you can’t tell which prince unsettles you more.

You didn’t get far from the dining hall before your hand shot out to catch Soonyoung by the sleeve, dragging him into the shadowed archway beside one of the tapestry alcoves. Siwon followed of his own accord, arms folded neatly behind his back, expression already knowing.

“I’m asking this plainly,” you whispered, eyes flicking back toward the corridor. “Are we absolutely certain Jeonghan doesn’t know what we’ve been up to?”

Soonyoung blinked. “As in the matchmaking campaign?”

You stared at him.

“Right, yes, that,” he amended. “Then no. I mean yes. As in, he doesn’t know. I’m almost sure of it.”

“Almost?”

Soonyoung’s smile twitched. “Prince Jeonghan is… difficult to read. Cheerful as he is, he doesn’t quite let anyone be privy to his intentions.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “What if he’s just biding his time? Waiting until I’m alone before springing some awful, ‘You’ve dishonored our families’ speech and demanding we set the wedding date?”

“Princess,” Siwon said gently, “he’s had nearly a decade to pull such a stunt. And he hasn’t. Don’t start doubting the quiet now.”

You glanced up at him, voice lower. “But what if Minghao's presence stirred something? What if he sensed it, somehow—that I’m searching for someone else?”

Siwon regarded you with the patience of a man who had outwaited a thousand royal tantrums and twice as many council disputes. “Prince Jeonghan is many things. But petty is not one of them. He’d confront you if he had suspicions, not toy with them.”

“Not petty, huh?” you muttered, “I’m not so sure about that…”

Soonyoung scratched the back of his neck. “We did keep the search quiet, Princess. Every servant sworn to secrecy, every meeting arranged through as discreetly as possible. If Prince Jeonghan knows, he’s clairvoyant. Or just very, very nosy.”

You sighed and pressed a hand to your forehead. “This whole morning felt cursed. Reya was uneasy the whole time. I—gods above, I liked being with Minghao again. That’s the worst of it. I liked it, and Jeonghan probably sensed that.”

“So?” Soonyoung said, baffled. “You’re allowed to entertain visiting nobility, especially if they’re your friends. Prince Jeonghan doesn’t own your breakfast companions.”

“But he’s my betrothed!”

“In title only.”

Your shoulders sagged, and you gripped the edge of the column beside you. “I felt like I’d been playing a game I didn’t know the rules of. And everyone else was holding cards I’d never seen.”

Siwon’s gaze softened. “That is the nature of court.”

A sigh escaped your lips. “I’m supposed to walk the gardens with him soon.”

“Try not to trip into the koi pond again,” the older advisor added.

“That was once,” you scowled. “And it was raining.”

Soonyoung grinned. “Still your most graceful fall.”

You shook your head and pushed away from the column. “Pray for me.”

“I’ll light a candle,” Siwon said dryly.

“I’ll start digging a moat,” Soonyoung chirped.

You waved them off and stepped back into the corridor, spine straightening with every step. Whatever awaited you in the garden, you would meet it with dignity.

The royal gardens stretched out before you, awash in morning light where sunlight filtered through the trees that swayed with the breeze. You walked slowly along the mosaic path, hands clasped loosely before you, Reya trotting a few steps ahead. He hadn’t growled once—not even when Jeonghan fell into step beside you like a ghost slipping from a dream.

“It’s been some time since we walked here,” Jeonghan said plainly.

You didn’t meet his eyes. “Has it?”

“I suppose not that long,” he amended with a soft chuckle. “But long enough to miss the scent of the roses. Your gardeners have always done them justice.”

You glanced toward the flower bed just ahead—wide as a banquet table and brimming with tangled stems of roses. Their leaves are a lush, lacquered green, buds curled tightly on the branches like secrets not yet told. A few bold blooms had already unfurled—deep crimson, velvet-soft, catching the morning light like drops of spilled wine.

“They’re late in blooming this season,” you murmured.

“Maybe they’re waiting for a sign,” he said. “Something worth blooming for.”

You didn’t respond. There was always something slippery about him—how his compliments wore the face of riddles, how his tone was too gentle to grasp without suspicion. You didn’t trust softness when it came from him. Not when you’d spent half your life bracing against it.

Still, he continued beside you, hands tucked behind his back in perfect princely grace. His eyes scanned the gardens, the trees, the rooftops just beyond the horizon.

“I heard your father’s invited Renxing to join our military councils,” he mused.

You stiffened, just slightly. “He has. Their soldiers arrived yesterday.”

“And Minghao is their prince and general?” Jeonghan added lightly, almost amused.

That makes you pause. “You’ve met?”

“A long time ago,” he said. “I doubt he’d remember it, but he does seem aware enough of my existence to want to pick a fight with me .”

You huffed. “You make it easy for anyone to want to pick a fight with you.”

Jeonghan didn’t deny it—just offered a knowing smile, the kind that curled at one corner of his mouth and made you want to both slap it off and stare a little longer. You walked in silence for a few steps. The wind stirred the trees again, rustling petals onto the stone path, and somewhere nearby, water trickled over the lip of a marble fountain.

Then he said, almost offhandedly, “He likes to speak first. Draw lines before anyone else has a chance to set the terms.”

You glanced sideways at him. “You mean Minghao?”

Jeonghan nodded. “He’s clever. Knows exactly where to place a cut for the deepest bruise.”

“Well, he’s a general. He’s trained for that.”

“He’s also a prince,” your fiancé pointed out, tone light but edged. “Which makes it harder to tell when the blade’s diplomatic.”

You didn’t answer. Not because he was wrong, but because you were surprised he noticed. Still, Jeonghan wasn’t looking at you. His gaze wandered, serene and distant, as if this was just another quiet stroll instead of a conversation tensed on the knife-edge of politics.

“For what it’s worth,” he added after a moment, “I’ve never liked men who think precision is the same as power.”

That caught your attention.

You studied him for a beat longer. His posture, as always, was deceptively relaxed—too smooth, too practiced. But something had shifted. Maybe it was the way he said it, or the fact that Reya brushed gently against his side as he passed, tail flicking once before moving on. Jeonghan looked down at the beast, a faint smile twitching at his lips.

“He’s warming up to me.”

You scoffed. “He’s tolerant, at best.”

He tilted his head with a lazy smile. “Still better than hostile.”

It was. You hated that you agreed.

Days drift by in a hush. You expect tension, expect something grand to stir. After all, two foreign princes now share your roof, both with their own legacies, their own shadows trailing behind them. And yet, the palace breathes as if nothing has changed. No great disruptions, no clashing tides.

The soldiers in the barracks adjust to the presence of Renxing’s warriors with the wary politeness of men trained to kill side by side, and the kitchen staff still sends up too many pastries at tea. Minghao spends most of his days in the training yards or reviewing your kingdom’s defenses with the captains. He is gracious when he joins you at court, always with a smooth word or charming smile. Reya still watches him like a hawk from afar—but the tension has settled into a sort of cold awareness, like two great cats pacing the edge of each other’s territory.

Jeonghan, on the other hand, has made it his personal mission to haunt your every quiet moment.

He never speaks of the conversation in the garden again, but you can feel it hanging in the air whenever he appears. You pass him in the corridor, and he gives you a smile. You leave the solarium early, and he’s somehow in the hall just outside, pretending to admire a tapestry. You ask the cooks to surprise you with something new for breakfast, and he comments idly at the table that you’ve always liked tart things with honey.

It’s maddening.

By Thursday, you’ve had enough.

You marched down to the archery range before breakfast, bow in hand, and jaw set with razor-tight focus. You haven’t had time for this in weeks, and it shows in the tension of your shoulders, the crackle in your spine. You notch your arrow, draw back your arm, exhale—

“Good morning, Your Grace!”

You startled a little too dramatically. The arrow sailed in a wide arc and landed somewhere in the hedges with an unceremonious thwack.

You spun around to find Jeonghan standing at the edge of the range, hands clasped like he’s arrived for a morning stroll. Beside him was Soonyoung, who gave you a guilty, wide-eyed look before mouthing I’m sorry and quickly stepping out of the line of fire.

Your voice came low and clipped. “Are you following me?”

Jeonghan only lifted a brow. “Why, of course not. I was merely enjoying the views that the Ancarran castle has to offer. As your future consort in alliance, I should know the corners of your kingdom, don’t you think?”

Soonyoung took one careful step back, and from his perch under the nearby tree, Reya let out a snort that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Jeonghan didn’t even bother making himself look like he didn’t purposely startle you at all.

You sighed and retrieved another arrow. Next time, you’ll aim for him.

You notched it, shoulders tight with barely restrained irritation. Behind you, Jeonghan and Soonyoung settled onto the bench near the range like they have every right to be there. Which, technically they do, but that didn’t stop your fingers from twitching with the urge to send an arrow through the wood beside Jeonghan’s ear.

Another shot—closer to the bullseye this time. Still not enough to stop your pulse from thrumming too fast.

“You’re good,” Jeonghan said, his tone easy and observational, like he’s commenting on the weather. “Shua and I weren’t trained like this in Seraphia. As you know, our court prefers diplomacy and dance over daggers and bows.”

You didn’t turn, but you heard the amusement laced through his voice. Soonyoung gave a small, sympathetic shrug from beside him. “It’s true. I once saw him faint at the sight of blood.”

“Exaggeration,” Jeonghan replied airily. “I merely swooned with elegance.”

You let out a slow exhale, notched another arrow, and fired. This one landed square in the center of the target. You heard a low whistle from your advisor and—more infuriatingly—a small, approving hum from Jeonghan.

“It’s rather convenient,” the prince mused, crossing one ankle over the other. “My future queen being so fearsome with a bow. I daresay I won’t need to lift a finger. You’ll protect me, won’t you, Princess?”

The arrow you’d just pulled from the quiver snaps between your fingers.

“If I protect you,” you said coolly, “it’s only because I don’t trust anyone else to finish the job of ending your miserable existence cleanly.”

Soonyoung looked away, coughing suspiciously into his sleeve.

But Jeonghan? He beamed like you handed him a bouquet. “How romantic,” he sighed, resting his chin on his hand as if admiring a painting. “You do know how to make a consort feel cherished, after all.”

Your heart pounded, and it’s not from the archery.

The morning was clear the day Jeonghan left.

A soft breeze combed through the courtyard where his carriage waited, draped in the white-gold sigils of Seraphia. The horses pawed the cobblestones impatiently, as if mirroring the mood of the man they wait for—restless and infuriating to the very end.

You stood beside your father beneath the marble archway, cloaked in the formal grays of a diplomatic farewell. The king’s voice was kind when he spoke to Jeonghan, and your fiancé was all grace and bows and eloquent farewells. Even Minghao lingered beside you with an inscrutable smile, hands behind his back like a soldier at ease. You’re aware of the others watching too—Siwon and Soonyoung among the entourage, the guards, the servants—all witnesses to this perfectly polite departure.

It’s nearly done.

But then Jeonghan stepped forward to take your hand in his. He kissed it, gently and reverently, all according to protocol. And then he leaned in too close for comfort.

“I look forward,” the prince murmured into your ear, warm breath brushing your skin, “to the next time I get to ruin your aim.”

You jerked back before the blush could spread to your ears, willing your face into a mask of court-trained calm. Every lesson you endured under the glare of etiquette tutors saved you in that moment—your shoulders straight, your smile pleasant, your tone as composed as a glacier.

“Have a safe journey, Prince Jeonghan,” you said, eyes narrowed in the most ladylike way possible. “Do try not to miss me.”

His smile could set cities alight.

“Oh,” Jeonghan began, stepping back toward his carriage, “I intend to do exactly that.”

You resisted the violent urge to throw something at his head.

He’s gone before you could reply, the carriage wheels rolling across the stones like the closing of a storybook chapter.

Only, you suspected—no, you knew—he’ll be back soon.

By the time Jeonghan vanished beyond the gates, you'd already gathered Siwon and Soonyoung in the war room—not for military strategy, but something far more treacherous:

Court-approved matchmaking.

“We’re at a consensus then,” you said, tapping your finger once against the map of Ancarra. “Prince Minghao is not a viable option. Even if I wanted to—”

“Which you actually do,” Soonyoung cut in with a pointed look.

“Even if I did,” you repeated with force, “it would be a diplomatic nightmare. Calling off an engagement with Seraphia for the prince of Renxing? We’d be lucky if we only lost trade ports and not entire border towns.”

Siwon chuckled. “I’m surprised you’re willing to pick the task up again, Princess. You looked… quite dejected after your trip to the Boo Estate.”

You had to pin Soonyoung down with a glare to keep your advisor from saying anything that will raise your blood pressure to dangerous levels. “Failure is part of the journey to true love. Hasn’t anyone told you that, Siwon?”

Your father’s advisor hummed, his spectacled gaze skimming the interior list of nobility you’d had scribes compile over the past few weeks. “So the suitor needs to be from Ancarra. Someone who can cause enough gossip, enough scandal, enough public affection to make it plausible you fell wildly in love and couldn’t help yourself.”

Soonyoung grinned. “Which means we need a boy you could realistically kiss in public without gagging. Oh, and someone that won’t run when Reya so much as growls at them.”

You glared at him. “You’re on thin ice.”

Your advisor raised his hands in defense. “What? I’m just saying—you do tend to scowl at most men like they’ve insulted your bloodline. Same goes for your beast.”

Siwon, ever the calmer tactician, cleared his throat. “We’ll approach this with structure. Let’s narrow the list to eligible bachelors who meet the following criteria: loyal to the crown, reasonably attractive, tolerable by Reya, and—preferably—already a little in love with you.”

You tapped your fingers again, faster this time. “It doesn’t need to be a real romance. Just enough of a performance to convince Seraphia the engagement fell apart because of me, not them. If I’m the reckless one, Jeonghan saves face. Everyone’s happy.”

Soonyoung leaned back, arms behind his head. “You really think Prince Jeonghan cares about saving face?”

“…No,” you admitted, remembering the smirk he wore as his carriage departed. “But Seraphia might. And the court definitely will.”

“Then we manufacture a heartbreak,” Siwon said simply. “We choose someone charismatic, familiar, close to the palace—enough that no one questions why you spent time together. You’ll laugh too loud at the gardens. Leave flowers in his rooms. Maybe even—gods forgive us—write a poem.”

Soonyoung winced. “That’s low.”

“All is fair in love and politics,” you muttered. “Or at least, in fabricated love.”

You glanced out the window, where the sun slipped behind the edge of the tower, casting long shadows across the floor. Jeonghan was gone, and your future hung on the next name you circled with ink and lied through your teeth about.

War you could prepare for. But this? This was treasonous theater. And it didn’t help that the world kept sending you warning signs left and right.

It began with Lord Doyoung of the northern territories—a bookish type with a gentle voice and decent bone structure. You think, Yes, this one might do. But the very morning he’s due to arrive in the capital, his carriage overturned on a clear road with no other travelers. His horse? Spooked by a pigeon. A pigeon wearing what the guards swear was a tiny gold ribbon.

Suspicious.

Then there’s Jaehyun, a second-born noble who helped manage his family’s glasswork business. Intelligent, considerate, and crucially uninterested in politics. You traveled discreetly to a manor on the coast to meet him. However, the moment you arrived, he was gone. Apparently left the day before to pursue an urgent pilgrimage after receiving a mysterious letter from a "reputable Seraphian monastery" asking for his divine insight.

But the worst, the true collapse of your sanity, came when you tried to court a commoner. A sweet, curly-haired apprentice scribe from the capital. You met by accident—he dropped his stack of scrolls, Reya frightened the life out of him, and you ended up laughing like someone in a romance novel. You arranged to meet him again secretly by the statue of the winged lion after dusk.

And guess who’s already there?

Jeonghan leaned against the base of the winged lion like it was a throne carved just for him. The dusk painted him in gold and shadow, and he looked utterly at home—one ankle crossed over the other, arms folded loosely, a single wildflower tucked behind his ear like he’d stolen it from a love-sick dream.

“You’re early,” he said lazily, as if he’d been waiting minutes rather than hours. “I almost thought you weren’t coming.”

You stopped dead. “You’re not him.”

“No,” he agreed. “But I’m certainly better-looking.”

“You—” You took a sharp breath, rage tightening behind your eyes. “Where is he?”

Jeonghan tilted his head. “The apprentice? I believe he’s having a lovely evening at home. His mother made delicious stew, and he felt it’d be rude to miss it. Or so the note said.”

You stared. “You intercepted him?”

Your fiancé smiled, all teeth and wicked charm. “Technically? I intercepted the opportunity. You never said this was an exclusive audition.”

“You are unbelievable.”

“And yet,” he said, stepping into the moonlight, that damn wildflower still tucked behind his ear, “you keep trying to replace me with men who don’t know the difference between a sword hilt and a dinner spoon. Truly, you wound me, Your Grace”

You didn’t realize your fists were clenched until your nails dug crescent moons into your palms.

“This isn’t about you,” you hissed.

Jeonghan stepped closer, voice maddeningly gentle. “It always is.”

Your fists were clenched so tightly your arms shook, your breath short and ragged. The statue's winged shadow barely concealed you from the open square, where lanterns were being lit one by one, their warm glow spreading like a slow-burning fire.

And Jeonghan just stood there.

Mocking you with that unbearable calm, his eyes full of all the things you hadn’t said in ten years. The flower behind his ear was ridiculous. His shirt collar was crooked. His entire existence was meant to push you to the edge of insanity.

“You’re infuriating,” you snapped.

He smirked. “Then stop chasing ghosts and—”

You didn’t let him finish.

Your hand fisted his lapel and pulled hard, slamming your mouth against his before your brain caught up with your body. It wasn’t soft or sweet or measured, but raw, full of teeth and fury and years of words swallowed down in silence. You’d meant to shove him, maybe slap him. But somehow, your lips found his instead.

And the worst part—the truly damning part—was how good it felt.

The warmth of his mouth. The way he froze for the barest second, then exhaled against you like he’d been holding his breath for a lifetime. And then he kissed you back.

Jeonghan didn’t just return it. He answered it.

His hands slipped to your waist, slow but sure, like he’d dreamed of this and was finally awake. He kissed like he knew every inch of your stubbornness, every sharp edge, and loved the way you cut him open. One hand tangled in your hair, tilting your face, deepening the kiss—and it became something molten, dangerous, entirely public.

Somewhere behind you, Reya snarled like a warning. You weren’t alone. The statue’s shadow didn’t hide the way Jeonghan’s hand curved around your hip, the flush in your cheeks, the hunger in the space between your mouths.

You tore away first, panting and wide-eyed as your heart thundered in your ribcage. Jeonghan looked at you all while swiping that tongue of his across his bottom lip.

“Was that part of the act?” he asked softly, lips still red, voice dangerously close to tender.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Because if you spoke, you might admit it wasn’t the kiss that terrified you.

It was how long you’d wanted it.

By unspoken agreement, neither of you addressed the kiss behind the statue. Not in words, anyway. But everything afterwards shifted.

Jeonghan began appearing in Ancarra with alarming regularity—always with a perfectly valid excuse. Delivering letters from Seraphia. Attending diplomatic luncheons. Touring agricultural reforms that absolutely did not require a prince’s attention. And every time he stepped through the gates with that lazy smile, your blood pressure spiked.

He was still insufferable. Still poking at you like a child with a stick and a beehive.

“You missed me,” he’d say, voice low in the hallway.

“I was hoping you’d gotten arrested,” you’d reply without looking at him.

“You dreamed about me again.”

“Reya dreamed about biting you. I just watched.”

But no amount of sarcasm could undo the heat that had settled between you like a splinter you couldn’t dig out. And while your verbal battles raged on, your bodies fell into an entirely different rhythm—one of breathless tension and stolen moments.

A quick kiss when no one was looking. A lingering touch at your waist beneath the pretense of helping you onto a horse. A late-night visit to the library that ended with your back pressed against the cold wall of a forgotten corridor, his mouth hot against your throat.

You hated him.

You hated how good he was at knowing when to push you. You hated how you let him.

One day, Jeonghan found you in the west wing solarium—alone, for once, dressed in something plain for the heat. The moment he stepped through the arched doorway, you already knew he was going to do something reckless.

You tried to keep your tone sharp. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I wasn’t,” he said innocently, approaching anyway. “I was remembering how you kissed me first.”

“I kissed you to shut you up.”

“Well,” he murmured, stepping behind you, brushing your hair aside to press a kiss just below your ear, “it didn’t work.”

You didn’t stop him when his hand slid beneath the hem of your dress, fingers trailing up your thigh with infuriating patience. You should’ve. You always told yourself you should’ve. But instead, you exhaled through your teeth and leaned back into him, fists clenching the edge of the table as he teased his way higher—his touch maddeningly sure, maddeningly soft.

And when his fingers finally slid inside you, you didn’t even pretend to resist.

Because for all the years of distance, all the fire and anger and scarred memory between you, Jeonghan still knew exactly where to find the weak spot beneath your armor.

“You’re shaking,” the prince murmured against the shell of your ear, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Didn't know you could be so delicate.”

“I will break your nose,” you hissed, breath catching as his fingers curled just right. “Shut up and get it over with.”

He chuckled. “You say that like I’m doing this for me.”

“Gods, I hate you.”

“You don’t sound very convincing.”

You bit down hard on your lip to stop the moan rising in your throat. His hand moved with a maddening rhythm—confident and precise, like he’d learned you in secret. Maybe he had. Maybe Jeonghan had always known how to find the cracks in your walls, the fault lines in your resolve.

Your knees nearly buckled when he dragged his thumb over your aching clit. The spot that made your vision flicker, made your breath stutter.

He caught you before you fell.

“Oh,” your fiancé said with mock sympathy. “Is this where the princess begs?”

You turned your head, eyes glittering with fury and heat. “You’re so lucky I’m unarmed.”

“Am I?” He dipped his head to kiss the corner of your jaw. “Because right now, I feel like the one being conquered.”

You made a sound—part growl, part gasp—as the pleasure crested higher. You hated how easy it was for him to pull you under, hated how your body betrayed you, trembling at his touch even as your mouth spat venom.

But gods, it felt good.

It felt like revenge, like surrender, like twelve years of wanting something you swore you’d never let yourself need. He played your body like an instrument only he knew how to tune—drawing out every gasp, every tremor, until the fire in your gut finally, finally broke.

You clutched the table edge like a lifeline, moaning his name as each wave of your orgasm shuddered through you. You felt sticky and unclean, and Jeonghan thought it to be a good idea to smear the mess he’s made of your cunt across your inner thighs.

As if to mock you even further, he leaned in, lips brushing your cheek as he whispered, “You’re going to think about this tonight. When you’re all alone.”

You whipped around and shoved him—half-heartedly, breathlessly.

“Get out before I feed you to Reya.”

Jeonghan grinned, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to your knuckles like a knight, of all things. “I’ll come back when you miss me.”

“I never do.”

He was already gone by the time you realized your legs still hadn’t stopped trembling.

Thankfully, Jeonghan left before lunch. That meant you could change your ruined dress and have a meal in the peace and quiet you deserved after that daunting encounter in the solarium.

You sat between your father and Minghao in the smaller sunlit dining chamber—the one reserved for informal meals and less scrutiny. Sunlight poured through the windows, glinting off the crystal decanters and catching in the honey glaze of the roast pheasant. The servants came and went like shadows. Minghao poured you some tea without asking, which you would have appreciated, if you weren’t so wrapped up in your own mind.

“So,” Minghao says casually, “how’s the treason?”

You glanced sideways at him. “Treason?”

He smiled. “You’ve had that look on your face since you walked in. Like someone who just burned a letter and buried the ashes under a rose bush.”

Before you can answer, it began.

The birds.

You heard them before you saw them—three magpies nestled like gossiping witches along the arched windowsill. One of them fluffed her feathers and gasped loud in your skull.

She was scandalous with a man just this morning!

Your eyes widened. No one else reacted. Of course they didn’t. Only you could hear them.

Back in that room again, another cooed. Pressed up to him like a heat-starved mare—

I told you, the third interrupted with a huff, she’s betrothed to him. It’s legal. The king said so. Even if she climbed that prince like a ladder, it would still be state-sanctioned.”

You nearly choked on your tea.

Your father paused mid-sentence. “Something wrong, bug?”

You covered your mouth with your napkin, glaring furiously at the birds. One of them winked.

“Just… feeling a little hot,” you muttered.

Oblivious to your internal unraveling, thye king picks up his fork and says, “We should start finalizing your name-day celebration soon. Twenty-five is a milestone.”

“I vote we skip it,” you said darkly, eyeing the window again. The birds have not left.

Minghao hummed. “You’ll have to get used to celebrations. Especially now that your wedding with Prince Jeonghan is not far behind.”

You hesitated just long enough for him to notice.

“...Unless it’s not happening?” the general asked jokingly.

You didn’t know how to explain it. How every time Jeonghan visits, he kisses you like he wants to ruin you. How your body remembers the curve of his smile before your mind catches up. How you tell yourself it’s a temporary madness—just lust, just unfinished business, just war-born tension—but your hands keep betraying you anyway.

And now the damn magpies were singing it to the skies.

She moaned his name! one of them cackles, beak open wide. She gripped his hair like—

“Excuse me,” you said sharply, standing up so fast your chair skitters back. “I need some air.”

Your father looked mildly concerned. Minghao raised an eyebrow.

“Should I send someone with you?”

“Only if they can shoot birds,” you mutter, already turning toward the hall, cheeks blazing.

Behind you, you heard one final chirp:

Reckless princess. She’ll marry that boy or die trying.

The weeks leading up to your twenty-fifth name-day blur into a storm of brocade, guest lists, and mental breakdowns.

What was once meant to be a modest royal banquet has spiraled into a full-blown spectacle at your father’s behest. The ballroom has been draped in gold silks and strung with imported glass lanterns, and couriers from neighboring kingdoms have arrived daily, bearing gilded gifts and stomach-turning compliments. You’ve had to write nearly a hundred invitations by hand—because of course you did, since your father insisted that nothing but your own pen would do for a celebration of this scale.

Four gowns. Four. In one night. Each more elaborate than the last, all designed by different tailors to reflect “the four faces of the princess.” (Whatever that means.)

And looming behind the lace and laughter and godforsaken gemstone embroidery is the other event everyone is whispering about: your wedding.

To Jeonghan.

You tried to keep a mental list of reasons to loathe him, just to stay anchored. He’s insufferable. He flirts with everything that looks his way. He laughs when you’re mad. He kisses like he owns the air you breathe and gets away with everything because his face is tragically symmetrical.

And worst of all?

You’ve started to imagine what it would be like to marry him and not hate it.

The very thought sent you into a tailspin of self-loathing and denial. But no matter how many times you told yourself you didn’t want this, something traitorous inside you fluttered every time he looked at you with those unreadable eyes and said your name like he’s always known it.

By the time your name-day arrived, you’re equal parts exhausted and vibrating with tension. The maids were still pinning the final layers of your first gown—a deep rose silk trimmed with silver thread—when someone knocked at your chamber doors.

“Princess?” one of the guards called. “Prince Jeonghan and Prince Joshua request to see you.”

You nearly groaned aloud, but waved them in. “Fine. But if they mess up a single pin, I’m going to skewer them with it.”

The door opened, and the two Seraphian princes entered like they own the place—Jeonghan with his usual amused swagger, and Joshua with a more subdued grace you haven’t seen in months.

You didn’t rise from your seat as your maids were still halfway through adjusting the fall of your sleeves. but you did narrow your eyes when Jeonghan swept in with a smirk and a flourish. The new color of his hair wasn’t lost on you either—deep burgundy red. You still had no idea how he changed its color like the seasons.

“Happy birthday, Your Grace,” Joshua greeted warmly, offering a polite half-bow.

“Thank you,” you replied, eyes softening. “It’s good to see you again. I thought you’d be too busy planning your own wedding.”

Joshua’s smile flickered, but he was quick to recover. “Ah. Well. Some things are in motion, others… less so.”

You raised a brow. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

“It’s complicated,” he said, then adds with a small laugh, “But I’ve learned from Jeonghan not to overshare.”

His brother leaned against the wall with a lazy smile. “I’m an excellent role model.”

You snorted. “You’re a warning sign carved into a cliff face.”

Before either man could reply, a footman appears in the doorway, whispering something in Joshua’s ear. The younger prince bowed again before excusing himself, promising to speak with you again before the night is over.

And then it’s just you and him.

Jeonghan eyed the gown you’re still being pinned into with a mock-solemn look. “Do I get to see all four today, or is this one the final form?”

“Don’t act like you care,” you quipped, trying very hard not to shift under his gaze.

“Oh, I care. I’ve always loved watching you suffer.”

“Wonderful. Then you’ll enjoy what happens next,” you told him coolly, gesturing for the maids to step back. “Because if you’re going to keep staring at me like that, I’m going to assume you came here to be mauled.”

As if on cue, Reya let out a rumble of noise from where he was being pampered by one of the braver palace maids. Ferocious as he was, he always did like getting his claws clipped, as well as wearing his favorite collar if the occasion permits.

Jeonghan closed the distance between you with infuriating calm, eyes never leaving yours as he flashed a wicked grin. “You look beautiful when you threaten me.”

Your pulse did that annoying thing it always did when he looked at you like that—like you were something worth chasing, even when you were bristling with knives. You rolled your eyes so hard it nearly dislodged the Dawning Crown pinned into your hair.

“And you look like a scandal waiting to happen.”

His grin widened. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Before you could come up with something scathing in return, Reya padded over, nails clicking softly on the polished floor, his gleaming coat freshly brushed, a ridiculous silk bow tied around his collar. He stopped beside Jeonghan and huffed, as if unimpressed with the theatrics.

Jeonghan crouched smoothly to scratch behind Reya’s ears. “Ah, my true supporter arrives. Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from her wrath.”

Reya growled, just faintly.

You smirked. “He’s siding with me, clearly.”

“I’m wounded,” Jeonghan said, rising with mock offense. “Betrayed by beauty and beast alike.”

Then he extended his arm to you. “Shall we?”

You stared at it for a beat, suspicious. But Reya nudged your leg gently with his snout, and you sighed, slipping your hand into Jeonghan’s. “Fine. But if either of you embarrass me tonight, I’m feeding you to each other.”

“Romantic and resourceful,” Jeonghan said with a wink. “You’ll make an excellent queen.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response. But as you walked down the corridor, Reya flanking your other side like a silent shadow, the three of you looked like a tableau of something unspoken and inevitable.

The ballroom was a gleaming vision of excess: golden drapes spilling from vaulted ceilings, glass lanterns casting slow-dancing light over a sea of jewel-toned silks and polished marble. An orchestra played on a raised dais, their melody light and sweet, but charged with the weight of spectacle.

You stood beneath the tallest chandelier, Reya sitting loyally at your side despite the sea of legs and perfumes swirling around him. The first toast had long since passed. You’d curtsied, smiled, and performed your gracious-lady routine so many times your cheeks hurt. And then the master of ceremonies called your name.

A hush fell.

Your father approached with a dignity that made your throat tighten. He was dressed in deep blue, embroidered with your kingdom’s sigil, and he extended a gloved hand with gentle formality. You placed yours in it, and let him lead you into the center of the floor. The music swelled.

Your first dance had been rehearsed, of course—weeks of steps and spins and graceful nods. But when he whispered, “You’ve grown into someone I’m proud to call my heir,” you missed a beat. His voice was low, almost shy. “And I know… it’s time to let my little girl go.”

You blinked hard, eyes stinging. “Father…”

“I asked too much of you, bug. Pushing this match before you were ready.” He exhaled, voice heavy but warm. “But Jeonghan… for all his faults, he’s steady in the ways that matter. If you’ve come to accept him, then maybe I wasn’t entirely wrong to hope.”

You didn’t correct him. You couldn’t. Not when he was looking at you like that—like someone trying to make peace with the things he had broken, and still dared to believe he hadn’t ruined everything.

The dance ended in soft applause, and you embraced him tightly before slipping away into the crowd. You barely had time to exhale before another hand reached for yours.

Minghao.

He wore black trimmed with crimson thread, Renxing’s crest gleaming like bloodied gold on his shoulder. His touch was precise, his posture perfect, but his eyes held a steadiness that grounded you. Your heart warmed even further.

“I’ve never liked these things,” he murmured as he led you into the dance. “The court politics. The pageantry. Celebrations of this caliber are rare in Renxing.”

You gave him a dry smile. “And yet you came anyway.”

“I came because I’m loyal to the alliance between our two kingdoms,” he said simply. “And to you.”

That steadiness—his quiet presence, his unwavering calm—had always comforted you. Minghao was the shield between Ancarra and the unknown. For months, his men had trained your country’s footsoldiers and honed them into formidable warriors. You felt safe with him, the way one does with stone walls and drawn blades.

But then he added, almost as an afterthought, “It’s a beautiful kingdom. Shame what war does to beautiful things.”

You glanced at Minghao, frowning faintly. “We’re not at war.”

“No,” the general said, still smiling. “Not yet.”

The song ended, and he bowed with courtly precision. You blinked after him uneasily. But there was no time to dwell—another partner was approaching.

Of course, it had to be him.

Jeonghan offered his hand with a dramatic flourish, his red hair far too striking to ignore. “May I steal the final dance of the night?”

“Only if you promise not to talk,” you muttered, taking it.

He did not promise. Of course not. He pulled you in with the confidence of a man who knew every beat of your rhythm, every angle of your resistance. His hand rested lightly on your waist, the other guiding you effortlessly into the waltz’s pattern.

“You cried,” he said smugly.

“I did not.”

“You almost cried.”

You glared up at him. “If I did, it was because I had to dance with you.”

His grin softened, just slightly, something real shining through the mischief. “You’re beautiful. Not just the dress. You. I thought you should hear that without a punchline attached.”

You blinked.

It unsettled you more than his teasing ever had.

The song slowed, spiraling toward its final note. For a moment, your fiancé held you still, one breath closer than necessary. The world spun in candlelight and cello strings around you, and you hated the way something in you leaned toward him instead of away.

“I won’t always be an enemy, you know,” he said quietly.

“I know,” you replied, just as quiet. “That’s what makes you dangerous.”

After the dances, your stomach practically growled in protest.

Dinner was winding down into a soft haze of candlelight and velvet laughter. The tables glittered with the remains of a decadent feast—glazed meats, sugared fruits, wine-stained napkins folded like petals. Reya lay at your feet, gnawing contentedly on a thick strip of jerky, a gift from Soonyoung (via the royal kitchens, of course). Every so often, his tail thumped against the marble with a low rhythm, as if to remind the room that he was still on guard.

You barely had time to sit between greetings, pulled into conversations and compliments from all sides. There was Yeri, a childhood friend turned court mage, who gave you a vial of bottled starlight as a name-day gift. And Seulgi, the clever young ambassador from the coastal isles, who kept trying to guess which gown was your favorite. You laughed freely for the first time all night, warmed by the company, the flicker of candles, the slow-blooming sense that maybe everything might be all right.

Until it wasn’t.

Near the center of the ballroom, Jeonghan stood facing Minghao. It looked almost casual, but only on the surface.

Then Jeonghan said, loudly enough for the conversation to die around you, “Tell me something, General. How many times have you tried to kill your own father and emperor now? Was it three?”

Minghao’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a bold accusation to make in public, Seraphian.”

“And yet,” Jeonghan replied with unbearable calm, “you haven’t denied it.”

You stood up from your seat, heart jumping to your throat. Minghao stepped forward, his voice still even, but you could hear the warning beneath it. “I serve Renxing with my blood. My father knows this.”

“Does he?” Jeonghan tilted his head. “Or did you send his last stand-in home in pieces, too? Or was that an ‘accident’ like the rest?”

A cold, electric silence followed.

“I’ve seen the way you linger at the map of Ancarra when no one’s looking,” Jeonghan added. “The way your men move when no orders are given. You’re not here to serve the alliance. You’re here to watch it rot.”

Minghao’s hand twitched. Just a flicker. Just enough to make Reya growl.

You shoved back your chair and moved, fast. “Jeonghan, stop—”

Too late.

“I should’ve cut your tongue out the moment I knew what you were,” Minghao hissed.

“And I should’ve told her what you are days ago,” Jeonghan snarled, and without waiting for another word, he punched him. The impact rang through the ballroom like a crack of thunder.

Minghao didn’t fall. Of course he didn’t. But his head jerked back, his lip split—and when he turned back, he looked every bit the general people feared. Cold and murderous. You stepped between them before another blow could land.

“Enough!” you said, chest heaving. “This is a royal banquet. On my name-day. You will not spill blood here.”

Reya pressed his flank to yours, snarling low. Behind you, guards surged forward—but no one dared act before you gave permission. Jeonghan wiped his knuckles on a napkin. “You should tell your father. Or don’t. Doesn’t matter. The truth always shows eventually.”

Minghao didn’t speak. But his silence was louder than anything. And just like that, the celebration fractured. Not with a scream, not with blood—but with the breaking of something deeper.

Trust.

It was several hours past midnight when you heard three gentle but firm knocks on the door to your bedchambers.

Annoyed, you stared at the collection of unopened gifts stacked high on your vanity. From delicacies imported from neighboring kingdoms to the most expensive cosmetics in all of Ancarra, your guests had certainly spared no expense in trying to curry your favor. But not even their lavish presents could dispel the pure vexation that had made your blood boil the entire evening.

You didn’t bother to answer the door. Instead, you swept yourself into the plush seat tucked beneath the dresser mirror. There was only one half wit currently residing in the castle brave enough to disturb you in the dead of night, and with how miserably tonight’s festivities had gone, you were in no mood to extend your hospitality to anyone—least of all Seraphia’s exasperating, insufferable, scheming—

“Isn’t it a little too late to be testing out swatches, Your Grace?”

You tried to ignore him. The way his silken dress shirt dangled half untucked from his trousers. The self-satisfied look on his face when he noticed you fumbling with the cherry red rouge you’d been applying to your lips.

But try as you might, you couldn’t ignore Jeonghan when he reached a hand in front of you, nimble fingers wiping off the excess color you’d accidentally tinted just a few millimeters past your lip line.

Not when his smoldering stare held yours captive in the image reflected in your gilded mirror. Not when you couldn’t even find it in yourself to resist when he gently grabbed your chin and forced your gaze to marvel at the man himself.

“Sulking again, Princess?” Jeonghan sneered, and you wanted to hate him for it, but you couldn’t. “I saved you from a man charged with treason three times in a single decade. Why are you pouting at me like I took away the love of your life?”

“Because you’ve made it your life’s purpose to make mine miserable,” you snapped, lacing each word with venom. “Minghao isn’t a traitor. If he was, he wouldn’t become the general of the Renxing army. He wouldn’t even be daring enough to live in our castle for months.”

He sighed, sounding almost sympathetic—but you’d long seen past the ruse. “Poor little thing, still being played like a fool all because you abhor the idea of one day becoming my wife. Tell me, didn’t you find it odd, how persistent he was in pursuing a woman who’s already spoken for?”

“Minghao is not pursuing me, and I am not spoken for,” you hissed, trying not to crumble from the way his thumb dabbed lightly at your lower lip. “Not by you. Not by anyone. Father gave me a choice—”

“Yes, of course. Everyone knows the story of the Ancarran Princess chained to a troublesome foreigner. So troublesome that she had to beg on her knees just to get the king to reconsider,” Jeonghan cooed, his face inching closer to yours.

“But as it turns out, all the other men you’re trying your damnedest to replace me with are even worse fiends than I.”

Your lungs burned as if they’d been set aflame, and Jeonghan was merely fanning the fire. “You’re despicable.”

“And you, Your Grace, are far too gullible,” he chuckled, each breath searing against your skin. “I’d say just give it up and surrender, but you’ve been fighting me since we were children. Ending our relationship in such a boring way wouldn’t make for a good story, now would it?”

You remembered something Soonyoung once told you in passing: how Jeonghan loved deeper than anyone expected. He loved his homeland. He loved his family. He loved his people. And with how tirelessly he kept pulling you back into this engagement, anyone would assume he loved you too.

But how were you supposed to believe that someone like him was capable of love when all he did was thrive off your misery?

“This new rouge you’re testing,” he murmured, as if he hadn’t just stomped on your last nerve. “It’s the kind that takes days to remove once it dries, isn’t it?”

“In what way does that concern you?” you gritted out.

The despicable prince simply hummed. “Oh, nothing. I’m just curious about its actual longevity.”

Your heart practically stuttered to a stop when he closed the distance between you—only a hair’s breadth separating your mouth from his. You didn’t know how it happened, but your fingers were suddenly coiled in the fabric of his shirt. Searching for purchase. For solid ground.

But you should have known better than to anchor yourself to someone as volatile as Jeonghan.

“If someone were to ruin it in the next ten seconds,” he whispered, his voice all heat and danger, “would you be even more furious than you are now? Or would it have the opposite effect? Would you finally melt into their arms? Would you let them tear all your defenses asunder?”

Your pulse roared in your ears, and suddenly, you couldn’t remember how to breathe. His intense gaze pinned you in place no matter how badly you wanted to flee. The scent of expensive champagne lingered on his lips, and to your horror, you found yourself craving a taste.

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t want that. You couldn’t want him.

This was the man who had made your life a waking nightmare for as long as you could remember. The man you’d be cursed to sit beside in the throne room if you didn’t act soon.

You knew these facts perfectly well, and yet…

A scream ripped through the corridor, sharp and blood-chilling.

Jeonghan snapped his head toward the door. The sound of shouts followed, heavy footsteps, the unmistakable ring of steel against steel.

“What was that?” you breathed, your voice brittle with disbelief.

Jeonghan was already on his feet, eyes narrowing as he reached for the dagger he always kept hidden inside his coat. “Trouble,” he said grimly. “Exactly the kind I warned your father about.”

Another cry echoed down the hall—this one closer.

Then the door burst open.

A castle guard staggered inside, crimson soaking the front of his uniform. His mouth opened, a desperate warning hanging on his tongue, but it was too late. A blade sliced across his back, and he fell with a gasp. Behind him came two men clad in obsidian armor trimmed in blood-red. Their faces were obscured by masks, but the crest etched into their chests was unmistakable.

Renxing.

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Jeonghan swore violently and grabbed your wrist. “We have to go. Now.”

He yanked you into motion. Your bare feet slapped against the cold stone floor as he led you out the side passage and into the corridor beyond. Chaos bloomed all around you. Servants scattered, guards fell, and the dark-clad invaders moved with deadly precision through the castle.

“Jeonghan—what is happening?” you gasped, stumbling to keep up with him as he veered toward the grand stairwell.

He didn’t look back. “The Renxing Empire. Minghao. He’s making his move.”

“No,” you said, heart lurching. “No, he wouldn’t—he’s still here, he’s been living here—”

“He’s been watching you. Learning the gives in your defenses. Counting how long it takes for your soldiers to mobilize.” Jeonghan’s voice was hard as steel. “And now he’s using it all against you.”

Around the corner, a blur of motion caught your eye.

Reya came barreling through the hall—his snow-white maw stained crimson. He pounced with his teeth bared, knocking one of the Renxing soldiers clean off his feet, and with a snarl, clamped his jaws around his neck.

You let out a cry. “Reya!”

The tiger lifted his head, ears twitching, and bounded back to you, fur bristling, blue eyes alight with fury. Jeonghan cursed under his breath.

“I knew it,” he spat. “I knew that bastard wasn’t here to play diplomat.”

He grabbed your hand, fingers firm and unyielding. “We have to find the king. Now.”

The three of you sprinted through the castle, Reya leading the charge with a guttural roar. The corridors grew slick with blood. Familiar faces—servants, guards, nobles—lay scattered and motionless. The once-gleaming halls of your home were being razed from the inside out. When you finally reached the king’s bedchambers, the massive oak doors were already ajar. The scent hit you first—metallic and thick. Then you saw him.

Your father lay slumped over the edge of his bed, blood soaking through his embroidered robes, pooling beneath his lifeless hand. And standing above him, eyes cool and unrepentant, was Minghao.

His sword dripped with red.

You stumbled backward in disbelief. “No…”

Jeonghan stepped in front of you, shielding you instinctively. “So this was your grand plan, was it?” he growled, tone deadly. “Cozy up to the Ancarran throne and strike the moment our backs are turned.”

Minghao didn’t even flinch. “You were never naïve, Jeonghan. That was always your problem. But the princess…” His gaze flicked to you, unreadable. “She wanted so badly to believe in goodness. It made her easy to control.”

Your heart shattered. “Why?” Your voice was barely a whisper. “Why do this?”

“Because peace is a lie,” Minghao said, voice cold and resolute. “Ancarra has grown weak. Soft. You live behind silk curtains and delude yourselves with choices you were never truly free to make.”

He stepped forward, sword still glinting in the torchlight. “I came to study my enemy. And now I’ve buried your king. The only thing left to do… is take the rest.”

Jeonghan snarled and drew his blade. And behind him, Reya let out a thunderous roar, low and full of rage. You stood paralyzed between the past and the future, your kingdom falling apart in front of you—betrayed by one you’d defended, protected by the one you’d hated. Your hands shook at your sides. Jeonghan wasn’t a warrior, he’d said it himself. You were unarmed too, but even with your weapons, your down spiral into grief would make it impossible to wield.

A sudden blast of cold tore through the chamber—sharp as shattered glass, singing with elemental fury. The air cracked as a jagged beam of frost magic erupted from the doorway, striking toward Minghao with blistering speed.

He parried it without hesitation, raising his palm as searing fire spiraled out from his fingers. The two magics collided midair, frost and flame meeting in a violent, hissing explosion that shook the floor beneath your feet and bathed the room in blinding steam. You staggered back, stunned—not by the impact, but by the magic itself.

You knew that spell. You’d seen it only a handful of times, in hushed moments of practice behind closed doors. Only one person cast frost magic that way.

Siwon.

The king’s most trusted advisor, robes singed at the edges, his eyes blazing not with panic but with purpose. He emerged from the ruined entrance, frost still crackling at his fingertips.

“There’s no time,” Siwon said, voice hoarse but commanding. “You have to go. The southern gates have already been breached—Soonyoung and Prince Joshua are waiting with a carriage at the old postern tunnel.”

“No,” you gasped, still frozen in place. “I’m not leaving him. I can’t—”

“Princess,” Siwon cut in, harsher now. “The king is gone.”

You shook your head, the burn in your throat rising with each breath. Your eyes remained fixed on your father’s body—his crown toppled, his blood soaking the carpet your mother once chose. It felt impossible. It felt wrong to leave him here alone. But Reya had already made his decision. With a deep growl, your tiger stepped forward, nudging your side with his enormous head. His low whine was almost mournful as he lowered himself to the ground, offering you his back.

“Reya…” you whispered.

He growled again, firmer this time, nudging you harder. And then—miraculously—he allowed Jeonghan to climb on behind you, his tail lashing with urgency. Jeonghan didn’t question it.

“Let’s go,” he said, gripping your waist as Reya tensed beneath you, muscles bunching like coiled springs.

“Don’t let him take the throne,” you whispered to Siwon, your throat raw.

He gave a single nod, eyes heavy with something far more complicated than grief.

And then Reya bolted.

You clung to her as she raced down the blood-soaked halls of the royal wing, Jeonghan’s arms around you, the wind screaming in your ears. Behind you, the flames of Minghao’s betrayal burned hotter than ever, and you knew this was only the beginning.

The wind had long since dulled into a low, steady whistle as Reya carried you through the winding woods beyond the outer citadel. The scent of smoke clung to your skin. The copper taste of blood still lingered at the back of your throat. But you felt none of it. Not until his paws hit the forest floor and slowed, the ground beneath him trembling slightly with the echo of distant explosions. The rendezvous point was just ahead—a small ridge overlooking the secret passage that led to the waiting carriage below.

Reya knelt again.

You slid off his back slowly, your knees buckling the moment they touched the ground. You didn’t cry out. Didn’t speak. Just curled your fingers in the dirt and stared at them like they didn’t belong to you. Jeonghan dismounted after you, quiet for once. He took a step forward, maybe to say something, maybe to steady you—but you turned away, shoulders trembling with the weight of everything you’d tried to keep inside.

The tears came then. Finally. Hot and merciless, carving tracks down your cheeks as a sob tore itself from your throat. “I should have known,” you whispered. “He was here for months. And I didn’t see it. I trusted him. I trusted—”

Your voice cracked, the image of your father’s lifeless body flashing in your mind’s eye again. “Father told me I had a choice. And I chose wrong.”

“You didn’t choose wrong.” Jeonghan knelt beside you, gently pulling your hands away from your face. His teasing smile was gone. All that remained in his eyes was something gentler. “You chose to believe someone could be better than the world made him. That’s not a flaw, Your Grace. That’s who you are. It’s why people love you.”

“But the kingdom... M-My father, Siwon—”

You shook your head, overwhelmed with memories of Siwon making ice sculptures for you in secret, of your father lifting you into the air when you were small, telling you that Ancarra would someday be yours. That all the land the sun could touch was worth protecting.

“I was supposed to protect them,” you said, voice raw. “But I couldn’t.”

A rustle in the trees cut the air like a blade. Then another. And another. Jeonghan rose to his feet instantly, hand going to his waist where his blade was sheathed. You scrambled up behind him, Reya growling low in his throat as shadows stepped out from the dark.

Renxing soldiers.

Half a dozen at least, clad in black and red, their armor glinting beneath the moonlight.

“Well, well,” one sneered. “The little princess, right where we want her.”

“You think you’re getting out of this alive?” another added. “You let your kingdom fall from within. You let us in. And now you want to run? After everything?”

Their words twisted in your gut like poison. You didn’t speak. But beside you, Jeonghan went terrifyingly still. And then—you saw it. A glint in his eyes, sharp and inhuman. Something reptilian. Slitted pupils. A golden gleam, cold and ancient. It vanished a second later, but it made your breath hitch.

Before you could question it, Reya stepped forward, positioning himself between you and the soldiers. His tail lashed. His fur bristled. But most startling of all—

Go.

Your eyes widened. Reya never spoke like this—rarely ever with such clarity. But his voice rang clearly in your head, steady and resolute. I’ll hold them off.

“No,” you gasped aloud. “Reya, no—”

He turned his massive head toward you briefly, his frost blue eyes impossibly calm.

Ancarra will never die as long as you live.

Then he charged.

“Reya!!” you cried, arm outstretched, but Jeonghan grabbed you from behind.

“We have to go,” he said firmly—though you knew he hadn’t heard a word your tiger said. Somehow, he still understood.

You stumbled after him, barely able to breathe, heart threatening to break clean in half—but you ran. You ran, tears blurring your vision, Reya’s roar behind you echoing in your bones as you and Jeonghan raced for the ridge where Soonyoung and Joshua were waiting.

You didn’t look back.

Because looking back would break you beyond repair.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

⟢ end notes: oh mein gott... after two years, i finally put this baby out of my system and into existence. HELLOOOOO lovely people of caratblr, i missed you all so terribly!!!!! this story has been camping in the back of my mind the entire time i was gone, and i'm so happy to finally get to share it with you! the entire thing is 40k ish in total, and i've been told tumblr gets EXXXTRA cranky if i even dare to dump everything in one go, so here we are, chopped into two parts :( i will probablee have the next part up next week just to keep you guys on your toes heh. i hope you liked reading this as much as i loved writing it. i miss jeonghan so terribly, and this fic got me to blow off that steam SIGHHH.

this is part of the it’s complicated series.

#seventeen smut #svthub #jeonghan smut #seventeen x reader #jeonghan x reader #svt smut #svt x reader #lovelyhan #full length fic 📚

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ilovechainmail · 2 months ago

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this is misinfo!! the number in this post is the canadian number for the trans lifeline, which has provided support for both us americans and canadians for years. the american number (as of posting) is still active and accessible: (877) 565 8860 — you can call or text this number for support.

you can read a post here made by trans lifeline about the twitter post shared by op and how it has impacted their ability to help those who the number is intended for (you can also donate to them on their website to support their efforts to provide a support line to trans people who need it)

if you are looking for lgbtq+ helplines for us americans that are Not solely government funded, you can look into the lgbt national help center or this page from pflag who both have multiple support helplines listed.

do not believe everything you see on this website and please google these phone numbers before you share/call them!

thank you Canada 🇨🇦

#would appreciate a rb on this bc this post has 21k notes and is just Not accurate 🫠

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palms-upturned · 1 year ago

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🇵🇸GAZA ESCAPE FUNDS🇵🇸

(Emoji description: two uses of the Palestinian flag emoji, end description)

UPDATE, July 8th 2024: I am no longer updating this post. My master list has now moved to this post on @vetted-gaza-funds so please check there instead!

UPDATE: I’ve hit the link limit on this post, so here is part two of this list!!

🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸

(Emoji description: three Palestinian flag emojis, end description)

Laila Shaqoura: €23k/€45k

@/lailashaqoura, number 152 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Wafaa Alnhal: €24k/€50k

@/wafs-posts, number 171 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Ruba Shaban: €26k/€100k

@/rubashabansblog, number 90 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Issam Aziz: €21k/€25k

@/haifaaziz98, number 179 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Amneh Sharif: $8.6k/$90k USD

@/amnehsharif10, number 140 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Nada Saftawi: €11k/€16k

@/nadasaftawi, number 182 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Iyad Sobhe: £11k/£60k

@/iyadsobhegaza, number 173 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Dr. Nasser Mohammed: £6.2k/£50k

(terminated, formerly nassermohamed9), Verified by nabulsi

Nahla & Amal: €3k/€80k

@/jrk85, number 178 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Ahmed Iyd: £10k/£150k

(terminated, formerly ahmediyds), number 116 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Renad Magid: £15k/£25k

@/renadmagidnew, number 128 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Amira Alanqar: €11k/€20k

@/ameera-anq, Verified by nabulsi

Mohammed Hilles: €21k/€37k

@/hmzamahamed3, number 176 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Rania Ibra: £13k/£35k (LINK NOT WORKING, WILL UPDATE)

@/ranibra71, number 154 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Malk Al Zaeem: $18k/$50k CAD

@/malkzaeem, number 129 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Amal Abu Shammala: €55k/€60k

@/amalisam96, number 24 on the spreadsheet linked up top

NOTE: Amal’s family has been evacuated to Egypt, but Amal is continuing to raise funds to support her displaced relatives and to recover from losing her job and being scammed out of $20k in the process of evacuating her family. Please keep on donating to her both the above campaign and this second campaign, which has raised $2.4k/$10k!

Nael Helles: $16k/$50k USD

@/nael-helles, number 85 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Ahmed & Dina: €23k/€35k

@/zinaeleenyamin, verified by nabulsi

Hani Al-Hajjar: €31k/€50k

@/skatehani, number 75 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Mohammed Alanqer: €32k/€38k

@/mohammedalanqer, number 174 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Salaah Bilaal: €50k/€70k

@/bilal-salah0, number 132 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Shahed Muhammad: $8k/$50k USD

@/shahednhall, verified by nabulsi

Nader Shoshaa: €6.4k/€120k

@/nadergaza, number 153 on the spreadsheet linked up top (thank you to @/rubashabansblog for sending me this campaign!)

Iman Eyad: £6.6k/£60k (LINK NOT WORKING, WILL UPDATE)

@/imanblogs, number 150 on the spreadsheet linked up top (thank you to @/rubashabansblog for sending me this campaign!)

Aya Maher: €4.3k/€25k

@/ayamaher44, verified by 90-ghost

Hamsa Mohammad: €5.4k/€30k

@/hamsamohammad, verified by nabulsi

Alaa Al Khateeb: £25k/£56k

@/alaaalkhateeb, number 99 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Mohammed Hoboub: kr17k/kr300k SEK

@/mohammedhaboub, verified by 90-ghost

Youssef Helles: €2k/€23k

@/omaryousef, number 206 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Amani Hasan: $18,934/$17,732 CAD GOAL MET!!!

@/amani93hasan, number 169 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Ahmad Turk: €7.1k/€70k

@/ahmadturk00, number 96 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Ahmed Ziad: £3.9k/£30k

@/ahmed-ziad, verified by nabulsi

Mahmoud Helles: €1.1k/€50k

@/mahmoud92hells, number 198 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Sujood Odeh: £53k/£70k

@/sujoododeh, number 64 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Mohammad Al Manasra: €11k/€40k

@/save-mohammad-family, verified by ibtisams

Mohammad Awni: €2.1k/€45k

@/mohamedawnisblog, verified by nabulsi

Raghad Qanou: £3.2k/£55k

@/rhq274, verified by nabulsi

Iyad Sami: CHF5.7k/CHF20k

@/eyadeyadsblog, vouched for by mohamedalanqer

Ahmed Al Ostaz: €12k/€70k

@/4665440875, organized by @/mo98h, number 125 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Yousef Hussein: $7.3k/$50k USD

@/06679799, verified by 90-ghost

Nesma Ahmed: $66k/$80k USD

@/nesmamomen, verified by nabulsi

Abdelrahman: €7.1k/€20k

@/anqer, vetted by el-shab-hussein

Mahmoud Balousha: €14k/€50k

(terminated, formerly mahmoud26), verified by blackpearlblast

Samer Abu Rass: kr59k/kr450k SEK

@/samerpal, number 196 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Dr. Mohammed Al Deeb: €18k/€30k

@/mohammedaldeeb, number 212 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Fadi Ayyad: $18k/$35k USD

@/mayadaayyad, number 144 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Tahani Shorbajee: $16k/$50k USD

@/tahanishorbaje2, number 112 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Yazan Ashraf Abu Safiya: €3.5k/€50k

@/yazanabusaia, number 180 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Mahmoud Saleh: €4.6k/€20k

@/mide444, verified by ibtisams

Ahmed Abu Shammala: €9.8k/€100k

@/ahmed8311, number 161 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Mohammed Thalatheeni: €21k/€35k

@/mohammedtalatene, number 135 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Ahmed Thalatheeni: €4.1k/€35k

@/ahmedaltalaten, vouched for by mohammedtalatene

Mahmoud Khalaf: €10k/€30k

@/mahmoudkhalafff, number 152 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Basma Al Ghoul: kr9.2k/kr400k SEK

@/basmaalghoul, verified by nabulsi

Mahmoud Hilles: €20k/€25k

@/hillesmahmoud, number 170 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Ezzideen Shehab: €29k/€75k

@/boshradaoud1 (organizer), number 2 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Farah Haboub: $1.3k/$120k CAD

@/farahhaboub, vetted by 90-ghost

Firas Muhaisen: $1.7k/$82k CAD

@/firasmuhaisenn, shared by 90-ghost

Shaheen Family: €2.7k/€35k

@/shaheenfamily1, shared by 90-ghost

Walaa Ahmed: $3.9k/$50k CAD

@/burningnightgiver and @/ahmed79ss, shared by 90-ghost

Ghada Saftawi: €1.3k/€10,250

@/ghadasaftawi, shared by 90-ghost

NOTE: Ghada’s family has been evacuated, but it took all the money that Ghada had! This fundraiser is to support her children while they are displaced in Egypt with no savings left.

Diya Shamaly: $23k/$90k CAD

@/familydeea, verified by nabulsi

Basel Ayyad: CHF2k/CHF60k

@/basel-1995, number 214 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Alaa Ayad: $2.5/$20k CAD

@/alaa-pales, number 395 on Operation Olive Branch’s master list

Mohammed Iwais: kr15k/kr500k SEK

@/mohiwais, shared by 90-ghost

Khalil Abu Baker: €1.3k/€30k

@/khalil95, number 187 on the spreadsheet linked up top

Firas Salem: €33k/€65k

@/firas-salem, number 111 on the spreadsheet linked up top

#palestine #free palestine #i’m going to keep doing my donation match lists with every paycheck #but i wanted to keep this running list as well to have everyone in one place

5K notes · View notes

fleshphagus · 2 years ago

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#this has 21k notes #in what fucking world are you too bullied to have a beer #having sex doing drugs drinking smoking and partying isn't for this specter of popular kids who bullied you only...#Sad!#And are the ''people who peaked in high school just trying to make themselves feel better'' posting now?

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theothernads · 3 months ago

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ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ. SECRETS . [Y.JW]

━━━━━━━━━━━━━˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱‧₊˚━━━━━━━━━━━━━

○ SYNOPSIS: After making it to university, you found yourself finding comfort in a cat café worker not too far from your lectures. The cute worker seemed to have a knack for making you fall for his charm. And, how could you not? Your chemistry was perfect- but you never thought that he had secrets and that Jungwon was your secret as well. As much as you two tried to keep everything behind the scenes, things don't always work out the way they should.

○ PAIRING: Boxer!Jungwon×fem!rich!reader

○ WARNINGS: fighting, so suggestive it's acc crazy, blood, classism? Self-doubt, profanity, I made one of the members a villain, cute, fluff, ANGST (Imao), boxer Jungwon (deserves a warning bc it's iconic af)

○ NOTES: Okay. I did it. Please enjoy. This took forever to edit, but hopefully, you all like it!! It's been in my drafts for too long. Ever since No Doubt came out, lmao😭. Thank you for everyone who asked to be on the taglist!! Please give feedback. I would love to hear it!! Okay, muah!

╰┈➤ LIKES, COMMENTS+ REBLOGS are appreciated!

○ WC: 21k+

○ ִֶָ࣪☾. [DREAM LIBRARY]

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ᥫ᭡.━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

AS A DAUGHTER OF A CEO AND A NURSE, YOUR PARENTS OFTEN PILED THEIR LANDSLIDE OF PRESSURES ONTO YOU. With you as the only child in their lavish home, their attention and lectures often find you daily, ready to exhaust your mind into another brainless talk.

But, it wasn't only your parents. It was also your lonely thoughts swarming your inner monologue like a bunch of pests.

Your parents, on the other hand, had you wrapped in their protective blanket, to the point where you were suffocating, not knowing when you could catch fresh air that wasn't supplied by them.

It wasn't easy per se. The studies that entailed your life had beaten you over the head and forced your eyes down to the textbooks and past papers. Those almost became your friends if you didn't scowl at them as much as you did.

Your parents were great, even if they flooded your head with reminders and words that you needed to become someone, anyone.

Anyone with money, of course.

That was the pinned priority. It was almost the only thing you wanted at the end of the destination. The end of the route was hopefully going to university for something in the medical field.

The light on your mother and father's face was the only thing keeping your vision on the set road before you. It was... exhausting. However, you worked through days, sleepless nights, calloused thumbs, and a lost appetite to get you a step closer to your supposed dream.

Getting accepted into that university wasn't as thrilling as you thought: the smile on your parent's faces, their boasts to your family didn't lift the anchor that had rusted in the pits of the ocean that was your mind.

It often felt as if you were drifting away from reality when classes started.

One particular day, you bunked the class by saying you needed the bathroom, when in reality, you sauntered right out the glass doors and onto the street.

Breathing the air without too many of your own classmates stitched your composure together again, and you found yourself wandering down the busy roads

You stopped when observing the mocha and brown lettered words on a cream sign. A cat café. Your feet moved on their own, pushing the door and placing your shoes in a slot on a black shelf.

The staff directed you to the room, and as you entered the main area, you spotted all types of feline friends lounging and sauntering around.

Swiftly moving in, you sat in a random spot, admiring the cats of all colours, the short and long furs—they were truly a melody, a soothing balm to your heated head.

And new potential friends that you could confide in and expect them to listen without a word of resistance. Oh, to live as a cat — carefree, jump as high as you want, and you could run away without consequences.

Oh, the dream.

A certain brown and black cat with a fluffy coat around its face approached you in your daydream, meowing quietly. The cream collar was engraved with "Belle." She was adorable, to say the least.

Her friendliness knew no bounds as she nudged her head into your hovering palm, rubbing her furry face.

For the first time in a while, you smiled, and one could argue that it sounded as if you were in the pits of depression—but you weren't. You were simply deprived of the quiet moments like this.

If you stayed a minute more in that damn lecture hall, you would have stabbed a pencil into their oh so precious desk.

Tentatively letting your fingers scratch beneath her chin, you heard another purr, her green eyes blinking slowly as she shifted her head to seek your comfort.

Her fluffy coat made you want to genuinely bite her—not hard, but maybe kiss her to bits until her paw warned you of her rising annoyance.

"Belle!? Where are you, girl..?" A voice called out that snapped your personal dream bubble.

When you glanced at the source of the voice, there was a young man with honey, golden skin, hickory eyes, and blonde locks resembling a cloud.

His wavy hair and feline eyes made your heart hitch a little. As if his presence hit you like a stone that your body didn't brace for. You weren't prepared.

Said man came over after realising that Belle was spending her careless time with you. Oh. He was coming over, and you're staring like a hawk. An idiot was a more fitting name.

Straightening your back, you glanced back at Belle and let your fingers fall away. The cat obviously protested, meowing—or whining—as her little face pecked at the hand on your lap.

The man slowed as he saw you, his fist holding something, but he was careful as he crouched before the feline. Right there, you noticed his veiny forearms, and you had to look away.

"She never comes out," he began saying, hand expertly rubbing behind her ear. A smile lifted your lips once more.

"I feel special," you said with a speck for amusement. He chuckled and nodded.

"I think you may be. She tends to hide in the dumbest corners. Kind of annoying," mumbled the man. His fists unfurled, and Belle's head perked to see the treats in his hand.

A long meow slipped into the air, her eager self padding to the worker (you assumed), and instantly munching. You could just combust.

For the cat, of course.

A smile graced those lovely, rosy lips of his, the other hand stroking Belle on her head encouragingly. In that moment, this man looked soft and warm. As if you were sitting near a furnace after a long, hard winter day. Something to melt the thick, icy anxiety wedged in your chest.

"She's adorable," you murmured, her tail snaking past your lap, wanting attention in all directions, it seemed. The man nodded and lifted his gaze finally.

They scanned your own, calculating but not intense at all. Then, he spoke. "I'm Jungwon, by the way."

A nice name that suited his perfect face, perfect dimples, and perfect voice.

Damn, what were you thinking? Internally scolding yourself, you nodded in acknowledgement with a small smile.

"I'm Y/n. Nice to meet you," you mumbled softly. The sparkle in his gaze shot by in the darkness of his eyes. Another smile.

"Pretty."

From that alone, you were ready to just bash your head into the wall to deal with the flusterment floating in your face. He said it so casually, delivering it with that deep voice of his that scratched your brain right.

Blinking profusely, your gaze averted to Belle, knowing your neck was burning, and the flames of shyness were reaching the apple of your cheeks as well.

"Thanks." You stroked Belle on her back as she munched contentedly on Jungwon's palm. He noticed your glittering eyes and the lashes fluttering on your cheeks.

Jungwon sat beside you, cross-legged and holding out his hand. "Do you wanna feed her..?"

Without a single thought from your frazzled brain, you nodded. Jungwon was pleased, an easy smile breaking out as he gently took your own left hand.

Even the warmth in his hand ignited all kinds of tingles in your fingers, making the heat constrict and hug your heart.

From his apron pocket, he picked out a few brown treats into your own palm, and Belle was instantly impressed.

Her furry face dug into your hands, licking up the treats, and you felt as if her silent sounds healed and patched up the stitches of exertion from the past couple of days. Who knew just a feline friend could soothe the craks in you?

"So, you work here..?" You asked the obvious question. Jungwon chuckled slightly, eyes fixed on your hand.

"Yup. Shifts are easy, and I get to talk to the cats instead of myself."

"You probably talk to yourself at home," you teased back.

"That's why I needed to work here. To hide it." Jungwon grinned, lifting those beautiful eyes of his. "But alas, my secret is revealed."

He was funny. Cute. You liked the way he easily loosened the stiff bolts in your muscles, as if it didn't take much effort.

You smiled, petting Belle behind her fluffy eyes, feeling somewhat content in the brief silence. Jungwon eyed the backpack slumped by your side and glanced back.

"So, you running away from home, or do you just have a lot of things in there?" He asked with mirth, eyes darting to the crumpled bag. Oh. That. A reminder of how you left class unattended and on impulse.

"Oh... that," you said with a forced chuckle, eyes focused on Belle rather than the beauty before you. "I bunked class."

"You're a student? Damn, you're devious," Jungwon remarked with a jab of amusement. You rolled your eyes and smirked.

"Very. It's the most I've gone against my parents," you said without thinking.

You instantly regretted it. You didn't plan to blurt that out and reveal the speck of the harsh expectations crushing you and all to a stranger. You clenched your eyes shut for a moment before opening them.

"So, rebellion?"

"That's a bit much," you mumbled with a slightly offended pout. Jungwon stroked Belle, fingers accidentally brushing yours, and your hand retracted sharply.

The tingle crazing up your arm was warm, uninvited, but made your heart pound just a little faster. He began to laugh at your comment.

"I guess so. You want to tell me why you're starting your rebellion?" He urged you on, meeting eyes again.

"It's not a rebellion!" You protested, and Belle's little face peered up at you, as if she was judging you for purposely making a wall of lies and denial. Jungwon and Belle waited, expectant.

Sighing, you began to unravel your life story as if it was a ball of yarn running away from you before you could catch it. All the way from high school to exams that opened up the gates to university until now to how dead you felt in class, taking a course for the sole reason of pleasing your parents.

It's not like your chosen health care course wasn't an enjoyable path—you chose that route because, yes—you did find something valuable in stem subjects, and found it bearable to endure the hurdles that came with it.

However, sitting in the lecture hall and typing, writing mindlessly on your convertible tablet, the energy had diminished like a candle nearing the end of its wax.

Jungwon listened, stroking Belle's back as she settled on his lap. No words slipped into the conversation, letting you pour your heart out to him, a total stranger.

When you finished, he let out a deep puff of air, as if he was exhausted for everything you said. "Damn..."

Tucking your side fringe behind your ears, an empty chuckle came out. "Yeah. I love them and all, but it's... exhausting. But, my mind won't let me disagree with them. After all, they just want me to live well."

He shook his head, and Belle jumped off his lap and scurried away, deciding to leave you and him in solidarity.

"What about you being happy? Peaceful?" He asked, stretching his legs out forward, leaning back on his hands. "What's the point of living well on the outside when... you need to also live well internally? If that makes sense."

The words carved into you like a harsh reminder—your own guts telling you to say something. But your loyalty was your biggest enemy, and it had the best leverage.

You weren't smiling anymore, nor speaking, and Jungwon sighed, dropping his own eyes to his lap, as if there was already something brewing behind his eyes.

A beat of silence passed, and Jungwon looked up. "I ran away."

Your eyes shot to him, bewildered. The reaction made him chuckle, but there was memory frozen in his eyes.

"Yeah... you're better than me. If they forced me into taking university, I would've crashed out. I mean, I already did." Jungwon shrugged.

Waiting in silence, you let him go on.

"It's started when I was younger. My father was an alcoholic, a smoker, the whole lot. My mother was ill. So, she was even more irritable. With both of them on my back, going out was an escape." Jungwon rushed a hand through his blonde locks, eyebrows furrowed as if it hurt to clutch the dead roots he had left behind in memory.

"I bunked classes. I didn't care, I just needed to be doing something on my own. I had my friends, we messed about, I will admit. But, nothing bad. Just me, my friends being loud and... smoking here and there. But, I knew my luck would run out."

By now, a white cat padded over, collar jingling softly and climbed into your lap. Smiling, you found something light-hearted in the midst of this talk.

"My dad got the phone call from school. Those assholes called them, and he nearly pushed me into... into the stove. He was yelling, angry, called me useless," Jungwon said as he swallowed down the harsh marks of the past. "But, I wanted it out. Finished school. Grades were mid, but I didn't care."

He let out the nth sigh, gazing at the random wall as if he was rewatching the memory.

"One day, he blew up on me. He was drunk. My mother was okay, but she was also hoping for good grades. Too much expectations, too much demands." Jungwon's gaze narrowed. "I wasn't enough. I didn't impress them. And nothing could."

Jungwon grit his teeth, remembering the moment he had stormed through the house, pulled out a black duffel and backpack, and stuffed every corner of them until it couldn't anymore. It was painful and impulsive.

"I ran. I left with my friend and found my own way. And now, I work here. For about 2 years now." He finished, nodding and letting the weight of his shoulders lift.

You couldn't imagine running with your friend, being along and unstable. You loathed it, but it didn't mean that he didn't hold bravery for making that decision. Letting out a puff of air, you turned to Jungwon.

"I'm glad you're okay now. I honestly can't imagine it. It must have been terrifying," you said softly, sympathetic. Jungwon sensed your tone and dismissed it with a shake of his hand.

"Hey, don't worry about it. Because I'm fine now. I'm stable, I don't need those assholes anyway," he said with a newfound strength. Or perhaps, a strength that had bloomed ever since he left the claws of his home.

"Like I told you, the cats keep me company," he said, letting the white feline jump out his lap and join the rest of his friends. You smiled, finding the café an easy path to soothe the weight on your soul.

As if you needed this.

Jungwon, admiring your adorable face, grinned to himself, not missing the way his heart fluttered, as if something was newly born there. It was enticing all the same.

From then, you visited the cats, or Jungwon, often. You skipped classes sometimes or came afterwards with some friends to catch the eye of the cute worker, letting your small desires be fulfilled every time you and him exchanged a discreet look.

Most of the time, you came alone in hopes of letting the pieces of your heart be bared to him, to let him examine whatever you put out there.

You think it worked. For example, in this one situation, you were trying to lure the cats to your hand full of treats, but no matter how much you cooed at them, they blinked at you as if you were an idiot. You stood once more, and Jungwon, noticing it, appeared behind you in an instant.

The emanating warmth forced your heart to run laps, skip beats, and leap in the tight confines of your chest. He was so close—chest hovered by your shoulders, his breath subtly hitting your right ear. A shudder rippled down your spine.

"The cats can't reach your hand if you're standing normally," he said softly by your ear.

You glanced only to stare at the stars that were his hickory eyes and the roses that were his pink lips.

Jungwon had to be the personification of beauty himself—the type of beauty that couldnt be captured by a normal lens because it simply wouldn't do him an justice. Experiencing just his presence without any second thoughts was as if you were face-to-face with the galaxy itself.

Realising you were staring, you let him lower you to the ground until you sat on your knees, and he crouched behind you. His warm hand held your wrist, angling it, making the tingles bite up your nerves until you felt your heart sprint.

Then, he clicked his tongue, and like the cat whisperer he was, the feline friends all came jumping and padding over with curious tails and mouths. You let yourself stroke a few of the fluffy heads, aware he never moved away.

"Thank you..." you said softly. Jungwon chuckled, and he boldly rested his chin on your shoulder. It was so soft that you nearly missed the pressure of it, but you didn't.

The stupid smile tugged at your lips, his hand retracting from your wrist to rest gently, experimentally on your waist. When you didn't pull away, he sighed into your neck, letting his silence fill in the rest.

It was a song of no words, but you loved every second that passed where he filled the gap in your neck, memorising your skin. The moment elicited a blossom of new flowers—bold, vibrant, and exciting. You wouldn't mind if Jungwon brought out more of those from within you. The flowers crawled up your chest, caged your heart into something strong and something immovable.

Only when a customer alerted the bell did he pull away with one last squeeze to your waist, imprinting the print of his warm invitation. Your gasp was soft, barely audible, but his cheeky self just upped and went away.

One thing about Jungwon was that mischief was an ingrained and crucial part of him. Whether it br through his teasing words or his sly hands brushing past you like the wind.

And, another part of him you had also discovered was the speck of secrecy he kept in the cracks.

It had been a gloomy November morning, the city alive and moving as you strolled towards the familiar cat café. Classes had been exhausting, and you craved to ease the storm irking the ocean that was your mind.

Each part of your head was waterlogged, filled with destructive waves that washed and swept over every other thought that threatened to keep afloat.

Whenever that happened, you went to the cat café, climbing up the familiar brown steps, dinging the bell as you opened the door, and slipping on the comfortable slippers before sauntering to the main room.

The familiar warm light illuminated the cream and pastel pink walls and the various cats padding or lounging around on different surfaces.

Your presence managed to alert the particularly shy cat that never revealed herself. Or, your best friend.

"Hi, Belle," you cooed, crouching down and stroking her furry head. She meowed and licked the tip of her nose swiftly, as if curious about your visit. You laughed softly and scooped her into your arms, and she made home within your embrace.

Her furry self was a remedy for the strenuous school day.

Naturally, you were here for one other person, though—Jungwon. As if detecting your dilemma, Belle jumped out your arms and padded deeper into the café, leading you to the counter where Jungwon's back was turned to you.

The sight of his broad back, the muscles peeking out from his shirt, even under the brown apron he wore. His blonde locks were messy, tousled as a cloud.

"Hey, Won," you said, approaching the counter with an easy grin. Jungwon flinched slightly, putting the air pod out, and he turned only to reveal an undeniable display.

Brows furrowed, you rushed to the counter to examine the red scar stitched into his cheekbone, the redness blooming around it like a field of pain.

"Jungwon, your cheek..?" You said, pointing to the obvious wound, worry budding in your eyes. Realisation flickered over his face, hesitantly letting his fingers caress over the spot before he sighed.

"Yn, it's nothing. Just a small accident," he said, giving a dismissive smile. You didn't believe him. The scar seemed shallow, almost as if he had bumped into something with an aggravating force.

"What accident?"

"You know, the cats. Shadow was kinda hard to get back in his bed," he easily replied, leaning on the counter before you on his elbows, smirking as if he knew something you didn't.

You stared for a good few seconds before your hand lifted to his wounded cheek, and he let you. Heck, he leaned into your hand, the warmth rushing through your nerves; the worry still stood strong.

"What brings you here so late today?" Jungwon mumbled, his breath hitting your wrist. A tingle weaved through your blood and embedded itself into your skin as if to connect you and him.

Sighing, you brought yourself to move away from the topic of his cheek, eyes downcast. Jungwon clutched your palm, bringing his rosy lips to the pulse of your wrist. Your breath hitched.

"I... It's just one of those days. And I thought my worries would go if I saw you, but it seems I have another to think about," you explained.

Jungwon hummed into your wrist, again waving off your concern as if a speck of dust that was tickling his nose.

"Will you let it go?" He asked in slight mirth. You shook your head, and he chuckled. "It was Shadow the cat. A scratch. You know how he is."

"I don't." You blankly stared at him as he kept your wrist to his lips. Relenting from the position, he came around the counter, towering over your form, leaning on the counter.

"Believe me. Yeah?" His voice was honey as he asked that, cocking his head to reach your gaze. You hate how it worked because you gazed up at him with those adorable eyes of yours, and he tapped your chin.

"Help me close up. Maybe you can help Shadow calm down," he said, chuckling at the way your pout appeared and nudged his heart.

"Great. Maybe we can get matching scars," you said sardonically, pushing off the counter and heading to lock the door.

Jungwon scoffed, still facing where you had stood, finding your attitude infuriating, but enticing all at the same time. You were some kind of sweet drug, and he wanted it to invade his senses.

With the cats all in their designated spaces with the other staff, Jungwon was with you at the front, but he was cleaning the dishes. A few cups and straws.

You sat on the counter, watching his honey tan skin, the way his sleeves were rolled up and revealed the veins running down his arm and bedazzled his wrist. The undeniable warmth stirred in your cheeks, finding it ridiculous how you were inept at keeping your composure together.

Where Jungwon washed away, he smirked slightly as he spotted your sparkling gaze on him. You weren't very discreet. Not when your head stayed in the same place before darting away every few seconds.

The tap turned off. Jungwon dried his hands before stalking to you ever so slowly and stood before you with his shadow looming over you.

When your eyes met his, he swore his heart skipped a beat, skipped the hesitation; his hands pushed your knees apart, and you squeaked as he pushed himself right closer to you, hands slithering around your waist.

The warmth rained on your cheeks, and your eyes widened from the proximity. "J-Jungwon—"

"Shh..." He murmured, hands pressing your lower back and forcing your body too close. Tentative hands gripping his shoulders, the hitch in your breath betraying how your composure crumbled and allowed him to peek into what you truly wanted.

"Can I kiss you..?" He whispered when he leaned in, face inches away from yours. From here, the scar was clearer; it was dull, yes, but his whole cheek bone was tainted with red, as if Shadow the cat punched him with those petite paws as well.

There was no time to even think of the scar when he got too close, eyes darting back to his hickory ones. The stare held until you finally nodded to his question.

"Thank fuck," he mumbled before his lips swooped in and captured yours. Soft. Really damn soft.

Your breath hitched once more out of the many, his lips firmly moving against yours like a strong gale against a flower bed. It rendered you breathless, but when you pulled away, you gripped his biceps tighter and dived in for another.

Startled, Jungwon tightened his embrace around your waist, feeling the curve of your body press into his, your lips now littering and staining admiration onto him

When you sighed again, he departed for some air, breaths slightly shaky. Your lips were slightly swollen, eyes glistening with something new and exciting that made his hunger crave more of whatever you were enchanting him with.

He saw the exact way you silently asked for more, those pretty eyes of yours fluttering at him, beckoning him closer. He was under your spell because why did he lean in for another?

Your hands tightened on his shoulders now, lips a feather away from each other, eager for another long reunion—

"You two are fucking disgusting." Jay had his arms crossed, raising an eyebrow at Jungwon instantly distancing his lips.

A storm of heat wrecked your body and cheeks, and now you wish you would crawl into the dirt and bury yourself there. You gave a small wave to Jay, who gave you a nod of acknowledgement mixed with the repulse.

A slight chuckle escaped Jungwon, hands still locked around your waist. "You could have just walked back into the other room."

"And leave you two unsupervised? On the counter? As if I hadn't seen this before?" He inquired, each question heightening your embarrassment. But Jungwon didn't even mind it, smirking impishly at Jay.

"What movies have you watched?"

"Shut up."

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The marks persisted. Some days, it would be mostly on his face, and then other days, the scars would bloom on his jaw, shoulder, and at one point, you saw him wince, clutch his side when he bent down to grab the cat bowl.

It was painfully clear he was concealing something beneath the surface, and he wanted to keep you out.

But fine. If he didn't want to tell you, why would you force him? Logically, it wouldn't be serious if he never told you otherwise. So, you dropped the idea of the suspicious little wounds at random spots and let it go.

Until today.

Another day, another decision to bunk the later class. It was two hours long, meaning two hours of absolutely useless droning from that professor you despise.

Walking down the streets in the gloomy weather, you puffed some air into your fingers, scolding yourself for not doing the smart thing of bringing your gloves.

November was hit with a silent storm of cold, the freezing air everywhere at once, giving no one respite from its breath.

Which is why you want to go buy gloves right now. The shop you love was down the street after the corner of these other meticulous ones. The idea of buying yourself something was so greedy but gratifying; you know you probably have gloves packed safely in your home, abandoned, but here you were, shopping for a pair more to join the collection.

When you turned the corner, a familiar blonde sparked in your peripheral vision. Now, there weren't a lot of blondes in Korea, but this was... certainly a coincidence, right?

Your supposed situationship was not going down some dodgy and dark alley with Jay? They strolled with ease as if this path was the most familiar route they had walked upon.

The buildings on this side looked... reserved, residential, even. This was no place that Jungwon could know because he never talked about anything else. Or, he never wanted to tell you of anything else he was doing. The mere thought made a crack of doubt in your stomach, the crevice thin, but undeniably there.

Do you follow?

Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. So, as a cat would, even though you were far from it, you crossed the road and sauntered swiftly into the same narrow path.

You had no idea where you were going and decided to follow this random dude, careful not to alert anyone. They all worse dark clothes, and here you were, wearing a cream coat. You were just asking to be looked at.

Whatever. The alley was dark for the most part except the tiny streams of light illuminating the black door at the utter end.

The dude opened it languidly, disappearing. Like the spy you were, you opened it swiftly and snaked yourself into another dim hallway.

"I better not break my ankle," you mumbled to yourself, using your palms to direct yourself down the only path that was also deprived of light. More doubt cracked whatever contentment you had with Jungwon the more you crept down the dark hallway.

What business did he have here? It wasn't normal to casually stroll up to a place like this and act as if he was entering the park or something. Too many questions relentlessly hit your head as you lowered yourself down some stairs when you heard it.

A crowd. Not even the demure mumbling—it was loud. Strident, and you could hear jeering, cheers. The dude opened another door, light spilling in instantly. Not wanting the darkness clinging to you, you rushed through the cheers louder now, but the room you were in was empty except the multiple, absent boxing rings.

Boxing. Jungwon. What?

In a way, you could see the connection of events: the sudden scars that popped on his skin like daisies on a normal summer day. But even then, your thirst of curiosity wasn't quenched, and, as much as you wanted to explore this empty hall, you strode silently behind the dude.

The door he next opened was through another hallway, but at least there was a single bulb to provide the weak excuse of light. It was grey, plain, and had no indication of what stood behind it, but the closer you ventured, the more those cheers became prominent.

The dude seamlessly opened it and entered like the wind. Puffing out some air yourself, you approached it and buried the anxiety of what you would find. Maybe Jungwon. Or maybe something terrible.

What you didn't expect was a dim, shady part of the building with a boxing ring in the middle, a crowd swarming it with their cheers and conversations, and bang in the middle was Jungwon.

Shock froze your body, all your nerves as you stood away from the crowd, afraid of exposing yourself.

He was sweaty, to say the least; he donned a white shirt, blue pants with thick, white boxing gloves, and his golden hair stuck to his forehead. His feline eyes were sharp, focused on the opposing player, who just about entered the ring.

The referee, you assumed, stayed in the middle, holding this microphone, grinning widely.

"Welcome to the next round! Remember to put the money on the person that would most likely win!" He explained to the crowd.

Bets. Money. Gambling. The sudden doubt and bewilderment snaked around your chest and throat, making it hard to even breathe. You leaned against the pillar, mostly to stay hidden.

"As you know him, we have our returning fighter—Jungwon!" The crowd cheered at his name, familiarised with his status. From that, you knew he came here often.

The MC introduced the other dude, but you honestly weren't listening. You were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Jungwon was a fighter for this gambling underground fighting thing.

When you glanced at the building, you saw the abandoned atmosphere, the lack of equipment or care in the mouldy walls. There were a few tables here and there, chairs stacked around randomly with neglect. It was totally different from the other side you came from.

"Fighters..." the MC said again, moving back so that Jungwon and the other dude could bump fists. The sudden movement of his veiny arms, slightly bruised somewhere, made your stomach flutter at the sight.

You almost cursed at yourself for focusing on something so irrelevant.

He's fighting, and here you are, flustered over the tan colour of his flawless skin. Shaking your head out of it, the ding rang through, and the crowd jumped and cheered louder.

Jungwon was poised, circling around and keeping a distance at first from the dude dressed in a blue tracksuit. You couldn't stop looking, the crowd fading out in your ears.

Then, Jungwon lunged so fast in a single stride, his fist connecting swiftly with the man's ribs that it pushed him back.

The blue man backed up, then struck his first move. The fist flew towards Jungwon in the face, but he only defended, arms brought up vertically before his gaze. The crowd cheered again when Jungwon's posture grew aggressive, eyes sharpening instantly.

One glove hit the blue man's ribs again, the left side, and his other used the distraction to deliver a left hook sharply to his jaw. You gasped as the blue dude staggered backwards, hitting the ropes.

This man, the same dude who worked at a cat café was beating a man up. In a bet. It was as if you went down a rabbit hole and ended up somewhere absurd and nonsensical.

Jungwon didn't end there and used blue dude's foot failure to deliver two sharp blows to his stomach, causing him to double over. Another chance that Jungwon saw—he rained his fists down to the man's nape, then shifted to delivering brusque punches to the side of his face.

Almost as if you could feel the strength put into it. Whatever strength it was, it sent the dude to his knees, head writhing on the floor of the ring.

Even when the cheers erupted louder than before, the only thing floating to the surface was how secretive Jungwon was. He had managed to mask the scars with silly excuses and mishaps—but this?

This was a whole other level of what you expected. And he kept it a secret from you. Why? You couldn't find it in you to claw at the anger; rather, you were just bewildered.

Stepping away from the pillar, you planned to head out and clear your polluted head of the dark lights and dark fight. Even then, you cast one more glance back, and your breath hitched as Jungwon's gaze turned to you, freezing you in place.

His smile faded, just like your knowledge of him from the past few weeks, and he tore off his boxing gloves before hopping down to the musty ground. The crowd gave way as the winners went to get their money, and the losers grew desolate.

For some reason, you remained in place, hoping that whatever he was about to say would eradicate this new view of him. But it was selfish to think that you could just ignore what you saw, to keep this memory in a bubble that you hoped to never pop. Though, it wasn't reality.

With a calculated walk, he approached swiftly but softly locked your fingers together and led you away from the main scene towards a different set of doors, his expression saying absolutely nothing. You let him do so.

The silence once entering the hallway was harsh, almost suffocating. His heavy footsteps broke it as he pulled you along to this door, shoving it open and revealing a simple locker room.

Clean, lit, and well-organised.

Once you were in, he shut and locked the door, his back facing you, as if he didn't know what words to say. Even you, who had a plethora of thoughts and questions, couldn't bring yourself to inquire what kind of shit just went down back there.

Jungwon sighed, leaning on the door on his elbows before turning; his face was shining with sweat, a small bruise on his jaw with golden locks damp and stuck to his forehead. When he saw your perplexity, he quickly glanced away.

It's fine if he didn't want to talk. Your voice was still lost, even whilst he was doing a brief shower in the next room. Sitting on a random bench, you heard the water stop running behind you, the rustle of the metal rings as he pulled the curtain.

This was too intimate, but if you weren't so confused, you would have acknowledged it and allowed to twist your thoughts into a blushing mess.

There had to be something reasonable; a crevice that you missed that contained the reason of his expressive dance of aggression. You fiddled with your dress as he moved behind you, head lowered and desperate to shed light on the answer.

"Y/n..?" His voice rang out behind you, as if the time had finally come to face him. You were silent, unmoving.

The footsteps came around, and suddenly, he was crouching before you, his blonde locks now fluffy, his body donning a black shirt and loose pants, and his hickory eyes stubbornly gazed at you.

It just managed to melt whatever was frozen in your chest and mind. Almost.

Tentative, he held both your hands, careful, but you didn't pull away. You actually missed it. You missed more than that; your gaze flickered to his lips but darted away, sighing.

"Why did you come here—how did you even find this place?" Jungwon began saying softly, squeezing your hand.

"Is that all you're worried about? How about you tell me what this place is?" You remarked, the doubt from before resurfacing like a solid piece of ice to prick your nerves.

Jungwon sighed and held your hands tighter, not wanting to lose whatever connection had you and him tied together. "I will, I just..."

He hesitated. "You weren't supposed to find this place."

"And yet, you're in it. And, so many people are as well. It wasn't hard to follow," you said again quietly, your breaths shaky from containing your bewilderment and apprehension.

What if this was an illegal gambling thing? What if this could get him pulled into a storm with the law if he was found out? Too many risks, and he's so calm about it.

"Okay. I'll explain." He stood from the floor before seating himself beside you, searching for the beginning and the reasons deep in his memory.

"It's underground fighting. They bet on us, yeah, but it's optional. It doesn't make it better, but the reason why I joined is because of the money," he said. Your left hand was in his lap, interlaced with his own fingers, while your gaze remained on the floor.

"You know how I told you I ran away?" He said with hope, to which you nodded slowly. "I needed quick money. Extra, quick money. The cat café wasn't enough, I turned to this. I couldn't stand being a burden, and I still can't."

The more he explained, the more he managed to melt that icy doubt away, soothing it. You listened, eyes flickering to his, which held the shining gratitude for your patience.

It made you realise that he wanted your understanding rather than keeping you in the dark. He took the effort, and you couldn't look away.

"Not only did I learn boxing, I learned how to be in control of my own life. All my life, I was never enough, and it was always shoved in my face. Boxing helped me just... vent. And, not to hurt people — that's not the point. But to finally feel like I was doing something useful to myself and that I wanted to do it for myself. The skills I gain here—they're mine." He held your hand tighter, sensing the relaxation in the way you grasped his hand back.

Jungwon knew yours and his life was different: you had money stuck to your background and present, privilege floating around you like a bubble, whilst he scraped his life, took the token of bravery to get where he was today. He didn't expect you to understand easily, but what he did know was how you radiated empathy.

You held his hand tighter, finally facing his heavy eyes with guilt for having so much bewilderment and judgement hitting at him. "I'm sorry. I just... I was confused."

You didn't expect his soft chuckle, but it gave you the gnawing butterflies all the same, heat creeping up your chest and your neck.

"Don't worry about it. It's my fault for not telling you earlier." Jungwon smiled.

"So, Shadow, the cat wasn't responsible for this one?" You asked, cupping the side of his jaw with a new field of purple and red on his skin. Sheepishly, he grinned again from your reminder of his web of lies.

"No. He wasn't," Jungwon replied with mirth. You tutted.

"You threw him under the bus. I knew he was a sweetheart," you said with a small pout of disbelief. He chuckled, having the strong urge to nibble on your lower lip, but he held back. He rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. That was my big secret. I blamed the cat for my antics." He leaned in slightly as his grip crept to your waist, hooking around you like a sly snake desiring one thing. The touch made you squeak, your eyes widening slightly.

"I can't believe you're defending the cat so easily..." He mumbled, tugging you closer until your hands gripped his shoulders and your faces were close enough to entice you.

There was an intense mischief in his eyes, ones that sparkled in the way that you loved it, in the way that you couldn't reject.

"The cat didn't keep secrets," you remarked softly, hands sliding around his nape, making him intake a sharp breath before chuckling at the infuriating sass you always hit him with. He tightened the grip on your waist, fingers pressing into the small of your back.

"Okay. I got it. No more secrets," Jungwon said, now a breath away from your lips, staring with warmth and a promise that shone heavily in his gaze.

"Promise?" You whispered. Jungwon smirked and nodded.

"Promise," he murmured back before closing the distance between your lips, the softness capturing yours and making your mind blank. No thoughts dared to interrupt you as your lips moved fervently against his.

Jungwon huffed and delved into another, tongue boldly tracing the seam of your lips, crossing whatever boundaries you had set. He hadn't even confessed to you, but friends don't kiss like this.

You don't even like the idea of friends. It left a bitter thought, like a scent lingering after many days. And you grew sick of it.

With a groan, your lips parted and the warmth of his tongue joined yours; your heart pounded, the drums of them raging and bellowing in your ear. It was as if your heart was declaring what you had for Jungwon even if you didn't say it.

He pulled you closer, hands strongly lifting you onto his lap, straddling him only for you to clutch his collar, tilting your face as you kissed him once more, stealing his breath. Jungwon breathing chuckled against your pretty lips, one hand cupping the back of your head, and the other enclosing your waist.

He trapped you in his touch, and you weren't complaining. You felt the heat of his torso against yours, body curving into his like a perfect puzzle.

When he finally departed, he breathed heavily, soft pants exchanged between the two of you. With your forehead against his, Jungwon's gaze met yours again.

Desperate and mellow, wanting to yearn for your trust again, for your touch to soothe the guilt stuck to his nerves.

"No more secrets."

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Over the past month, you and him shared kisses in privacy, going on dates whilst you tailored lies for your parents to wear.

It wasn't like you were embarrassed—no—but your parents had standards of who you dated. If they found out you dated a boxer, someone that worked at a simple cat café, they would certainly freak out and subtly implement more supervision than needed.

And, you didn't need that right now. To be treated like an inept child unable to think for herself.

He understood, and he made sure to make every kiss and touch last longer, to stretch across oceans and make you forget that you were drowning in the tasks of everyday life.

Though, Jay did fully ban you and him after hours in the café after he found you and Jungwon making out in the janitors closet.

"Are you guys homeless, or do you just like making my day worse by doing it at a public place," Jay had said, making you shield yourself with Jungwon and his laughing self.

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Well, one day...

Jungwon was working, as usual, when these girls nearby gossiped among the feline friends. He slightly paused his work at the counter, pretending to be fussed with his monitor.

"If your man doesn't get you at least, I don't know, a promise ring, is he even in the same relationship?" One girl scoffed as she sat on the floor nearby.

Now, Jungwon wouldn't usually care about such conversations, but his imaginary ears perked anyway: if it wasn't for your birthday coming up, he would ignore them. Except, the idea of getting a gift sent a heavy stone of doubt into his chest. He was too curious now and let his curiosity overtake him in an attempt to soothe the lament anchoring at his ribs.

He inched closer, masking it as a job to dust off one of the pastel counters.

"For real. They have to mean it, and that means getting something expensive," the other girl said with a giggle.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, gripping the cloth a little tighter. Your birthday was soon. And he wanted to make this perfect and worth it. Even if he had to do one more fight to scrape that money.

Jungwon raised a sceptical eyebrow, rubbing down the counter more to get rid of the nonexistent dirt. With your birthday being soon, the only priority was making sure that his gift was weaved with sincerity. But, what was worth that sincerity?

Was it the money? The expenses? Did he need to scrape more cash to prove his love for you through his gift?

To be honest, he wouldn't mind enduring more fights if that meant lighting up your eyes with those stars that always uncovered themselves with any ray of joy.

You were worth all the bruises.

Besides, he didn't want to let his financial situation set a barrier as to what he could do to deliver an adequate present. With what you endured during university, working hard to stay afloat in your studies, you probably craved a moment of respite, a moment in a bubble that was far from reality.

When he got his break, he sat down in the café where it was empty, Shadow curling in his lap as he scrolled online for a 'promise' ring. It couldn't be hard. It also couldn't be that expensive.

He was thoroughly wrong when he stumbled across a decent and dainty ring but immediately tossed his phone on the floor when he observed the string of zeroes and numbers.

Before the decimal point as well.

A puff of air left him, forcing out the lingering cloud of apprehension.

Shadow meowed as if he was judging him, those green eyes blinking up at him. Annoyed, Jungwon frowned and crossed his arms.

"You don't even have fingers. You can't judge me."

Shadow immediately jumped off his lap, making Jungwon's exasperation sunk deeper into his chest. He threw his arms in the air. "I didn't mean it!"

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Jungwon thought long and hard to the point his brain must have burned itself out, his patience being thinner than the strand of hair.

Who knew the stress of gifts would be weighing down on his soul that much. At boxing practice, his hooks were messy, unfocused and he ended up jolting pain up his shoulder.

There wasn't anymore time because your birthday had arrived; the skies were somewhat cloudy, the icy air nipping at his skin and brushing past his golden locks. Jungwon avoided the cold by a black coat and a thick scarf that practically swallowed his face.

"Jungwon!" You squealed from afar, jogging to him with a bounce in your step. He couldn't help but smile, his heart warming as you jumped into his arms, and he spun you around.

Those soft giggles of yours filled his ears, like honey, and he grinned down at you once safely on the concrete.

"Happy birthday, my love," he said with a tilt of his head, finding your sincere joy utterly adorable. He held your waist as you gripped his shoulders.

"Thank you! Nice scarf, by the way," you commented, hand running down the orange and green fabric, the thickness surprising you.

"Thanks. I can't risk catching a cold on my day off," he murmured, kissing you firmly on your temple. That alone sent your heart to beat too fast for your own good, your breath hitching as he did. You could never grow tired of this type of intimacy.

"So, you wanted to take me out?" You began to walk with him down the street in your thick coat. Jungwon nodded.

After he had searched for a promise ring, he found himself meeting dead ends at every corner. It was frustrating, to say the least, but it meant scavenging for a new solution to the gift problem.

"Well, I know you love doing your nails. And, I think they're due for another check-up, right?" He asked as his warm hand hoisted yours to his gaze, firmly clutching yours. Indeed, some nails were chipped away with time.

"Yeah, yeah, I am due. But, you don't need to," you reassured Jungwon earnestly. As if you had said something ridiculous, he scoffed as he focused on the path ahead.

"It's your birthday. Why wouldn't I do your nails. I want to do something meaningful for you," Jungwon explained, his voice soft and layered with endearment.

You clutched his hand tighter, somehow wanting to connect you to him more than you already were. Both hands swung between you and him as the warmth threaded delicately into your chest. "It can get pricey, that's all."

Jungwon stopped walking, and you were pulled back to spot the igniting determination.

"I want to. I know what I want," he said, taking a close step forward to linger over you. "And that's to make you happy."

Flutters erupted in your stomach again, small butterflies freed in the pits of your guts, making a smile tug your lips. He was sweet, so full of personality, and you always saw his kindness in the way it decorated his actions.

How could anyone not like him? You would rather leave that irrelevant question unsolved.

You started walking again, pulling him along with a stupid, giddy smile and intertwined hands.

Jungwon didn't comment on it, letting the internal glee shower you like blossoms.

Watching you at the nail salon was not as boring as he thought it would be. The interior was soft and dim as the nail technician chipped off the older charms, scraping the glue off your nails.

To Jungwon, it looked painful, but you weren't even flinching from any agony. Or, you were really good at hiding it.

Whatever it was, Jungwon didn't complain because he, himself, was enamoured by the way you yapped about your day, something about this girl at university annoying you out of your mind during lectures.

But did Jungwon know the details? No. Did he even pay attention to what the girl said that apparantly ripped you to academic misery? No.

When he had looked at you in that moment, it was as if the sunlight magically appeared, beaming down on you, making your laugh seem like a symphony that soothed his soul, and your mannerisms after each incredulously sentence was oh so endearing. You were like an angel, blinding all his senses with your light. He sat there with his chin propped on his palm, eyes unblinking.

"And, you know I hate team projects—hey, are you listening?" Your voice snapped him out of his daydream. He cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed.

"Yeah, of course," he murmured as if it was an obvious answer. By the look in his sheepish smile, you knew none of your words actually settled in his mind, and rather, it flew away before he grasped any understanding.

"Really? What was the guy's name?" You asked, challenging him. He rubbed the back of his neck, pouting in concentration.

"Um... Ben—"

"I'm not even talking about a guy! I was talking about Yena! A girl," you whined to him, trying not to move for the technician. Jungwon chuckled and put his hands up in a mock surrender.

"You got me," he said with a smile absent of any guilt. How shameless.

Huffing as you turned away from him, your pout only invited his fingers to playfully poke them, the gesture forcing the heat to stitch into your stomach and chest. You could never get used to this, the butterflies that practically lived inside your guts and sensed your love for him.

Again, you stuck your tongue out, determined to prove that it didn't affect you so much, but you had a hint that he knew what he was doing and he was welding it as a weapon.

After the nail appointment, your stomach was grumbling loudly, needing something digest. Jungwon simply led you down the street, pointing to multiple restaurants.

The nails did do some damage, but he wouldn't mind paying for your food either. Ultimately, you decided on this normal ramen shop, the interior dim and brown, the lighting exuding warmth, and a wave of tranquillity.

"Ugh, I'm starved, Wonie," you said dramatically. Jungwon grinned, gently nudging you by the waist to the booth at the back of the building.

"I know. You must be so tired from sitting there and watching your nails," he murmured playfully, clearly enjoying the way you sent a soft glare to him, one dormant of any aggression.

Well, once the food was ordered, you and him had the chopsticks at a ready, the steam of the food wafting in the air, and a stack of tissues on standby.

"Thank you, Won," you chirped just before your utensils dug into the tteokbeokki. Nothing but pure affection bloomed in his eyes as he smiled again, one with sincerity.

"Anytime."

The dinner was a success with you yapping once more about the food, the nail design which you were utterly grateful for, all inspired by Pinterest. He only nodded and smiled, attentive to your voice as ingrained into the walls of his head.

He would carve your voice into his mind if he had to ever capture your exuberant gesticulations.

It made him think and realise that you probably didn't act like this at home. That you were forced to be demure about your wants and wishes, having to withold your tongue in the depths of your chest.

It was cruel that you couldn't find your voice, like this, to confront your parents; it wasn't just the studies, but it was also the fact that Jungwon was a secret. Someone in the shadows of your life, as if he didn't deserve to be brought into the light.

The thought prickled his composure, tingling his skin, and his grip on the chopsticks tightened as your voice droned on. It was something he didn't want to ask, but it came out before he could decide the rationality.

"Are you... embarrassed of me?" Jungwon stared at you with a stillness that stopped your previous conversation. There was a weight burning in his eyes, small as a spark, but still powerful to evolve into something more.

With a nervous chuckle, you tilted your head at him. "Of course not, Wonie."

He hummed, eyes leaving yours for a second to pick up some of the rice cake; your gaze was still burning into him, trying to dissect what he was implying. And why.

"I see."

"Why would I be embarrassed? You're literally one of the best people in my life," you countered again when his voice dimmed.

Jungwon knew he should understand. There was more to it, but in his head, he wanted to remind you that there were other options other than staying in the confines of your parents' boundaries; you could always trek down a different path, a path paved by your decisions. However, it was easier said than down.

"No. It's just that... I don't buy you luxuries, I barely take you out. I fight, for peace sake," he explained, his voice anchored by his own insecurities. His words alone told you he was secretly sinking in his own reluctance.

Your hand reached out to his, gripping it firmly. "I don't care."

I don't have a big ass job or working a corporate nine-to-five," he went on again, making your heart sting. You held his hand tighter, his eyes flickering to yours.

"I don't care. Really." You attempted a small smile that only made his questions rise deeper from below.

"Then, why keep me a secret?" He asked, rubbing your knuckles softly with the pad of his thumb. The question caught you off guard, your thoughts unsteadily rocking at sea from it.

It was true. Why didn't you? Because, what? You're scared of your parents, friends? Scared they would separate you and Jungwon?

Yeah, it was a valid fear. You don't care that Jungwon doesn't have the most colourful job in the world, but that doesn't mean you were embarrassed of him.

"I just don't want to deal with their shit," you said softly, grip tightening in his as if you tried to convey the weight of your parents on him. Jungwon held your gaze, munching slowly.

"You shouldn't be afraid of them. You're already doing so much for them, the least they can do is let you date," he replied, the tension bolted in his words.

"I'm not scared of them... I just don't want us to be separated. I really like you, Jungwon. I can't lose you," you suddenly rambled on, pouring out the vulnerability you always preserved around him. With his eyes softening, understanding slowly stitched in his gaze.

"I get it. I like you, too. But, I don't you to exhaust yourself by keeping me a secret," he murmured as he glanced back down, something clouding the hope that once stood there.

"I will tell them one day. They're just... on my back with studies and stuff," you explained again, recognising your own words was just a mask of the excuse underneath. Though, Jungwon nodded and smiled with a resigned sigh.

"I know. I don't want you stressed." He held your gaze, blinking with those eyes always void of judgement.

That was one thing you love about him—the undeniable understanding he had with your situation, how you always found a respite, an oasis in his arms. It made you feel as if you could tell him anything.

And, as he said before, no more secrets.

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APPARANTLY, GRADES WEREN'T THE ONLY THING YOUR PARENTS WERE CONCERNED ABOUT.

Having her tug down a dress down your thighs, you kept protesting and frantically questioning her; each time, she hushed your concerns and sewed your complaints shut.

It grew worse when your mother haphazardly did your hair, earning a few agonised protests.

"Mother, what are you doing—"

"Stop moving, Y/n!" She scolded.

Soon enough, you were downstairs and pulled into the lounge. It would have been a normal sight if you didn't see a new set of eyes and faces, all peering at you as if you were the newest thing to be displayed.

Discomfort stitched your chest into a tight space when you saw new sets of faces, eyes all peering curiously over you. There was an elderly man and woman accompanied by a younger dude with pale skin and moles etched under his eye and on his nose.

"Ah—here's my daughter!" Your father exclaimed, putting an arm around your shoulder, hoisting you deeper into this mess. Sending a look of bewilderment to your parents, they completely ignored you.

"She's lovely," the other woman said, patting the younger boy's arm softly but excited.

"Introduce yourself," your mother said with a hinted demand in her tone. You knew better than to question her right now: she had that look where her eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowing with glittering expectation.

Clearing your throat and waving slightly, you gathered your voice whilst they all pointed their gaze on you, the stares like needles to your skin.

"I'm Yn. Nice to meet you," You said. The other parents, plus the boy, all grinned at your tone, mistaking the confusion as courtesy.

Again, the other elderly woman nudged the young boy softly to go forward like you did. Once he did, offered a cordial handshake.

"I'm Sunghoon. Nice to meet you, too."

Said Sunghoon was gorgeous, of course. But, that didn't answer the question in the spotlight. It was still very much distracting you. You sent a look of bewilderment to your parents.

"Yn, Sunghoon and his parents have expressed an interest in you."

That made your whole world freeze. All your nerves totally halted in place, your brain chemistry dying down from that single sentence as you stared at her wide-eyed.

Shock shot right through you, stunning all your nerves into ice, even your thoughts. With wide eyes, you stared at your parents as if they had held the gun and triggered the bullet.

What the hell????

...

The dining room lingered with silence except the occasional clink when you absentmindedly stirred the straw in your glass. Gorgeous Sunghoon was poised beside you, drinking. And the parents?

They went to the kitchen as if to let the chemistry blossom between you and him. But, there was nothing but dead roots in place with your patience discreetly withering with it.

It's your parents and their damn noses digging into your love life and rearranging that as well.

Wasn't the studies enough? What were they so worried about? Were you that socially unavailable that you couldn't open your shell to new people? Is that how they saw you?

Then, there was Jungwon, who easily peeled away your barriers, finding the key and treading right into your heart. And, wherever he stepped, flowers bloomed behind him and created a sprightly path of life.

Now? This Sunghoon dude singlehandedly lifted all your walls up into immovable stone.

"Yeah, so that's where I want to work. My father thinks I can take after him in a few years, even though I kind of know everything." Sunghoon took another sip of his glass while you zoned out, circling the straw in your untouched drink.

"So, what about you?" He asked, fully facing you. It startled you for a moment, but you restrained the urge to roll your eyes, and set your cup down.

"I'm still in university, so. I just entered actually." You glanced at him, masking the boredom prickling your internals. Sunghoon smiled, but one filled with curiosity.

"Doing something in healthcare, right?"

Whenever you heard the core word, a single petal died in your head, making it hard to eve keep the composure alive. Even then, you nodded once and distracted your impatience by gripping the cold glass.

He hummed, as if pleased.

"Hard, but rewarding." He set his finished glass down, now leaning on his knuckles, examining your features with interest, as if trying to decipher how you truly felt.

In reality, you would do anything to be with Jungwon and do absolutely nothing because simply orbiting around him would ease all creases of boredem that you had right now. It was quite telling.

The silence stretched on for long, and you know you should have made some small talk, but this whole encounter, quite frankly, pissed you off to no ends, your serenity thinning to a strand.

Honestly, it was a way for him to take the hint that you had no interest to take this further into the future.

Besides, your interests laid elsewhere.

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YOU THOUGHT THAT WAS THE END OF IT, BUT NO. After that awkward day, you were prepared to meet Jungwon in disguise for a 'study session' with your classmates in town when your mother knocked on the door.

Without waiting a response, she barged in with a sly smile that curled your guts into tight knots.

"Sunghoon wants to meet you again!" She exclaimed, coming up to you when she noticed your heavy tote bag. "Where are you going?"

"I told you. The library," you said with a lie, making sure all essentials were packed in.

"You can't! He's coming over as we speak," she said, making you gawk at her as if she had shot another bullet at you.

"Mother—I told you that I'm not free today!"

"It's just studying. You won't be missing anything," she remarked with a hand on her hip, demand layered underneath her tone.

The dread, at this point, had rotted away in your chest, making your protests die in your vocal chords. You just sighed and dropped your bag onto your bed whilst she careened towards your walk-in closet.

The frown tugged at your lips at the thought of putting down a date with Jungwon, who had his day off today out of all days. The universe had other plans to subdue your happiness for some reason. What would you tell him?

Come to think of it, you hadn't told Jungwon of this unexpected courtship. It totally slipped your mind because you thought it was a one-time thing. Now that your mother brought you the news, unease bubbled at the pit of your stomach, as if the topic itself caused nausea.

If you told him about Sunghoon, it would just be messy: telling your boyfriend about the courtship looming over you like a storm cloud was not the best conversation to have. Besides, you are going to fully reject Sunghoon and make sure that this mess doesn't extend any further.

Telling him about Sunghoon would just be messy: who even wanted to break that to their boyfriend that another man was trying to sprout something nonexistent? It was almost laughable. Except, you were going to reject Sunghoon and make it clear that your stone walls would not crumble for him. Meaning... none of this would evolve further.

Your mother returned with multiple hangers, droning on and on about how to impress the family.

When she wasn't looking, you rolled your eyes.

Again, the dinner at the table was mostly held by the chatter of the parents, their boisterous laughter and audacious words about work and business was a enough to lull you to sleep.

Whilst your fork stabbed into a strawberry, Sunghoon sipped his tea once more, his gaze landing on you and attempting to break apart your expression.

"You don't look pleased," he stated quietly, not enough for the parents to hear. A small sigh escaped your lips when thinking of how to approach this without seeming like a brat about it.

"Can I be honest, Sunghoon?" You turned to him slightly. He nodded easily.

"I'm not... interested in taking this further," you admitted, not knowing why apprehension weaved into your chest and made itself clear.

Sunghoon looked away for a moment, maybe to contemplate why, or maybe to decide what to even do with that information. Then, he exhaled a slow breath that gave you no clue as to what emotion was flowing through him.

"I kind of know," he began to say, careful but resigned. You raised an eyebrow.

"I understand." He looked back at you with uncertainty and something else stitched deep within. You held his gaze before speaking.

"It was nice to meet you and all, but i think this will be our last meeting." You glanced back at the fruit salad sitting idly on the table, neglected and growing cold. Sunghoon hummed, nodding once.

Then, the silence rolled in again like a thick fog that prevented any words from rising to your lips. Relieved or anxious—you don't know.

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Jungwon wasn't the type to be suspicious of you. Or anyone, quite frankly. But, when you cancelled last week on the date that was a rain check on your other cancelled date, the insecurity anchored down in the depths of his chest.

There had to be a reason, of course. You couldn't be purposely doing so—you were too smitten, too entangled with his string of fate, and he knew you were in too deep.

So, what was the reason really? When he had asked you what happened, you texted something vague, something indubitably stitched with a secret.

Jay came over as Jungwon leaned back on the boxing ring, slapping a hand on his back, jolting him out of his thoughts. Jungwon cleared his throat.

"What are you thinking so deeply about?" Jay asked, snagging the bandage roll on the platform by his shoulders.

Jungwon could name a few.

"Nothing. Just... thinking." Jungwon crossed his arms despite the stones of doubt lurching at his internals. It was quite damn hard to ignore.

"Thinking. Hm, yeah. I've tried that," Jay mused with amusement, making Jungwon glower at him. Putting up his hands in mock surrender, he said, "hey, I'm just teasing.

"I know. It's just that I... ugh." Jungwon groaned, running a hand through his hair because his uncertainty was too strong, but it was also formed on the basis of nothing. All these negative thoughts formed without foundation, yet they were sky-high and dangerous.

Jay waited patiently for Jungwon to gather himself.

"I just feel insecure, you know?" Jungwon started as Jay bandaged up his wrist with the protective layer.

"About?"

"My girlfriend."

"Oh, good God," Jay said with a roll of his eyes. "What, trouble in paradise?"

Jungwon ignored the comment, even though a punch to Jay's arm was awfully enticing. But, he digressed. "Not really. But, maybe it's just me."

"Talk to me, bro," Jay urged on with his back leaned against the platform. Those words coming from his trusted friend were enough for him to just undo the knot tensing his muscles.

"She blew me off twice. And, I know she's super busy, but we didn't go out on my day off. Was kinda stumped," Jungwon explained with a hard hand through his locks. Jay whistled slightly.

"Well, did she explain why?" Jay asked with a tilt of his head, lurching the bandage roll into the air and catching it methodically.

"Yeah. She said something came up with her family. Twice." Jungwon frowned again, thinking from square one.

"You trust her, right? Like, she won't go running off with another man," Jay said but the younger one caught onto the joke snuck into his tone. Jungwon's ground his teeth together.

"She won't."

"Just making sure before I tell you that your girlfriend probably has her reasons. And, also just talk it out with her if you feel that disturbed by it. Seriously, you haven't even got into the ring," Jay exclaimed, gesticulating to the empty platform behind both of them.

Jungwon sighed again, deciding that the only way to distract his damn thoughts was to fixate on a choreography that was his boxing skills.

Once his boxing gloves were on and Jay wore the punching puds on each hand, he switched his brain off, and strengthened his shoulders, one hand near his face, the other slightly forward.

The sharp punches rang out through the empty room, each jab done with laser concentration. Of course, you lingered in his head with your pretty eyes and easy words, but along with you came the dark rain cloud of doubt, threatening to dampen his focus.

Jungwon went to deliver the punch harder, only for his body to stiffen and not turn. When the punch landed, pain struck up his shoulder like a bite, and he grunted.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Jay said, lowering his raised hands. Jungwon grit his teeth, patting his shoulder with the gloves still intact on his left fist, trying to ignore the crumbling calm.

"Don't ask. I'm having a bad day," he mumbled, leaning back against the sturdy ropes. Jay scoffed.

"Yeah, bet you are. You've been having one of those for days," Jay remarked, ripping off the velcro and dropping the punching pads to the corner. Jungwon watched, gaze wavering between reality and his memories.

The effect you had was magnetic and he didn't know if he liked how his thoughts all drifted to you, your lovely words, the sparkle in your eyes that seemed to fuel his igniting love.

Jungwon leaned over the thick, sturdy ropes, observing the other boxers loitering around the platforms, or having a quiet snack on the benches. One thing that did startled him out of his daze was the door creaking open harshly.

It hit the wall, a bang clattering through, and Jungwon tensed slightly upon seeing a neat and put-together dude. He had black hair, messy and loose like he had not bothered to brush most of it, and had a black shirt with pants.

The slight quirk of his eyebrows as he scanned the room gave the impression that he didn't stumble onto her on purpose. The smug smirk sent Jungwon's composure on another lake of fragility.

Jay stood straight, leaning over the ropes. "Um, are you lost or something? Never seen you around here before."

Said man gazed at Jay, then to Jungwon's prickly scowl before smiling diligently. He waved a hand in dismissal.

"I'm okay. I know where I am, but you're right about me never being around here before," he began to say, his voice deep, lingering in the air sharply.

"Can I ask why you're here? You don't look... appropriately dressed," Jungwon said with a tilt of his head.

"Doesn't mean I'm oblivious in my destinations. I can still grapple just as efficiently in trousers and a shirt." He grinned at Jungwon, making the mental tightrope tremble more.

This dude gave him an overwhelming wave of off intuition.

"I hardly believe that." Jungwon fired back, making some of the people on the room silence, and for Jay to give subtle jabs of warning through his narrowed eyes. Though, Jungwon was blind and could not see anything except the handsome man on a black attire that only seemed too inappropriately dressed for boxing.

The man smiled, but it was unsettling, like there was something locked away, concealed. He walked up to the platform Jungwon was stood on and tilted his head.

"You wanna bet?"

Jungwon instantly had all his composure and logic fly out the window and melt as he furrowed his brows. This dude had the audacity to challenge him, to question the strength of his skills that he built brick by brick.

Leaning over the sturdy strings, he glared down at the said dude. "Yeah. Bet."

That's how Jungwon found himself opposite the smartly-dressed dude wearing boxing gloves. It was infuriating. Not only was he wearing trousers, not even fit to stretch for comfort, but he was wearing shiny, smart shoes.

The type that glared when the light hit them, and they were slightly pointy. How ugly was that. Jungwon scowled deeper, the bitterness twisting in sharply, making him get into the stance.

"I'm Sunghoon, by the way," the man said as he circled around the opposite side. Jay watched cautiously from one of the empty corners. Jungwon didn't give two shits and scoffed.

"I don't care," he said before circling closer, swiftly and with impatience tainting his movements. He lunged forward on his left, right, then jabbed with both hands.

Sunghoon defended, bringing both hands up to cover his face. He grit his teeth before seeing the oppurtunity, and delivered an upper hook to Jungwon's stomach.

A small grunt left him, but he knew it wasn't hard. Recovering from the slight ache clutching his skin, Jungwon recoiled back a few steps.

What was wrong with him? His movements weren't usually so sloppy, and he could normally predict the next moves and construct a defense, a response before it even played out.

Now? Oh, now his skills felt shadowed. Out of the light, and it peeved him greatly.

Sunghoon circled again, assessing and scanning Jungwon head to toe, as if he possessed the same ability to predict his punches. How? To Jungwon, his skills couldn't be mirrored.

Maybe he was really having a bad day.

Narrowing his gaze, Jungwon huffed a breath and lunged forward. A dance from his left, right, left again and jabbing with force.

Sunghoon scowled, shifting to his left. The oppurtunity shined to him and Jungwon delivered a rounded and swift hook to Sunghoon's jaw, making him stumble back.

He couldn't help the satisfaction swarm his ego, but he didn't want to let it get to his head before the match was over, though.

Fire flamed in Sunghoon's gaze. Before he knew it, Sunghoon side-stepped quickly, deceiving Jungwon as he shifted from his right to the left. Not being able to keep up, Jungwon stumbled back when a harsh ache rippled through his right side.

Gritting his teeth to avoid the bubbling anger, he went to strike when Jay appeared, intervening with a stern glance. "That's enough."

Jungwon and Sunghoon panted slightly, recovering from the brief match that probably lasted a minute. Jungwon wouldn't mind if he had 5 more minutes to beat the ego and shit out of this cocky, rich dude.

Someone needed to knock that smugness off his high horse.

"Jay hyung, what gives?" Jungwon muttered with a flicker of frustration. Jay scoffed and crossed his arms, still standing defensively between the two.

"First of all, this dude isn't dressed properly," Jay said, nudging a thumb in Sunghoon's direction, who was ripping the velcro off the gloves. "And second, you haven't been having the best streak of practice."

Jungwon's ears flamed alight, the embarrassment from all his inept punches and techniques catching up to him. He didn't want to think about it, but when he did, the anger crashed down like merciless hail.

Just everywhere and undeniably jarring.

"I don't care. He wanted a match, I was about to give him one," Jungwon snapped at his best friend, who already had disbelief stitched into the lines of his face.

Sunghoon scoffed, shoving the gloves off to the floor, facing Jungwon. "It wasn't like you were winning."

"Oh, yeah? Let's finish the match right now—"

Jay intercepted, putting a hand on Jungwon's shoulder before his ferocity could act out. With a firm glare, Jay spoke. "Don't. We're not finishing anything. You need to calm down, even you, shiny shoe dude."

Sunghoon shrugged, not minding the weird name.

Jungwon slumped his shoulders, the anger gripping his head with thick claws, making it impossible to even think without glaring. He just hard the desperate urge to pummel his face until it was bleeding, until his own arm cramped.

Jay sighed and pushed Jungwon softly in an attempt to get him away from that pit of anger he was falling into. "Go, Jungwon."

He would have followed his hyung's orders had it not been for that imperceptible smirk curled at Sunghoon's lips. It made him look weak, as if he let Sunghoon run past the finishing line, when Jungwon hadn't even unleashed his full potential.

For what reason Jungwon felt so pertubed, he had no idea. Maybe it was because this Sunghoon dude was everything he was not. Money seemed to exude off him like his own personal scent, whilst Jungwon had cat hair clung to his trousers.

Ripping off the damn punching gloves, he discarded them before shoving past Jay to jab a finger at Sunghoon. "You think you won this?"

Sunghoon simply smirked, tilting his head with hands tucked into his pockets. "I don't need to say it, do I?"

"Nothing has been proved. Come back here this Friday, and then you can 'prove' yourself before an audience," Jungwon muttered with stones of hatred embedded in his tone. Sunghoon just scanned, unmoving.

Then, he sighed and nodded dismissively. "Fine. This Friday. I want to make it fair."

No words came to mind as he saw Sunghoon manoeuvring himself to the ground and dust his hands as if it was an easy task. But, to Jungwon, there was a stronger flame engulfing his thoughts and nerves, blinding him in the rage.

Jay, to say the least, was not impressed.

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The Tuesday was slow and, surprisingly, peaceful. Classes moved at a snail pace, lectures lasted for miles, and the only thing that kept you energised was the fact that Jungwon proposed to take you out today to a café.

One that he randomly found on tiktok and sent to you at midnight like the impulsive nocturnal he was. But, you weren't any better because you also lived as the night owl in your home.

The night held a different serenity. The silence was the constant melody that accompanied you in the late hours of night no matter how unhealthy it made your sleep schedule.

Refraining a yawn, the lecturer soon ended the class, and you packed everything up swiftly to get out of there. Three hours of that was enough to make a crack in your mindspace.

Today was going to be good—going to eat out with your boyfriend, share stories and secret jokes that tightened your bond even more.

Pushing past the glass doors, you descended the stairs and saw the familiar, black car with a familiar figure leaning on the door. A smile instantly appeared on your lips when you saw Jungwon looking cosy in his black hoodie and pants, his blonde hair reaching past his ears to form a messy style of a mullet.

"Won!" You exclaimed, jogging to him as he smirked at you, arms opening with an immediate welcome. Crashing into his arms, you engulfed him with your cheek on his warm chest. A minty scent pervaded from his neck, and you nudged your nose at him with a satisfied hum.

"You smell good," you commented, peering up at him. He chuckled with mirth before pinching your cheek.

"For my girl, of course," he said as you whined in feigned pain, swatting his hand away. Eventually, his sneaky hands glided around your waist and settled there, like home.

"What's the first thing on the agenda?" You asked excitedly. Jungwon pretended to ponder, eyes leaving yours as if to recapture his memories before returning to yours.

"Food, food, and more food." He lowered his lips and pressed a firm kiss to your forehead. The warmth travelled up your neck and cheeks, fully rendering you to his merciless affection.

"Perfect plan," you said with a nod.

"Of course it is, I planned it," he remarked, squeezing your waist a little before hauling you with him to the car. You laughed, holding onto his shoulders.

"I can walk, you know?" You giggled as he spun you around and firmly pinned you to the passenger door, his brown eyes twinkling with mischief.

"It's fine to carry you. You're like my personal accessory. I wish I could carry you in my pocket," he said, leaning in with words becoming closer and more intimate.

At his comment, you shook your head with an amused scoff. "Says you. Everything you do is cute. I want to put you in my pocket."

Acting offended, he put a heart to his chest as he tilted his head with a silly smirk gracing his lips. "You wound me, princess."

You and him shared laughter for a few seconds before he saw the light die out in your eyes, your gaze darting behind him, and your grin crumbled.

Jungwon, the ever curious one, did the same and squeezed your waist in worry.

"What's wrong?" He asked carefully as your gaze flickered back to him with newfound worry rising to the surface.

"I..."

You couldn't say anything, and with slight impatient curiosity, Jungwon turned over his shoulder, wondering what had gotten you all flustered like that.

It wasn't the sight he wanted to see, though: walking towards you and him with deliberate ease was Sunghoon, his crisp white shirt underneath his black blazer standing out in the somewhat empty street.

Even those damn shoes tapped like a death knell approaching you and him. Jungwon's gaze darkened, the previous jokes and humour vanishing in a flash, as if the rage he stored away had burned it all.

This dude must be following Jungwon. Of course. Why else would this dude have any speck of audacity to confront you and him like this? The urge to deliver a clean punch with just his knuckles was strong, the instinct like gravity.

The thing is, Sunghoon wasn't even looking at Jungwon with surprise—he was looking at you, as if he had discovered something odd and strange.

You shifted uncomfortably in his arms, leaning off the car and untangling yourself from him slightly, apprehension laced in your actions.

"Y/n, what are you—" Jungwon tried to mumble when Sunghoon called your name like old friends or something. The initial shock was a whip to his thoughts.

"It's funny meeting you here..." Sunghoon finally came within distance, smiling dangerously as he glanced at you, then Jungwon. Jungwon knew that he was commenting some kind of dots, that there was a clockwork of thoughts chiming inside that asshole's head.

Protective, Jungwon stepped forward. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

From the side, he could sense your confused glances between the two of them. Sunghoon simply tilted his head, jerking his head to you in a gesture.

"I was going to pick Y/n up," he replied easily, hands snug in his pockets. There it was again—another strike of confusion forming on the skin of his thoughts. Sunghoon knew your damn name.

"How the hell do you know her name?"

This time, Sunghoon gave an amused look before speaking.

"Well... this is truly funny," Sunghoon said with a slight scoff before darting his eyes to you, as if he had caught you in a web of acts. You quickly glanced away to Jungwon, who was blinking away.

But, Jungwon wasn't satisfied, his questions pricking him as he turned to you and Sunghoon.

"What the fuck is going on?" Jungwon muttered, impatience dappling his tone, and you could clearly see it.

Sunghoon chuckled and stepped towards your stiff stature, jabbing a thumb in your direction. "She hasn't told you?"

Now, the impatience was slowly burning his composure right on the spot. He grit his teeth, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"

A sigh escaped your lips, full of more worry of how to untangle this situation because it looks so wrong. Jungwon glanced to you, trying to soften his gaze.

"What haven't you told me?" He asked, taking a step closer to you with somewhat desperation. You know you couldn't hide it anymore. Not when Sunghoon decided to shove you right into the fire.

And, it wasn't fair to him either—to hide the secret that was Sunghoon and his courtship. Gulping hard, you glanced at Jungwon.

"... My parents wanted... they did this a few weeks ago. They wanted to set me up," you began saying, your voice barely fighting past the guilt. Jungwon narrowed his gaze.

"A few—do you mean two weeks ago?" He interjected with his body bolting with tension in every joint, thinking of those times you blew him off for those dates.

The panic seized your nerves, and you quickly stepped to him. "Yes, but I literally decided that I didn't want to do this! So, I don't know why Sunghoon is even here."

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow as it was all turned on him, staring at you as if he was calculating something before a glint shone through his eyes. You didn't want to find out why.

"Don't tell me... this is your secret boyfriend. And you haven't told your parents?" He scoffed, smiling with those menacing fangs peeking through. The doubt fully cracked Jungwon's composure now, the insecurities of the past few weeks rising to the ground and wringing around his ankles.

"That's not the point. I asked why you are here?" You interjected quickly with somewhat impatience as you glared up at him. Sunghoon just grinned.

"I wanted another chance to explain to you why our parents think we're a good match. But, I no longer think I need to be the one explaining," Sunghoon answered slyly.

Jungwon looked down, breathing slowly through his nose before staring at Sunghoon, thinking of so many things to say to this asshole, and to you.

"And, I'm not the only one who needs an explanation," Sunghoon added on as he looked to the brooding Jungwon, as if he recognised him. That's where your confusion sprouted.

"How do you...?"

"Boxing. The other day, we had a somewhat pleasant match, but we couldn't 'prove' ourselves," Sunghoon answered quickly, and neither you and Jungwon missed the smug tone buried beneath it. He clenched his fists tighter.

"I didn't know that." You glanced at Sunghoon, but he just let out a huff of amusement.

"I didn't know this either. But, hey, we all got secrets, don't we." Sunghoon crossed his arms, the mirth pricking all his words and the way he stood and gave you the same look. His words stung you, the hypocrisy in your own actions swinging back at you as you tried to divert the topic.

"I told you we wouldn't work out," you exclaimed in distress. Jungwon didn't understand how deep you and this dude went, but he knew for sure, that he disliked it deeply. He stared at you now.

Sunghoon dismissively waved his hand, fueling your irritation and desperation more. You huffed, running a hand through your hair before firmly turning to the taller male.

"Sunghoon. Leave. Please." You uttered the last bit with a prickle if desperation, observing how his resolve crumbled. He shrugged, giving one last look to you before narrowing his gaze at Jungwon.

Then, he sauntered away.

The silence between you and him could have measured mountains as you shifted on your feet, too apprehensive to even meet your boyfriend's eyes. Even from here, you could sense the questions he wanted to press.

"I... I can explain—" You tried to say, but Jungwon whirled around, lips pursed, shoulders tight as much as his jaw. You realised the delicacy of his mind right now, the trust dimming in his eyes.

"Why wouldn't you tell me? What...?" Jungwon groaned quietly, running both palms down his face in an attempt to rub off the exasperation in his features. You stepped forward, your thoughts jumbled in a mess.

"I... I didn't think it was important," you uttered, to which he scoffed now, hands by his side.

"You didn't think that it was important to tell me someone was courting you? That your family set you up? You know what?" Jungwon shook his head, eyes darting frantically as he crossed his arms in disbelief. "That's not the point. You could have taken the chance to tell them you're already dating someone."

Here it was again—the idea of pulling back the curtains to expose Jungwon to your parents. "Jungwon, I can't do that!"

"Why?" Jungwon snapped back in a way that shocked you. But, he didn't care. He stepped forward, putting a hand on his chest when you didn't reply.

"I know why," he began saying before adding on, "You're embarrassed of me."

Shock and denial mirrored in your own gaze whe you shook your head. Jungwon found it hard to believe anything else.

What other reason was there to hide the love blossoming between you and him, the unique petals that grew from the seed of your bond? No one else could replicate it the way you and him have. Yet, here you were, putting him deeper past the curtains into isolation.

The thought brought small shards of doubt and hurt to prick his nerves, to make his stomach tighten until he felt sick.

"I'm not embarrassed, Jungwon—"

"Then, why won't you tell them? Huh? To protect me?" Jungwon almost could laugh as he shook his head again, the denial and pain clashing together in a fight he couldn't predict.

The first fight he couldn't predict.

"No, you did this shit to protect yourself!"

You involuntarily flinched at the harshness in his words, but with your voice seemingly lost, Jungwon went on.

"Why do you let them do this to you? I get it—they want what's best for you, but do they get a decision in every part of your life? Over me?" Jungwon asked again, some of his voice losing its edge, but the anger was undeniably shadowing it. Your frown weighed deeper.

"I don't want to lose you. If my parents find out—"

"I don't give a shit about your parents. If it's us, then you should believe in that!"

Anger engulfed, suffocated you like a thick fog, forcing your thoughts and words so quickly that you didn't process your next remark.

"Of course you would say that when you ran away from yours."

The silence stilled him again as your words physically twisted his chest. He could almost spot the regret quickly forging in your eyes, but he was fixated on one thing.

When he told you his past, he told you that in complete confidence, to let his own anguish be lifted off his shoulders. He didn't expect it to be made into a weapon of steel that left him speechless and bewildered. No matter how much anger was brewing in him, the aftertaste of hurt lingered bitterly.

He stepped back, and you shakily stepped forward, remorse flooding your eyes and extinguishing that irritation. Though, Jungwon didn't want to hear it.

"J-Jungwon, I didn't mean that—"

He didn't listen, stepping back with a lump caught in his throat, his head on the verge of erupting. It was too warm, too suffocating despite being outside in the chilly weather. Heck, he wasn't even looking at you.

Yes, he left his parents because their control was like enduring constant stabs to his sanity. If he stayed any more, he would have been a shell of himself, a body with no soul to move him forward. Thinking of home now, he didn't want to retrace those footsteps.

His eyes met your teary ones, acknowledging the guilt beginning to ripen. His own breaths quivered but he forced himself to speak.

"I did. Yeah. But because they controlled me. You think I don't know controlling parents? I do. But I did something about it. It's about time you did as well. Stop latching on to everything they give you." He was breathless by the end of it but the message was firm and unmoving in his gaze.

It forced a shudder to pervade your body, the guilt growing like a toxic plant that only you were to be blamed for. Another step forward, but you flinched as Jungwon put a hand up to prevent anything else.

"I'm sorry," you whispered as he backed away, the agony storming in his eyes, the way he clenched his jaw a little tighter. You couldn't stop him.

You didn't want to stop him because deep down, you knew how he had wrung out the truth and found the seeds of reason as to why you kept him hidden.

It was your fault.

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THREE DAYS.

That's how long the silence stretched on for. And it was killing you. The more you sat and thought about his points, his anger, the more valid you found it to be.

How could you? The realisation struck deeper than any blade could, making you want to just scream and rewind the clock.

But, you couldn't, and you had no idea how to start off the conversation when you had offended him and practically watered his insecurity into a full-fledged plant.

University was rough, and on this fateful Friday morning, you gave in to the sickness plauging your mind and stayed in bed. Your mother didn't question it, but you know she would mumble about it later under her breath, and then depend on the wind to mask it.

When you had finally dressed into something more casual and washed up, you stared down at your phone, the reflection speaking to you in more ways than one.

Not only did you keep him hidden, but you also used his past against him. Whatever indignation you had at that moment crumbled like sand. You had no reason, no justification for the way you turned on him—and for what? To fabricate your own flawed actions? The look in his eyes pummelled you with stones.

Not telling your parents was a weak wall you had built to save yourself from lectures, from the disapproval that would have grown from telling them. But, you knew it wasn't worth the guilt that had blossomed in its place.

If you really thought about it, his insecurities had risen to the surface many times, chilling the conversations into awkwardness, and instead of melting away those internal problems, you just allowed it to freeze something unknown in the relationship.

You should have asked him how to solve this problem. Not how it would affect you: after all, two people make a relationship tick in perfect clockwork, and you only thought about yourself.

You groaned to yourself quietly, facing your ceiling now as you flopped back on your pillows, the stinging remorse burning your chest until tears rose to your eyes. It wouldn't do. The iciness would prevail unless you went out yourself to find him and his warmth.

A knock came on the door, and you lifted your head when your mother came in with some water and tea steaming up from a cup, all placed on a wooden tray.

Discreetly, you wiped your tears as she settled down the tray on your bedside table, sighing slightly. "Do you feel better?"

"Somewhat. Thanks." You took the cup of tea, the sweet scent and steam hitting your nose. When the liquid warmed your throat, it reminded you of the chill remaining in your bones.

She straightened, crossed her arms calculatingly. You didn't like how she was standing so you sipped your tea again.

"By the way..." she began saying as she sat on your bed. "Have you talked to Sunghoon? I still haven't been updated on whether or not you like him. He seems quite interested in you."

That name nearly made your eyes roll. Sunghoon—the dude that secretly boxed and then had the audacity to seek you out after purposely breaking the boundaries. He didn't seem to care.

Not only that, but the distaste he practically struck at Jungwon was clear from the way his narrowed gaze and smug smirk had appeared. It infuriated you, as if Jungwon was something beneath his shoe.

You shook your head, holding your cup tighter. "I don't like him. I thought Sunghoon said that."

"He didn't though. And why do you not like him? He comes from a respectable family?" She asked again and again.

The words almost made you cringe, the irony on them clashing in your head. Respectable? More like arrogant.

"He's not my type." You huffed, and your mother narrowed her gaze.

"Then, what is your type? It just seems like an excuse," she accused again, the slight sharpness cutting into her tone.

Instantly, you thought of Jungwon: he had those big, brown eyes, and they held galaxies within them whenever he was with you, when he took care of the cats at the café. His blonde fluffy hair and the small giggles he would let out that had the ability to draw you away from reality and replay it like a melody you desired to hear for centuries.

Most importantly, his support and understanding. Things he easily practised and sculpted with no trouble. He was so selfless.

And you failed to realise that.

Realising your mother was still awaiting an answer, the urge to just go find Jungwon grew. But, you want to make things right if you were to ever make you and him right.

"Mother. I don't. Like. Him." You sighed, putting the cup down onto the bedside table. She sighed, rubbing a hand to her temple, as if you had broken a valuable item.

"Why?"

"Because I just... don't," you said again, standing up as you went to your vanity, needing physical space before you lashed out.

Jungwon's name crept up your stomach, your chest and his presence swarmed your system. Your mother stood as well.

"That's not a reason, Y/n," she remarked back. And, you realised you had gotten her argumentative tendencies, hearing a lot of yourself.

You faced her again, Jungwon's warm presence once again wrapping around every thought in your mind, locking into each corner of your head.

"I just don't want him—"

"Are you serious? He's smart and respectable, and he would take care of you." She started listing off.

But, he wasn't like Jungwon.

"He's even secure, he would listen to you."

Not like Jungwon.

"And, I don't understand why you're holding back when I'm trying to help you—"

Your composure shattered as you snapped your eyes to her.

"Because I already have a boyfriend!"

You stood there, shoulders and body tense as your mother's face morphed from disbelief and shock to some kind of frustration that hardened instantly.

The silence was a heavy blanket, suffocating you instantly as you shifted on your feet. Then, your mother stepped forward once.

"You already have one?" She said quietly, her tone bruising. You lost your voice in that moment, so you just nodded once.

"Who? And why wouldn't you tell me?" She snapped again, making that familiar irritation grow in your chest.

"... I... I met him at a café."

"And? Who is he? Does he have a well job—"

"He works at the café." You corrected her, your voice dimming slightly as her eyes widened. You thought her damn eyeballs would fall out of their sockets.

"Works at a café? Y/n, what were you thinking?" She exclaimed.

"I'm thinking that this is a nice guy. And I really like him," you began saying, your arms falling to your sides, meeting her gaze with truth.

Jungwon had managed to leave a permanent print on you, a print full of colours and sweetness, of vibrant fun to light up your world.

"And, I don't care that he works at a café. He treats me so well, and he might not have a degree like you want people to, but I don't care," you explained with sincerity.

Your mother nearly gasped, running a hand over her temple again with stiffness. "He doesn't have a degree? Are you even thinking of your future?"

"I am! He would treat me well in the future! I'm not a child! I know who he is," you exclaimed again, voice rising against her own condescension, her oncoming tide of a lecture. She narrowed her gaze.

"I... I can't believe it." She touched her forehead again as if you had inflicted a disease on her. You grit your teeth, deciding it was enough.

On absolute impulse, you stormed to your bag and snatched it before walking right past her. She scurried after you, eyes threaded with clamouring alarm.

Y/n—"

Completely ignoring her, you walked right out of the house whilst she trailed after you with countless protests.

But no more would she control you or dictate that part of your life. She can't dictate your heart and bend it to her will. Jungwon already had it, and it was his to cherish.

You practically jogged down the street and realised she stopped chasing but you were moving, and found yourself ordering a taxi and speeding away. There could only be one place that Jungwon could be that you could think of.

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The cate café was still lit up by the time you were there, and you wasted no time in entering and rushing into the space. As you put the slippers on, you slid open the door to find the flurry of cats wandering about.

The sight would have calmed you if Jungwon wasn't on your mind. Without batting an eye, you strolled up to the counter to see Jay working on the till, tapping something. When he saw you, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Hey, I didn't expect to see you," he said with a slight smile. No doubt he's probably heard what happened between you and Jungwon, the pure selfishness you expressed.

Clearing your throat, you glanced up. "Is Jungwon here?"

Jay gave you a resigned look, shoulders slumping in a way that made your heart twist with dread.

"He asked me to cover for him." Jay sighed, something flashing through his gaze. You caught onto it, staring unmovingly until the desperation made you lean onto the counter.

"Do you know where he is. I need to talk to him." You blinked at Jay as he shifted in his place, eyes darting to and fro as if watching his thoughts run and crash into each other. "Please."

Jay glimpsed at your eager expression, and sighed. But, he nodded, which meant it worked.

"He's... he's at a boxing match," Jay finally said. Your heart leapt, too many thoughts rising. The guilt had released its poison again, making your eyes shut to recover.

A boxing match. With an audience, probably. You can't just wait for him. You were about to thank him when Jay interjected again.

"He has a match with this guy. This new, rich guy. It was a bet," he said, making the description describe Sunghoon perfectly from those brief words.

Then, the worry took its new place in your thoughts, floating thickly, chilling your body. He was fighting Sunghoon? No, no, no. Not that you minded Sunghoon getting beat up, but you don't want him to see Sunghoon and then have his insecurities jab at him again.

"You have to take me," you burst out again, holding the counter tightly. Jay hesitated before glancing at the clock. A few seconds later, he shrugged.

"Yeah, fuck it. Only an hour left of the shift," he muttered before flinging off his apron. "Help me close up."

With rushed actions, you helped Jay out with the cats, closing up the shop and then hopping into his car as he drove deeper into town. All the while, your hands twiddled over each other in your lap as you tried to think of what to say to Jungwon.

He was worth everythin —worth every lecture and look of disapproval. After all, this was your life, and, for once, you wanted to hold the pen and write down what you wanted.

The early evening sky approached over Seoul, light rekindling to the lamps on the roads and pavements. The closer you got to your destination, the more your urge grew to just jump out the car and run there yourself.

Jay would have joked about your state, but you seemed genuinely distressed and didn't comment on it as he steered into the next road.

Once parked, you and Jay got out, the darkness casting shadows over the narrow alleyway. Jay didn't stutter with directions as he led you down the path and back into the familiar alleyway.

You didn't question it, too eager to reach Jungwon and pour out your apologies for everything you had done.

Once reaching the dark doors, it was as if you were walking into a void from how absent the light was. Hesitating slightly, you pushed through it, the determination rising again.

When you walked forward a little too quickly, you bumped into Jay's back as he yelped.

"Sorry," you mumbled. He waved it off, even though you didn't see it, and helped you into the open light of the normal boxing ring, the slightly flickering lights, and the emptiness that surrounded it.

Just like before, you and him went down that dim corridor until reaching the thick metal door. Jay was the one to push it and let out the roar of cheers and encouragement.

The room was just the same as before, but this time, it was busier, it had more seats and tables filled with drinks and plastic cups, the shop-bought lights blaring brightly at the one platform that had two men fighting on it.

People clustered around the platform, cursing or cheering, a concoction of both that truly displayed the violence they were eager to bet on.

Jay led you in, and then turned his head a few times, but grew defeated. Leaning in close to you, he said, "I'll look for Jungwon in the locker room. You stay here in case you see him."

Agreeing to that plan, you let Jay go to be left alone with the crowd and your potential regret.

You were making a thousand different strategies to apologise, and even then, you couldn't even create a clear path of that. Everything was too disorderly.

You should have written a damn letter on why you were a terrible girlfriend.

When the cheers reached a peak, you glanced up to see one of the men, the black hair, blue jacket, and sharp nose. You nearly gawked as you saw Sunghoon triumphantly raise his arm in victory.

The host gestured for someone to drag the other dude off the platform, and the unease that surrounded Sunghoon was now too much to ignore. The smugness in his face was persistent as ever, soiling your memories and comfort towards him.

"The new guy has won two fights so far!" The host exclaimed, earning another nonchalant smirk from Sunghoon.

For some reason, this felt too horrid. As if Sunghoon's smile was purely because of the abrasive hits he had managed to get down, to almost build a ladder that his ego could climb and never come down from. It was purely a reach for dominance and internal power. It made you sick.

You gripped the pillar tighter, watching as Sunghoon scnneded the crowd before the host started grinning again.

"And so, for the next round, we have one of our best fighters attending! Let's see if our new guy can beat him. You know what they say—the third time is the lucky charm!" He exclaimed into the mic, and the crowd erupted again into ferocious cheers that forced your heart to pump faster.

You didn't like those words, the anticipation it had leaking into your veins like ice. As you watched closely, the host moved, and the people whistled and cheered again as a familiar blonde hopped onto the stage with big, white gloves.

When you saw the blonde locks, no doubt you knew it was Jungwon, and you were right. It was him, but there was a tightness in his shoulders, the tension in his jaw and the burrowed eyebrows. Even his brown eyes held a black hole there instead of a million stars.

You don't know whether it's because your relationship had smashed to the ground, or if Sunghoon's face was a clear target that provoked him. Or both. It was rational in a way.

But the sight of him tugged on your heart. The sharp gaze made your heart flutter in the midst of all of this coldness. As if your silly heart still managed to find a way to be drawn to his warmth and grow alive again.

The urge to stop him and just kiss him right there was a good idea if only you didn't have social anxiety and if you had already talked to him. Which you didn't.

The host grinned again, sly. "A juicy bet, this one. Remember to put your money in! And then, the fight can commence!"

People shifted and manoeuvred, but all you could focus on was the heavy steps Jungwon did as he circled around, Sunghoon doing the same as they kept their distance. Arrogance was a badge that Sunghoon wore visibly, the smirk living on his lips whilst a frown prevailed on Jungwon's.

The crowd thickened again, and you didn't realise people joining and entering, but you knew there was no way of getting to the front unless you wanted to become the people's personal rug. You kept to the pillar, leaning on it.

"Okay! Is everyone ready for the next fight?"

The crowd basically yelled in response, some not even speaking, just screaming. The host laughed and then gestured something. Sunghoon and Jungwon came to the centre and bumped fists. Jungwon's jaw ticked even more.

The host grinned and moved back out of the ring before a sudden bell went off. You held your breath.

Sunghoon lunged first with a bold jab which Jungwon defended, lifting both arms vertically to display his veiny arms.

There you go again, staring at something irrelevant like a new teenager. As if he wasn't your boyfriend.

When Sunghoon rained down on the jabs at his defensive arms, Jungwon slid to the right and delivered a hook to pummel his ribs, and then delivering an uppercut to his jaw that sent the crowd in a blaze of excitement.

Sunghoon recoiled and recovered in an instant and backed away, circling from the attack. Jungwon, however, he was tracking him, following his footsteps, a sudden fire igniting within when he hunched his shoulders and got into stance again.

Sunghoon sneered and, once again, lunged with a ferocious uppercut to Jungwon's stomach, and he kept going at it.

You gasped, straightening as you saw Jungwon's face contort in pain, but he used that oppurtunity to rain down punches on Sunghoon's nape and shoulders, delivering three sharp ones before Sunghoon faltered and moved away.

There was a slight slither of satisfaction in your stiff body, and you stepped closer for a better look, the lights from above hitting your eyes.

This time, the crowd almost gave a collected groan and laugh, as if they were mocking Sunghoon. It seemed to egg him on as he straightened, glaring at Jungwon as he circled about again like two opposing lions in a battle.

You saw Sunghoon say something to Jungwon, something that made Jungwon's composure break as he suddenly charged forward.

The crowd gasped and roared in exhilaration as Jungwon jabbed at Sunghoon's torso, unhinged and unrestrained. Sunghoon brought his weight to his left, then swiftly to his right.

Jungwon wasn't ready for it and stumbled back harshly when Sunghoon delivered a hook to his back and a jab to his side.

Your breath hitched, eyes trained on a retreating Jungwon, taking his eyes off Sunghoon to the crowd, towards you.

When your gazes met, electricity shot through you, making you straighten your posture. You wanted to tell him so much, but he was the first to look away when Sunghoon slowly approached again.

The brief eye contact left you hollow, empty, and your shoulders deflated slightly.

Jungwon watched closely, a newfound thought clouding his eyes when Sunghoon smirked again, fists close to his face.

The crowd was too loud, his body stiff and tired, and his mind burned in exasperation. Jungwon grit his teeth and let Sunghoon shift from foot to foot, getting closer.

When he was close enough, Jungwon stepped on his right and pivoted, ultimately turning his back onto him first, but his elbow collided with Sunghoon's side.

He grumbled, but Jungwon didn't let him recover from the stumble as he let furious punches spitfire at Sunghoon, right at his ribs and side.

He didn't know if he breathed, he didn't know if pain tinged at his knuckles and shoulders, he just hailed down on the hits until Sunghoon stumbled back, tripping over his own feet.

Even with Sunghoon on the ground with his arms vertically up before his face, Jungwon took the chance to stand atop him, aiming the damn punches at Sunghoon's stomach.

Sunghoon groaned in pain, squirming away, and even attempted a shot at getting back at Jungwon, but he only took the oppurtunity to deliver a sharp hook to his jaw.

The people around the platform practically broke into another roar, supporting Jungwon's newfound violence. For some reason, he kept punching, practically raining punched on Sunghoon's face until his hands weakly rested atop his head and when the bell went off.

Sunghoon was on the ground for too long, and the crowd all jeered and yelled in dispute or celebration.

Jungwon stood, not bothering to help Sunghoon up as he glanced up and saw you again, your eyes wide, desperate and sparkling like it always did. The adrenaline kept his thoughts running, so he turned away and got off the platform.

That made you walk. He can't leave you there. Your chest was too tight and holding too much to just suppress back into your head and bury away.

Remembering that locker room again, you retraced your steps as you walked around the crowd, rushing into the familiar grey hallway, pushing past the doors.

You saw the way he best Sunghoon. As if he was reassuring himself of something, something to prove. But he shouldn't need to prove anything to anyone, especially not to you.

You let your own fear control your love life, play you like a helpless puppet, and ultimately drain Jungwon of the love he deserved.

Once approaching the familiar locker doors, you flinched when Jay was the one to open it, eyes almost holding an epiphany.

"Jay..." you said breathlessly. He rubbed the back of his head.

"He came in here just now. In the shower," he said, stepping out into the hallway before you. Normally, the thought of him showering would be too intimate, but you were more eager to fix the cracks in the very trust you had broken

"Thank you, Jay."

You didn't wait for a response before bursting into the room, the small locker room empty except the shower running in the adjacent room. You bit your lip, fighting yourself on waiting for him or to talk to him from behind the curtain.

Your thoughts were splintering, about to burst past the dam that held you back. The surge of impatience was hard to suppress, and you entered the shower area with hope that it was only Jungwon occuyping the stall.

To your luck, you only heard one, and a single curtain was drawn at the utmost end of the bathroom.

"Jungwon?" You called out, your voice slightly held back, testing the waters. The shower turned off, and you heard movement, but nothing that was his voice.

Taking it as a cue to move forward, you inched closer to his curtain, fingers twiddling, the worry and burden of your own thoughts anchoring at your feet, like rusted shackles.

"Won. I... you don't need to talk because... you don't need to argue. I'm here to apologise. I was an idiot," you began saying, the lump in your throat forging through like steel.

"You know that, but... I don't want to lose you. And... I got so mad. I shouldn't have. I should have listened to you, but I got angry because... I didn't want to accept that you were right." You shakily breathed, head dipped as tears welled at your eyes.

You felt pathetic, but you wanted to push through it because he wasn't to blame.

"I... I am scared of my parents, and that just made it easier for them to control. I should have... I should have told you about Sunghoon, and I should have told them earlier about you. Because, Jungwon, you are so good for me. You're literally... the best thing I have ever had, believe it or n-not," you said with a slightly breathless and sad chuckle.

You sniffled, tears running down your cheeks silently, the vulnerability seeping through with every streak of tears.

"I can't... buy this anywhere else. You're seriously... a r-rare kind. You're not something I could ever buy. You're just... a miracle. I shouldn't have kept you a secret."

You let out another quivering breath, the silence threatening your composure even more as you wiped your eyes.

"You don't need to f-forgive me, even if I have told my mother about you. I just want you to know that you helped me at least take the first step," you said more quietly, not realising the quiet figure that stepped out from behind the curtain.

You kept going, the dam now freely flowing, streams of thoughts rushing out. "And... I love you, you know? You seriously... have given me so much. And, I didn't even try the same for you."

A hand cupped your jaw, lifted your face as your breath hitched in alarm. There he was, the anger distant now, with something softer and understanding. Guilt. Which you didn't understand. He was wearing a white t-shirt, black slacks, and he looked fresh.

The bruise on his jaw formed, but he didn't care as he stepped closer, both thumbs stroking your cheeks, wiping the tears away. You didn't deserve this much sincerity.

"Stop... stop apologising," he said softly, not being able to endure anymore tears blinding the sparkle in your eyes.

You weren't having it, though, your arms encircling his waist, face digging into his chest with more tears running down your cheeks. You don't even know why he's apologising when you were the one that created the hurdle.

He sighed, his arms tightly locking around your body, a cheek pressed to your forehead as if it was the only way he could connect any deeper with you.

"I don't like seeing you cry," he whispered, his own voice trembling. When you heard the quiver, your eyes lifted to see the remorse etched into his face, the frown anchoring his lips. "You don't need to apologise."

"But, I do. This... this all happened because of me. And I was totally out of line. And—"

Jungwon placed a finger on your parted lips, silencing your breathless self. He managed a small smile, but it wasn't completely weaved with joy. Just slight endearment and apprehension.

"To make you feel better, I forgive you, Y/n." He touched your tearful cheek, wiping away the guilt staining your skin. He didn't want to have you feel all that burden.

Confusion sparkled again in those gaze of yours.

"I forgive you. Even if... that comment did hurt, I know it wasn't... from a bad place. I know you have expectations to meet, but I also knew you were holding yourself back." Jungwon held your shoulders now, melting away the iceberg that froze in the center of your chest. "Do you know how much that hurts me? Seeing you have to hide something you love?"

You knew all too well how hard it was to even talk against your parents. The loyalty was a noose around your neck, and you had no courage to pull it apart.

He lifted your chin again when you glanced down, firm, wanting your utmost attention. "You shouldn't even have to feel scared. They shouldn't have that power over you. I just wanted to help you."

"I know... I'm so sorry, Won," you mumbled tearfully, and he smiled in sympathy again, shaking his head in feigned disappointment.

"What did I say about apologising?" He said softly, his tone dry of any type of command. Even then, you wiped your eyes, seeing his features even more now.

"I should have told you," You said again, voice hoarse as you wiped away your tears with your sleeves. He nodded, agreeing with you but the blame dimmed within you. It was just him and understanding.

One of the things you absolutely adored about him. Even after all of this, he still held the highest standards of care, making sure it was the most significant thing he needed to consider.

He held your shoulders, lips pursing and releasing a sigh through his nose. "I just don't want you hiding."

After all of this, he still spoke to you with softness, mellow demands and pleas. It took you everything not to apologise again.

"I know. I realise it now. You are right. And, I don't want to lose you," you said, gazing up at him again, the warmth of his hands grounding you.

"Me either. I could have... reacted better. I'm sorry for that," he said, thumbs rubbing the edges of your collarbone through your shirt.

You held his wrists, smiling after a while actually. "N-no. You didn't deserve my selfishness."

"You give yourself too much credit." He chuckled lowly again, shaking his head as your hands splayed at his warm chest.

"I think I deserve it. I caused the problem and tried to fix it. I... I told my mother. Let's just see how she takes it," you replied, pressing your forehead against his shoulder, giving him the opportunity to slide his hands to your waist, hugging you once more.

The thought of having to go back, face your mother and her possible lectures unsettled your stomach and appetite. You sighed as he slightly swayed you and him, chin resting softly atop your locks.

"I don't want to go back home," you whispered, sighing. He tightened his grip, stilling, and you noticed it, glancing up. Something was brewing in his eyes, dark, eager.

"Stay with me then." He retorted, voice slightly lower, practically sending your nerves to shudder from the spine down.

His eyes were cloudy, losing touch of reality and its problems. He pulled you closer, your torso bumping into him as your breath hitched.

"Well?" Jungwon murmured when you stayed silent. This was different, exhilarating, and stronger than any kind of pull you had experienced. And your heart thrummed, singing a different song and making you nod.

"Of course."

As soon as you said that, he pushed you back into the shower cubicle, your shoes tapping swiftly on the ground as you gasped. He pressed your back into the damp wall, but you didn't give a care when he crashed his lips to yours, moving desperately and trying to prove something different.

Love, perhaps.

"Mm, I missed you," he murmured against your lips, hooking his hands around you, one at your lower back and another to cup your head. Your eyes were shut, hands clutching his shirt and kissing him.

There were no words needed. The pull you ached for was clearly displayed when you bit his lower lips, now gripping his nape. He groaned loudly, not giving a care on whether anyone would walk in and hear.

The air was heavy, suffocating you in his embrace, but you craved more. You craved the anchoring love of his, the type to keep you rooted to him, even if it consumed your organs and thoughts like water.

Jungwon didn't stop, lips departing only to pepper deep and eager kisses down your jaw, all the way to your ear. Your breath hitched, but he held you tighter, hands skimming down your back until the hem.

As if testing the waters, he deftly untucked your shirt, and you sighed loudly again. You could almost feel his smirk on your skin, travelling down your ear and the side of your throat.

Taking it as a sign, Jungwon's hands dived beneath the fabric, roaming up your bare skin. You hummed again, and he pressed more insistent kisses into your skin, daring to suck.

You groaned breathlessly, your eyes fluttering shut as he pressed you flush to him, his built torso molding against your soft ones.

"Fuck, you're so hot," he groaned against your neck, nipping at the skin, making your breath hitch more, chest heaving against his. You held onto him tighter, feeling his hands running up your bare back, dancing across your spine in a perfected plan until he reached the clasp of your bra.

That alone sent a thousand ripples to shake your composure, a reminder of how he could take you apart and how you would plead for more of that type of destruction.

With his kisses heavy on your throat, you groaned breathily again, arching your body to curve perfectly to his. Jungwon knew his constructed calmness was about to crumble into an avalanche and reduce him to rubble at your feet.

He didn't open it opting to squeeze your sides and kiss your lips again, tongue tracing carefully. There was no patience remaining there and, if there was, it would have been consumed by the heat in your belly.

The slight dim lighting made it better, and you couldn't suppress the slight whimper as he pressed his hips firmly to yours to test your limits.

Jungwon smirked against your lips, departing for a second, and his one hand snaked to your chin, tilting your dazed gaze to his. Your hands stayed on his shoulders, your skin tingling with delight.

Jungwon's own gaze was swarmed with something, more cloudy, stormy with an urge that he couldn't hold back from.

"I could keep you like this all day. And, you would let me, wouldn't you?" He murmured, his teasing words striking you with heat. You fluttered your eyes at him, tilting your head as his warmth ran through you.

"We both know the answer to that," you replied. Jungwon smiled wickedly again.

"You act as if that's something annoying you." He chuckled, lowering his lips to your neck again and completely shattering the weak composure. He kissed, hands returning to your bare back, down to your hip and forcing you closer to him.

"Well, a shower room is not the place I imagined this to be happening," you remarked with a voice failing to hold together. He laughed lowly again, his smugness running through your collarbone. You held his nape again, and he squeezed your hip.

"We can wait. I don't want to rush you," he said, still managing to ask. You know it's the bare minimum, but you felt lucky whenever he did.

"I want you. So much." Your eyes met his when he lifted his head, eyes heavy with wisps of desire.

"I want you, too. Clearly," he said, accentuating his hips to yours, making it obvious. Your throat ran dry, suddenly aware of how far you were going, and that you weren't willing to retract.

"So much for waiting. Your body doesn't want it," you said, teasing him despite the way his own self elicited something heavier to flutter and consume your heart. He scoffed, still close enough for you to be molded to him.

"I know. I should really learn to hold back. Maybe you can ease it?" He said, raising an eyebrow as if his innuendo went unseen. Rolling your eyes, you pushed his shoulder slightly.

"Why do you need me to help your situation. Use your brain," you said with a chuckle when he had that familiar infuriated, yet amused, expression.

"You're killing me here," he murmured lowly again, lips and inch from yours, his threats doing nothing to lower your smile. "Gee, I wish I could just control my hormones, you know?"

"A real man knows how to," you teased again, being dramatic and exaggerative.

"Well, I guess I'm not real then. Just a figment of your amazing imagination. It's all in your head," he replied, contemplative as he firmly pressed his hips again. Your breath stuttered.

Even then, you didn't let the banter go unanswered. You locked your arms around his neck, staring up at him.

"My crazy imagination is making me see a crazy man. I think I'm having a weird dream thing right now." You grinned, eyes flickering to his lips. "I don't want to wake up."

At your sweet words, even if tied to a joke, softened his cloudy eyes, replacing it with the urge to kiss your forehead. His lips were soft, lingering on your skin and he let himself caress your cheek, as if you were the most luckiest thing that could enter his life.

"I love you." He breathed in the scent of your hair. Your eyes fluttered shut as you hugged him, grateful for it all. Grateful that you could be understood, forgiven after your selfish acts.

"Love you, too."

Just as he went in for another kiss, the curtain flung open behind him, making you and him jump. Standing there was Jay, his eyes scanning the scene, the hands around your waist, the fact that you were nestled in a shower stall.

Grimacing heavily, Jay rubbed his temples. "Seriously?"

"You didn't need to pull back the curtain, by the way," Jungwon said with a smirk, finally distancing himself from you slightly.

"And let you two continue God knows what in here?" Jay inquired, shooting daggers more at Jungwon than you. Warmth ignited your cheeks at being caught by Jay for the nth time.

"This is a public space."

"And yet you pulled back the curtain of someone's shower stall," Jungwon remarked sharply. Jay just waved it off, as if that wasn't the point. Jungwon grinned.

"You know, I'm right."

"No, you're not! I expected you to make up, not make out," Jay said with a huff, even though half of that was true.

"I would ask what movies you watch, but clearly you haven't watched a movie about fighting couples," Jungwon said with a wicked grin. Jay ran a hand through his hair, disgust sweeping over his eyes.

"Jungwon?"

"Yeah?"

"Get the fuck out." Jay sighed, and then glimpsed at your figure curled behind Jungwon, gaze slightly mellowing around the edges. "Not you, though, Y/n. Respectfully, leave."

━━━━━━━━━━˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱‧₊˚━━━━━━━━━━

"STOP BEING SO NERVOUS."

Jungwon huffed, brushing a hand through his newly cut blonde hair, only for it to flop back into place again. He frowned as you held his wrist.

"Stop, Won. You don't need to be doing that. And, I think wearing formal is enough," you said before dragging your eyes down his body clad in a black shirt, trousers and his pine green jacket.

He was being overly ridiculous, letting the doubts of meeting your parents get ahold of him.

After you had told your parents of Jungwon, they seemed reluctant, but ultimately, they had never seen your eyes sparkling with so much sincerity when you had talked about him. They knew that the care ran deep, too much to just forget about.

That's how you found yourself walking with Jungwon to your home, happily holding his hand and even squeezing it reassuringly. A subtle grip of his hand returned, and he let out another releasing breath.

"You're sure they won't hate the blonde?"

"No?"

"And, I'm not even wearing a tie."

"My father doesn't even wear one. He gets lazy sometimes and wears a clip-on," you said again, giving him that sweet smile of yours. Jungwon's frown remained, bottom lip jutting out as much as his anxiety acting like a sore thumb.

In all honesty, you know your parents will have questions, but that's the point of a relationship—to fight for it, to avoid any possible hurdles and untangle them together.

You wished you had done so earlier.

Jungwon nearly gawked as he stared at your home, the silver gates twice his size enough for him to know you weren't just an ordinary girl.

Of course, you were different, but damn, your home called him broke in five different ways.

"Okay, you ready? We can always cancel if you have any problems," you said, turning to him. Jungwon found it too adorable as your eyes sparkled up at him.

But, there was no point holding it off into the future. Otherwise, he would never get there. Holding your hand a little tighter, he leaned down to kiss your forehead.

"Yeah. Let's go. They're probably waiting."

Jungwon wanted to curl up and shrivel on the spot when he met your parents.

The reason?

He meant to give a handshake and found his hand curled into a fist as if he was dabbing up Jay.

The internal embarrassment hit him like bullets, making his smile tight and his cheeks flush slightly. He knew you were laughing to yourself at the side but decided against glaring at you.

Anything to hear your happiness.

Even then, his parents scrutinised, as if they had a built-in system to recognise his sincerity, and then, they nodded and gave a small smile.

"Welcome, Jungwon." Your mother said, those eyes mellowing as she lead everyone into the dining room. Taking it as a good sign, you held his arm, then slid your fingers to his, interlacing them, as if you had finally reached something you had been looking for in the dark.

All at once, those intricate webs of doubt broke so easily. It almost felt like dust.

After having some tea, Jungwon finally breathed when he went up to your room, eyes taking in the cream tones, the colours that were taken from your personality and embedded in the bedsheets, jewellery and stickers around the room and vanity.

You spun in the room, presenting your room with a small smile. "Welcome! Where do you want to explore first?"

"This room could take two business days to explore," Jungwon mused with a smirk, staring at the big perimeter that was your room.

"Does that mean you can stay over then?" You remarked, mischief glittering in the sky that were your eyes. Jungwon grinned, sauntering over to hold your hips.

"I mean, I don't want to just crash over here," he said, leaning down with voice clouded with intensity, slowly fogging your head as well. He squeezed your hips, maneuvering you back, and back until you sat on the bed before him. You raised an eyebrow.

"You're already manhandling me. Haven't we gotten past that stage?" You joked, crossing your arms. He rolled his eyes, smirk remaining like a stain he couldn't remove.

"Well, if you say we've exceeded boundaries..." He bent down over you, forcing you to slightly lay down on your forearms. "Can we explore here first?"

The heat exploded in your cheeks, refusing the ability to act indifferent here. Ugh, he always managed to crumble your composure so effortlessly.

"You're a freak," you said, giggling as your hand swatted at his chest. Jungwon shrugged, eyes wandering down your body before capturing your gaze.

"It's not like you don't like it," Jungwon said, tilting his head, continuing to inch closer as your breath hitched.

"I don't, so."

"We were kissing in a male public shower stall. I think you are just as much a freak as I am," he said with a chuckle, low, and made your stomach flutter. Even then, your stubbornness struck your next words.

"That's different. I was trying to make it up to you. Technically, you got me into the shower stall." You laughed as he suddenly hovered over you, a knee coming between yours as your back met the bed.

The mischief never faded, though, along with your grin that he loved a bit too much. He stared as if calculating and then leaned down again.

"You have a bit of a smart mouth on you," he murmured with his deep voice, lips a few seconds apart, eyes mesmerising you.

"So, I've been told," you replied back just as smoothly, eyes never leaving his alone, glittering with something genuine and true. He smiled again, a little softer this time.

"Yeah, well, can it kiss me then? I've been waiting all day," he said, hips pressed against yours now, his arm maneuvering your leg to hitch about his waist.

The action alone bloomed heat in your cheeks, and wildflowers that sprouted and rooted into your body with love. You cupped his jaw and brought his lips down to yours.

Accepting the invitation, Jungwon moved his lips softly against yours, savouring his time and your lips. Like a secret and silent conversation he never wanted to leave alone.

You wrapped your arms around his nape and he slid his hand to your waist, pressing in the comfort, the trust he had for you, almost as if he was molding it into your bones.

He departed and braced himself above you, tilting his head to stare down at you.

"You're perfect, you know?" He breathed, as if he didn't look like a fairytale himself.

"And have you seen yourself?" You remarked with a laugh. He rolled his eyes with no hint of aggression and gazed at you, as if he was analysing something.

Or, more like his gaze melted into you, softening and ultimately leaving him mellow and serene.

"I love you, you know?" He said again. Those words—you could never get tired of them. Every time he did say it, the world lit up again, and it was only you two in this world, gravitating towards each other.

Your breath hitched, your grin dying down into something more honest and tender. At the end of the day, you would rather not be with anyone else but Jungwon.

His sincerity was unmatched to anyone else you ever met. You may be biased in that finding, but with him, it was certain that the bond bridged between was sculpted with trust, care, and love. All of it needs attention to stay indestructible. Heck, you may have stayed as a puppet if it wasn't for him.

You didn't want to lose him at all.

"I love you, too... my freaky man."

"Oh, shut up." He grinned, nuzzling his nose against your cheek, his breath caressing you. It was cruel, but you laughed with him.

Sometimes, you think about it even later—why you kept something like him a secret. It was fear and insecurity that had clashed in your brain, eradicating all the logic you usually had.

And, for what? Validation? The type of validation that you would never reach because your parents stretched it to the ends of the Earth?

Even you have limits. You had let yourself believe that there wasn't when it came to pleasing your parents. In result, you had buried and crushed your desires in order for theirs to take their place. Though, because of that, failure came easier to recognise rather than the current success you had in your hands.

From there, you learned that you wouldn't keep your desires a secret.

Besides, your parents didn't even kill you anyways when you said you were dating Jungwon. So, it's a win.

Even years later, the remnants of guilt sometimes floated up again. Keeping Jungwon a secret didn't bring you comfort in the slightest; it only brought burden and doubts to you both. Keeping him in the dark meant he hadn't deserved to be brought to the light.

But Jungwon deserved everything.

━━━━━━━━━━˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱‧₊˚━━━━━━━━━━

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ[NOTES]: omg! Hi! If you made it this far? Wow. You all are amazing 😭. I'm sorry this was so long, but i hope you enjoyed <3

Thank you <3

⋆ཐིཋྀ[TAGLIST]: @haengi @yajw @hollxe1 @vixialuvs @dreamiestay @wontechno @jungwonchocochipcookie @meowwwon @page-espoir @dearestdreamies @yunjiiin @fancypeacepersona @readeryaknow @flawlessapollo6 @urmomssneakylink @wonys-won @vvenusoncasual @jellymiki @llearlert @xylatox @firstclassjaylee @jellyluv4eva @jayjw16enxp @tya0 @curryyed @kimbabikidding561

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highvern · 4 months ago

Text

Dessert First

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x f!reader

Genre: baker! mingyu, wedding planner!YN, fluff, smut, angst, exes to lovers

warnings: hate for the Dodgers, alcohol consumption, smoking, past drug use, lots of mentions of food, mentions of anxiety/poor self esteem, past toxic relationship, a little bit of jealousy from reader, fingering, dry humping/thigh riding, oral sex, unprotected sex, cum eating

Length: ~21k

Note: FINALLY WE ARE HERE for @camandemstudios Lonely Hearts Cafe Collab. check out all the amazing fic (26 in total) on the master list. everyone has worked so hard and im so excited to read them thank u pookie @gyuswhore @miniseokminnies and @starlightkyeom for beta reading and telling me this wasn't trash

summary: You've got a great life. Your wedding planning business is booming, your clients are great, and you're finally over your ex-boyfriend after years of pining. Or you are, until the universe decides to test if those three things are actually true.

collab m.list || m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Comment to be tagged in the full fic coming February 17th!

It starts with the coffee maker.

By all accounts you could buy a completely new one that actually worked but some sentimental part of you liked the baby blue machine with scratched enamel and an inability to brew a full pot in less than twenty minutes. If your coffee maker worked the way it was supposed to then you wouldn’t have left your apartment ten minutes late. And if you hadn’t left your apartment ten minutes late then you wouldn’t have arrived on the subway platform just as the train doors closed, forcing you to wait another ten minutes for the next train and by then the mist of rain outside devolved into a biblical downpour leaving you soaked to the bone despite a rain jacket and an umbrella.

At least the binder containing every last detail of your life for the next two months is safe.

Sprinting down the street, your shoes squish through filthy puddles. No point in taking the extra time to dodge them, you’re already twenty minutes behind schedule with a ruined pair of brand new loafers. The only saving grace is Joshua and Sarah’s, your clients, habit of running at least thirty minutes behind. Which is why you told them the meeting started at 10AM and not 10:30.

So technically you aren’t late. Yet. But you planned a thirty minute buffer to meet with the pastry chef and discuss color scheme, flavors, and logistics before Joshua and Sarah arrived to ensure everything went smoothly. As smooth as it can with clients that believe more is more and have no budget.

The cafe bustles to the brim with people trying to escape the tsunami outside and enjoy something sweet. Damp businessmen sip cups of coffee while thumbing through damp newspapers, college students cram over notebooks with cookies by their side. A group of moms cluster on the couches, baby toys and lattes strung across the table while they share the latest playground drama. You can see yourself bunkered down at the table by the wide bay window, typing away emails and finalizing calendars with a hot cup of coffee and one of the massive croissants displayed on the counter.

Joshua and Sarah insisted on using Dessert First for their cake. They had their first date here and you can see why they love it so much. The display case sits packed with cakes and pastries; tarts with jewel like fruit, iced treats that make your mouth water. The heavenly scent of almond, vanilla, and coffee clouded the air. Plants hung from the ceiling, a shelf in the far corner stacked with pre-packaged goods to go.

You can almost forget the chill seeping into your veins from the cozy aroma of vanilla and espresso. A perfect oasis in the middle of the overcrowded city.

You’re still ten minutes early according to your watch. Plenty of time to devise a battle strategy with whatever unfortunate baker owns this place. You couldn’t find anything about them online, no pictures or reviews that mentioned them by name; only one article in the city newspaper announcing the grand opening last year which obviously resented a bakery replacing the former pizza shop that was shut down due to a myriad of legal issues. Who knew money laundering was so prevalent?

Even when you called to schedule this meeting you couldn’t get a name, just one of the cashiers promising to put you on the calendar before hanging up without asking for any of your information.

Stepping towards the cash register, a lone employee taps a quiet beat on the counter with his fingers, lost in his own world. Vernon, his name tag reads. You're almost certain this is the same man you spoke to one the phone.

“Hi.” You plaster on your most convincing smile, hoping it distracts from the wet mess of your…everything. “I’m supposed to be meeting with the pastry chef. I’m—”

He cuts you off with a snap. “You’re the wedding planner lady, right?”

“Yep, that’s me.”

“I’ll let him know you’re here. You want a coffee?”

“A coffee would be great,” you sigh in relief.

“Cream? Sugar?”

“Nope, just black,” you nod. “Thanks.”

Vernon fills a mug almost to the top before sliding it across the counter and disappearing into the back with a swish of the kitchen doors. While he grabs the mysterious baker, you head towards the table in the window. It’s perfect. You can see the entire cafe and the street, with plenty of space for everyone to gather around. Plus, it’s far away from the A/C blowing steadily on the opposite side of the cafe.

At best, you hope your new colleague will take the stress of this wedding for the premium pay. Sarah and Joshua want a lot but they’re willing to put their money where their mouths are. And unfortunately, they’re nice. Pleasant to the point you can’t fathom telling them no.

There was a point where you felt the butterflies they felt, and you wanted the same dream wedding they wanted. Maybe that’s why you’re willing to do whatever it takes to give them the perfect day they envisioned. That, and the promise of high end clients if everything goes well.

You’re too busy organizing everything to perfection on the table to notice a new presence over your shoulder until he clears his throat. This isn’t how you planned to introduce yourself but you steel against the embarrassment of the morning and turn around. “Hi, I’m—”

Mingyu.

Any hope of this working shatters into a million pieces before your eyes.

Fuck.

The shock buckles your knees, collapsing onto your ass on the hard tile floor. Trying to scramble for balance only brings the stack of papers on the table down with you.

It isn’t enough to face your ex after years in private, there is no way the universe is this cruel. The only logical reason for any of this is you slipped and fell down the subway station stairs and are currently in a coma in the back of an ambulance. That must be what happened because this level of mercilessness is the type of thing only your subconscious could brew.

“Are you okay?” Mingyu asks.

Dejectedly, you slump on the floor. Kill me, you pray. But when you open your eyes, Mingyu is kneeling over you, eyebrows furrowed like he’s concerned.

He offers you a hand. “What are you doing here?”

You push him off, diving down for your scattered belongings to hide the embarrassment burning your face. So much for the dramatic ‘I won’ encounter you fantasized about post breakup. “I’m meeting the owner. What are you doing here?”

Rising to your feet, you try to keep your chin held high. Neither of you are winning in this situation but you cling to your pride even if it’ll kill you. You know what Mingyu is doing here before he even says it. He’s got an apron covered in flour cinched around his waist and that stupid Dodgers hat from college he apparently still refuses to toss out holding his hair back. It’s longer than the last time you saw him, curling around his ears.

“I’m the owner.”

“Of course, you are,” you laugh bitterly. “Did you know about this?”

“Obviously not,” Mingyu scoffs. “Do you think I was like ‘oh yeah, I’d love to work with my ex-girlfriend on your wedding cake, what a great surprise!’”

He respected your boundary to not see each other after the break up; only communicating through Soonyoung to coordinate moving out of your shared apartment. You hadn’t blocked his number but he didn’t take advantage of it. He didn’t call or text, left your social media alone. Mingyu turned into a ghost at your command.

No, Mingyu wouldn’t do this to you. The universe just hates you enough to make it happen.

Besides, it’s too late to cancel and even if you wanted to, Sarah and Joshua gushed nonstop about having their dream cake made by none other than your ex-boyfriend. You could do this. You were a professional. You’ve worked with far worse people than Mingyu, and in two months, you would never have to see him again.

Mingyu takes a seat at the table, watching as you do the same. You try not to show how flustered you are while neatly organizing everything again.

He breaks the silence. “How are we doing this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do I know you? Or are we pretending we’ve never met before? Should we make a quick slideshow about all the reasons we didn’t work out? I’m sure you have one.”

You sour at the comment but only because somewhere on your laptop is a slideshow detailing the epic explosion resulting in your break up, color coded by who won the fight. It was easier than explaining again and again to your friends how someone like you and someone like him just didn’t work. Especially when all they saw was a handsome face and a nice smile.

Lying would only come back to bite you in the ass later but how would it look for a wedding planner to work side by side with her failed long term relationship? At best, your clients wouldn’t care. It really isn’t any of their business why you and Mingyu ended things. The sour ending between you two wouldn’t affect work; you could work with someone you didn’t like. You did it all the time.

Worst case scenario, they’ll think you’re a complete fraud and incapable of planning the perfect day to celebrate their love since your own romantic life is a burning garbage fire doused in gasoline. They’ll think there is no way you and your ex–boyfriend can work together for the next six weeks to pull this off and they’ll be left in the ruins.

“We’re…friends of friends.”

“Got it,” he nods. “So friend…how’s business?”

You shrug, focusing on the small line forming at the cash register. “Good. Busy.”

Truly, business was better than ever before. Sarah chose you after her friend’s wedding was praised in the city paper as the event of the season. Thank whatever powers be that Jeonghan agreed to write the feature if you planned his sister’s wedding for free; all the work paid off in spades for the free advertising. You even had enough money to bring Seungkwan on as your part time assistant.

But you don’t need to bog Mingyu down with the details of how busy you were. You want to know how everything around you finally came out of his brain and into existence; right down to the sleek espresso machine and the display case of artfully decorated cakes. You should have recognized all the details he spent hours describing for when he opened his own bakery like he always wanted, checkerboard tiles and all.

“You can ask,” he says.

There is no point in pretending you aren’t curious. He could see right through it.

“When did all this happen?”

“Last year.”

“I didn’t know you quit your job.”

“We weren’t really on speaking terms…” Mingyu shakes his head. “I started working at Annette’s on Second the year before that. Saved up. Now I’m here.”

“Well, if Sarah and Joshua are anything to go by, you’ve got the best cake in the city.”

Mingyu looks away and at first you think it’s because he can’t take the compliment. But that’s unlike him. He loves compliments, even if he gets flustered and pink at the collar. When he looks back, his lip is pinched between his teeth in barely contained laughter.

“Not like that!” you gasp.

“I didn’t say anything!” he argues.

Your eyes roll as you settle back into your chair. It feels too close to normal, like you’re back in those days when Mingyu was some guy you truthfully did only know through a friend of a friend. Before he asked you to a party at his apartment, before you told him you weren’t interested in seeing anyone else; before…everything.

You can’t go down that road. Discussing business is far safer than whatever this is; if this is anything to be worried about at all. Mingyu was always a flirt and obviously hadn’t changed in the years spent apart. It didn’t mean anything. It wouldn’t mean anything.

“Alright, so before they get here,” you start, flipping through your notes. You have less than ten minutes to convince Mingyu to do this wedding, when you really need six months and good blackmail. “They want a wedding cake for Saturday, individual panna cottas for the rehearsal dinner Friday night, and cookies waiting for everyone at the hotel when they arrive on Thursday… Oh, and sticky buns and coffee cake for breakfast Sunday morning for people to grab as they leave. I think that’s it.”

“Oh, that’s it?”

You shrug. “They might change their mind once they get here.”

“Like how?”

“They said they wanted all the stuff they’ve eaten here since they started dating so maybe they’ll remember something else once we get talking.”

“They come in a lot…” Mingyu winces.

As if divine fate, the couple in question barge through the door, perfectly dry in designer coats like they walked off a movie set.

“Sorry we’re late!” Sarah announces.

“Don’t worry about it. We were just chatting.” Mingyu shrugs, rising to shake their hands. “Can I get you both something to drink?”

You swallow the jealousy from catching a glimpse of Sarah’s engagement ring as she and Joshua settle down. Vintage emerald cut diamond big enough to see from the moon but somehow fits her reserved style despite being passed down in Joshua’s family several generations over. You’ve planned a lot of weddings which means you’ve seen a lot of engagement rings; some good, some great. But Sarah’s is the stuff out of a Cartier commercial.

After Mingyu settles everyone with fresh coffee, he pulls his chair back out, spins it around and takes a seat with his arms crossed over the back.

“All right, let’s talk dates—”

“Six weeks,” Joshua says.

“Six…weeks?” Mingyu blinks several times like he also is beginning to believe this is some horrible coma induced nightmare.

You school your features into the perfect picture of innocence. “Didn’t I mention that?”

He doesn’t buy it for a second. No fucking way, his eyes say.

I’ll kill you slowly and painfully, your own respond.

“We know it’s fast but we don’t wanna wait,” Sarah gushes.

“Right…” Mingyu sucks in a long breath. “Well, it shouldn’t be too hard to squeeze you into the schedule.”

What you hear beneath his appeasing tone is: you owe me big time.

Nonethewiser, Sarah and Joshua perk up like freshly watered daisies.

The details hammer out quickly. Three hundred guests means hundreds cookies for the welcome party, a hundred individual desserts for the rehearsal dinner, and a massive four tiered cake for the wedding, and several batches of pastries for Sunday. You shove the curated stack of inspiration pictures into his hands, grimacing when his eyes widen. They’re all vintage round cakes with pounds of icing piped on with painstaking details. Rosettes, ruffles, bulbs of white icing with fresh cherries on top; everything but the kitchen sink slapped together.

But despite the overwhelming demands, the numbers rack up behind his eyes. You’ve been in business long enough to estimate prices of everything from flowers to cake to bartenders to a balloon arch. The cake itself is easily three thousand if not more with how much detail they want. Add on the other desserts and Mingyu must realize he’s sitting on the biggest contract he’s ever seen with the promise of more business if all goes well. Plus, Sarah’s family reputation means every detail of the wedding would be front page news – who attended, how much they spent, and what businesses were lucky enough to serve an heiress. And if it was good enough for an heiress, then brides all over the city wanted the same treatment no matter the cost.

He’d be stupid to turn them down. You’d strangle him if he even considered it; right across the table top separating you two.

“I can definitely do this. What are we thinking for flavors?”

“Chocolate,” Sarah says.

“Lemon!” Joshua adds.

“What about vanilla? Grannie Donna won’t eat anything fancy,” she warns. “Since it’s four tiers, can we do four flavors?”

You focus on the vein in Mingyu’s neck growing more pronounced as they prattle off on a million different tangents; fondant versus icing, fruit filling or mouse, alcohol infused or would that be too much? They are nice enough but it was like herding cats every time you sit down with them. Spare no expense but your sanity. In time, Mingyu will learn that presenting them too many decisions at once is asking for trouble, but for now you revel in watching him fluster through each option in painstaking detail.

“How about we do a tasting next week?” Mingyu asks, clearly exhausted. The only thing preventing him from tugging at his hair the way he always does when stressed is that hideous baseball hat. “I can do a slice of each cake flavor we have and the fillings you're interested in.”

“That’ll be perfect!” Sarah claps.

Once they agree to a time, Sarah rushes Joshua out the door for brunch with her parents leaving you alone with Mingyu.

“Six weeks?” he asks.

“How do you think I feel?”

“The pay is that good?”

“She has shoes worth more than my life and Josh’s family has a summer home in Antibes.”

“Where the fuck is Antibes?” Mingyu blurts.

“France.”

“Well, shit.”

“Yeah. So for the next six weeks I’m in charge of getting them whatever they want. Even if that means putting on an apron and making their cake myself.”

Mingyu shudders. “Never threaten me with your cooking.”

“I’m not that bad!”

“Right,” he says. “I forgot omelets and spaghetti are supposed to be crunchy.”

“Anyway…” Your eyes roll. “Think you can handle everything?”

He leans back, arms crossing over his chest. “I haven’t done a wedding before. It’ll be good for business.”

The corner of your lip twitches because you know that look on his face. Mingyu likes a challenge and what you’re asking of him is probably his biggest challenge yet.

“Alright then,” you say, rising from your seat. “I’ll see you next week.”

“How was the meeting?” Seungkwan asks around a mouthful of pad thai.

You pick at your own plate with gusto. Your day had been packed with meetings since this morning’s nightmare, no time for a change of clothes or anything other than the coffee and pastries Mingyu sent you off with. But Seungkwan surprised you with take out and a Ted Lasso marathon after you wrung out.

“You will never guess who the baker is.”

“Mingyu.”

“How the fuck did you know that?” You whip around to face him, elbow catching on the coffee table. “Ow! Fuck!”

Seungkwan shrugs, unmoved by your pain. “Because I know everything.”

“And it didn’t occur to you to—I don’t know—mention that to me?” you shriek.

“It did. But it was more fun this way.”

“Well I’m glad one of us finds this funny.” You stab a carrot on your plate with more force than needed.

“So how is he?”

“I thought you knew everything?”

“That good, huh?” Seungkwan asks with an eyebrow wiggle. “Did he make a move?”

“Yeah, he actually asked me if I wanted to do him right there on the coffee bar in front of everyone. Obviously, not.”

“Sounds like you wish he did.”

“Ew, no.”

“Oh, please,” he snorts. “As if you’d turn him down.”

“I would.”

“You guys never did the whole break-up sex thing. Just the ‘break up and never speak again’ thing. You are long overdue for it.”

“The point of breaking up is that we don’t see each other anymore.”

“What does that have to do with anything? And now that he’s back in the picture, you don’t feel even the smallest bit of curiosity?”

“No.”

Lie. Lie, lie, lie, lie, LIE. Of the millions of reasons you broke up with Mingyu, lack of attraction wasn’t one. It wasn’t enough that he was tall and handsome, he was actually a good person who wore generosity like a second skin. In the weeks following your break up you resisted the urge to ask him for any sort of ‘closure.’ And gradually, those feelings and curiosity went away the longer you ignored them. But seeing him today brought those dead feelings back with enough force to leave you breathless.

“Whatever you say.”

“I’m not that easy.”

“It’s not about being easy, it’s about having hot hate sex with your ex boyfriend,” Seungkwan tsks. “Why can’t you be normal like everyone else?”

“Not everyone is having sex with their ex-boyfriends!”

“Not everyone’s ex-boyfriend is Mingyu!”

“Why are you invested in my sex life?”

“Because as your friend and employee, you are way better to work with when you’re getting laid.”

“Yeah well you’re better to work with when you mind your own business.”

“He looked good, didn’t he?”

You throw your arms up in defeat. “Fine, yes. He looked good.”

“And?”

“And ‘hot, hate sex’ doesn’t sound like the worst thing ever.”

“And?”

“What else is there? I’m not gonna do it. I have to work with him for the next two months.”

“I don’t know, I just wanted to see what else you’d admit, skank.”

Mid-suffocating Seungkwan with a throw pillow, your phone lights up with a text. Speak of the devil.

Mingyu: realized i didn’t give them a quote on price

When you told him how good the money was, you thought he’d understand. Sarah came from money so old her family were probably the first cavemen to need a bank account. Joshua had family members married to royalty in other countries.

“Is that him? What did he say? Is he asking you to come over?” Seungkwan tries to look over your shoulder.

YN: send me the invoice and i’ll take care of it

Mingyu: aye aye captain

You blare at Seungkwan, sinking back into the couch. “No, it’s about work. Because we work together now.”

“I hear office romance is all the rage these days.”

“I hear firing your assistant is too.”

Seungkwan mutters something under his breath but goes back to watching TV, leaving you to think about what he said.

The first time you met Mingyu was three minutes before Holly, your junior year roommate, shared you two would be splitting twin bunk beds for a weekend at her family’s lake house.

You couldn’t complain. A free weekend on the lake? There was no way you’d ever afford something like it with your budget. As the only two single people on the entire trip, it was a blessing you got real beds and not a pull out couch or air mattress in the living room. Besides, Mingyu seemed nice enough and you wouldn’t be spending that much time in the tiny bedroom anyway. It would be perfectly fine.

And then it rained that entire weekend.

Being stuck inside with five couples for four days left you and Mingyu scrambling to find anything to distract from third wheeling. Turns out, he made good company.

“Pool?” Mingyu asked after the seventh round of cards. Seven losses in a row made him desperate for something he could beat you at.

Eager for anything to prevent going back to your room which shared a wall with Holly and Soonyoung, you tossed the cards on the table and followed him. “Do you know how to play?”

“Do you?” Mingyu turned with two cues in his hand. He passed one to you before grinding the blue chalk on the tip of his.

“Maybe.” You shrugged, racking the balls.

The first game ended in uncontested victory. Mingyu managed to scratch every turn he got, sinking two stripes before the eight balls tipped into a corner pocket and declared you the winner after barely ten minutes.

“How are you this bad at pool?” you asked.

Mingyu sipped his beer indignantly. “Sorry we can’t all be experts.”

“I only pocketed three balls, you lost all on your own. ” You laughed at his eye roll. “Re-rack the balls and I’ll show you.”

Mingyu did as you said, and rounded back where you stood, eager for instruction.

“Okay, now get in position.”

Eying him up and down, you didn’t focus anywhere for too long in fear of getting distracted by…all of it. You had eyes, you could see how handsome he was. Not to mention the last two mornings he woke up early to workout and came back shirtless while you pretend to sleep, watching from the top bunk as he dug through his duffle for a change of clothes.

“First problem,” you started, moving into his space. “Your hands are a mess. Move your left hand, no. Your other left hand.” You pulled his hand away from the green velvet of the table, splaying his fingers wide under your own. “Use this one to aim. Balance the cue between two fingers, it’ll keep it stable so you don’t scratch against the table.” Then your front plastered to his back but you were too dedicated to correcting him to think much beyond the clumsy way he fumbled the stick. “It helps if you keep your grip tight. Now, focus between the tip of the cue and the ball. Don’t do anything crazy, just aim straight.”

The balls cracked on impact, flying different directions and ricocheting off the border until the orange stripe sinks into the corner.

Mingyu stared, mouth wide and cheeks rosy. Your own body vibrated where it touched him; something fluttered up your front, where the heat of his back lingered; where you could still feel the way his chest expanded with each breath.

“See?” you breathed into his ear, pleased at his shiver. “Better already.”

The second game was slightly better than the first. Mingyu improved, pocketing a few more balls. Everytime he looked at you for approval, you forgot how to breathe. You intentionally pocketed the eight ball too soon just to catch your breath.

“I’m gonna grab another beer,” you said, disappearing upstairs.

When you returned, Mingyu insisted on a third game. Alcohol didn’t help keep either of your shots steady but it did make things hazy around the edges. You touched Mingyu more, finding any excuse to correct his form. He let you before starting to ask for more pointers, watching closely as you pocketed more balls.

Mingyu’s hand covered yours when you descended into puddles of laughter after he sent the cue ball flying across the room. Then you were kissing; pinned between his mouth and pool table.

That night, you didn’t hear anything from Holly and Soonyoung’s room. All you heard was the sound of Mingyu between your thighs and then, later, the steady beat of his heart as you fell asleep against his chest.

The tasting appointment comes fast. In the past week you’ve exchanged a few more messages with Mingyu, all strictly professional which serves to soften the lead in your stomach. You can do this. You can work with him and not have it be weird. In five weeks everything will be done and you can go back to sweet ignorant bliss, ignoring his entire existence.

You just have to survive.

Another stormy day leaves the subway running late and traffic bumper to bumper. At least this time, you’re dry when you arrive ten minutes early for the tasting.

Vernon wipes down the counters, the display case empty for the night and most of the chairs turned over on top of tables.

“Is Mingyu—”

“I’ll get him from the back,” Vernon says, disappearing through the kitchen doors with a swish.

Without the bustle of people, the cafe feels much larger. However, it maintains a cozy warmth even when there are no kids leaving sugar cookie crumbs on the floor, or old men tapping their fingers on the table while reading the news.

Years ago, when you were still dating, he described this exact cafe in detail. Somewhere that felt casual enough for afternoon coffee but fancy enough to bring a date. You helped him put together inspiration boards; paint swatches, furniture ideas, sketched out logos. You should have recognized all of it the first time you visited: the bookshelves stuffed with board games and plants, tables with local ceramics for sale, down to the beaten up couches sandwiching a coffee table with a wooden chess board on top. Exactly what Mingyu wanted.

You’re happy for him.

Your phone vibrates, lighting up with a text from Sarah.

Fuck.

Mingyu comes out from the kitchen as you’re typing out a response, same Dodgers hat and flour covered apron as last week.

“I have everything ready, when are they supposed to get here?” he asks.

“They’re stuck on the bridge and traffic hasn’t moved in thirty minutes.”

It’s already later than you’d like. By the time they arrive, taste everything, and settle down on their order, it’ll be well past the last train to your apartment and all you want after a day running around the city is to go home and curl up on the couch with a glass of wine and bad reality TV. You release a slow breath, a dull throb resonating in your temple.

Mingyu sighs as well before responding, “Well, if you wanna hangout out here, be my guest. I’m gonna work on some orders in the back until they get here.”

Like always, your unread emails near the triple digits even after only a few hours away from your phone. You set up at one of the chairs lining the counter, laptop hot to the touch and sounding ready for take off. Couples in full meltdowns, vendors needing finalized contracts, venues looking to do walkthroughs and be added to your roster of recommendations. You get the most pressing ones done; a couple deciding they wanted to change their theme from regency garden party to rustic botanical (they’re still a year out, thank god), an overdue invoice from Jihoon for express order of white Dahlias (you sent the filled invoice dated from last week back), a hotel trying to split the block of hotel rooms you already arranged for a wedding next month (absolutely not).

For every fire you put out, three more crop up in its place.

It’s fine. You handle it the way you handle everything, fueled by exhaustion and waning patience. Washing down the last sip of coffee Vernon provided before leaving, you tiptoe around the counter to fill up the mug to the top before setting back to work. You can hear Mingyu humming to himself through the kitchen doors.

A wave of nostalgia washes over you. Years ago, back when you first started and had all of two couples willing to take the risk of hiring someone completely new to the industry, you’d park yourself at the thrifted dining room table in your shared apartment. He’d make dinner, humming away while you worked furiously on your laptop. Polishing your business plan, researching licenses and permits, emailing florists and photographers and anyone else you could network with. Crying from the stress after the hundredth ‘no.’

When it got too much for him to bear, Mingyu would force your laptop out of the way, tuck it away somewhere you couldn’t reach with the promise you could have it back after you ate something that wasn’t popcorn or coffee. The nights he failed to distract you, he’d stand behind your chair, massaging your tense shoulders until your eyes drooped and let him pull you into bed.

But now, Mingyu hides in the kitchen because he is avoiding you. You’re hunkered down at the bar with cold coffee and a dying laptop because you’re avoiding him. It’s hard not to imagine all the what if’s but you focus on work because work is safe; where you can channel all the restless energy and pretend you aren’t thinking about what Seungkwan said.

Then, because life is never kind, the power goes out.

And it stays out.

“Damn it,” you hear Mingyu curse.

Using your phone as a flashlight, you meet him at the kitchen doors.

“Powers out,” he says, wincing at the harsh light of your phone.

“That's what it is?” you gasp mockingly. “I thought you were politely telling me to leave.”

“Smartass,” he huffs. “Can you call the utility company? My phone’s dead.”

“Sure.”

Mingyu leads you back through the kitchen, towards the office. The scent of sugar and vanilla is more concentrated back here, clinging inside your nose. You take stock of everything: steel work benches, one with a half decorated cake frozen in time. Metal shelves filled with proofing dough, others jammed full of freshly baked loaves for tomorrow. The far wall is nothing but industrial sized ovens. Luckily, they’re all empty.

You try not to stare for too long but you hate mystery and the doors separating the kitchen from the rest of the cafe have kept you from knowing anything about this space. Maybe that was for the best because your imagination takes over. You see Mingyu kneading dough on one table, sleeves rolled up. Meticulously piping icing flowers onto the half finished cake. Whipping up macaroon batter in the gigantic mixer. All the things he did in the tiny kitchen at your old apartment, now with the space he needs to bring his recipes to life.

He ushers you into the closet turned office. On looks alone, you know your arms could touch the side walls without fully extending. Mingyu takes up seventy percent of the space on his own. You don’t think about it.

“I know I have the number somewhere,” he says, digging through a stack of papers.

You aim the flashlight a little higher to help him see.

Mistake.

There is nothing overtly sexual about one person’s elbow grazing someone’s shoulder. Not unless you're a Regency era gentlewoman and a flash of ankle sends men into a fit of passion. However, Seungkwan’s words about Mingyu still ring in your ears no matter how much you try to drown them out.

You’re close enough for the scent of his cologne to fill your senses, soak in the heat of his skin through his shirt where your elbow brushes against him as he flips through papers. If he notices the way your breath stutters, he fails to mention it.

Your face heats. How embarrassing is it that the first time you're alone with him since the breakup, all you can think about is if Seungkwan was right and if Mingyu would be any good at it. By history alone, you know he is which opens a whole other can of worms because it’s been months since you had the time or energy for anything beyond a drunk bar makeout with a stranger. Of all the issues in your relationship with Mingyu, lack of chemistry in the bedroom was never an issue.

“Got it!”

You snap to attention. After handing you the business card, Mingyu grabbed a flashlight from the desk drawer and left to check the generator.

Before you dial the number, you ground with a few breaths. It’s just Mingyu. He is just Mingyu. Mingyu who you broke up with and don’t regret leaving. The same man who clearly was no longer thinking about you in any way other than a temporary thorn in his side.

The office doesn’t have any service so you wander back into the kitchen. Mingyu is off somewhere but you can’t hear him as you dial the electric company. You aren’t scared of the dark and definitely not storms but being all alone out front raises hairs on the back of your neck. Maybe your heart is overcompensating for being alone in Mingyu’s presence and is channeling that energy into something less embarrassing, like the Boogey Man.

The line is still ringing when the lights come back on, flickering at first like some cheap horror movie gimmick, but they stay on.

You leave a message for their automated voicemail complaining about the issue and hang up as Mingyu comes back into the kitchen from a door in the back.

“Fixed it?” you ask.

“No, I didn’t even get the door unlocked.”

“Well, hopefully it’s fixed.”

“Did Josh and Sarah say anything about when they’d get here?”

You glance at your phone, sending a quick text to Sarah that she responds to immediately.

Sarah: traffic still backed up :( probably another hour

Sliding your hand down your face, you release a long breath. There is no rescheduling. This has to be done tonight or the already tight deadline will become impossible for Mingyu to meet.

“I’m going back out front.”

“The Wi-Fi won’t come back for a while,” Mingyu warns.

“Then I will bash my head into the counter until I die or they get here. Whatever comes first.”

“I don’t have that kind of insurance,” he jokes. “I could use a hand, if you’re up for it.”

Your brain doesn’t go straight to the gutter but only because you refuse to allow it. Professional. You are a professional. And professionals do not sleep with their colleagues even if the colleague in question is their ex-boyfriend who historically proved to be great to sleep with.

“What happened to ‘don’t threaten me with your cooking’?”

“The fact you think this is cooking proves that point. Just crack all the eggs into the bowl.” He shoves a massive flat of eggs and a large steel bowl across the counter before focusing back on the half decorated cake.

The kitchen falls into comfortable silence. The crack of shells against the counter, the sound of your breaths evening out simultaneously. You lose yourself in the task; crack, open, toss, repeat. Easy. Halfway through the tray you feel Mingyu’s gaze.

“What?” you ask, not looking up.

“People tend to prefer their cakes without shells.”

A few pale shell fragments float in the bowl. There aren't that many, he’s just picky.

“I was going to get them all after,” you huff.

His responding snort sets you off. To your own surprise, the empty egg in your hands smashes into the center of his apron covered chest.

He freezes, eyes flashing to yours. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, but I did,” you nod, an evil grin twisting your face.

When you stoop low, Mingyu races to meet you. He dips his hand into the bowl of sifted flour resting on the bench, and flicks it onto your cheek, into your hair.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” you warn, taking a step closer as he takes one back.

You slap a handful of icing on his neck, the pale pink color contrasting with the warm hue of his skin.

“I’m going to kill you!”

“I’m shaking in boots,” you squeal, putting the metal table between you.

Flour, eggs, and buttercream litter the floor, making it too slick for an easy escape. Mingyu manages to snag your wrist before you can round the opposite side of the metal workbench. He’s got you pinned, trapped between a fingers covered in icing and the hard ledge.

“Any last words?” he asks. His warm breath puffs over your face, face barely a hands distance from yours.

You don’t think as you roll up on your toes, exactly like the first time you kissed him. Your lips meet his, soft and warm; exactly how you remember them yet somehow better. It lasts barely a second before he withdraws, hovering a hair's breadth away. He’s going to brush you off, step away. Put a stop to whatever this is before it gets out of hand.

Mingyu kisses you again.

The hat holding his hair back falls to the floor, your hands burying in his hair to drag him closer. Muscle memory prevents any awkwardness. When Mingyu tilts his head, you go the opposite way. When you tug at his hair, a grunt tickles across your lips a second before his tongue does. His hands slot on your waist, pulling you firmly against his chest.

Your own roam over his shoulders, down his front until your body gets in the way – wedged so tight against his body you can feel his heart beating against yours. Mingyu lifts you onto the edge of the metal table, standing between your spread legs like so many times before.

You can’t think, you can’t breathe. Nerves dull from too much Mingyu too fast, but you don’t want him to stop. The taste of vanilla and sugar on his tongue is addictive and you whine when he leans back to leave a hot trail over the side of your throat.

Every part of you responds like no time has passed; nipples tight, hips curling against the zipper of his pants when Mingyu feels bold enough to ghost his teeth across your earlobe. You should have done this sooner. So much sooner.

Your hands are all over him like magnets, his the same. Too much to touch and still not enough. Mingyu leverages his weight until your back meets the counter top, completely at his whim. His stupid apron prevents every attempt to get his shirt off or sneak your hand into his pants but that doesn’t stop you. Mingyu’s back is just as nice to touch as his front, you grip his ass and roll your hips.

“Fuck,” he grunts when you do it a second time, rolling with more force into the friction.

A response bubbles in the back of your throat when someone out front calls “Hello?”

Mingyu abandons the patch of skin revealed by the stretched neckline of your sweater, eyes meeting yours as you both realize for the first time exactly what was happening. All the reasons why this is a horrible idea sprint into your head.

One: he is your ex-boyfriend.

Two: Joshua and Sarah are less than twenty feet away.

You scramble from between him and the table, rushing to exit the kitchen, desperate for as much distance as possible from the disappointment you caught in his gaze. “Coming!”

Flour clings to the cuff of your sweater, and there is definitely frosting and egg shells in other places.

“Sorry we’re late,” Joshua says.

“It’s fine!” you squeak. Your lips feel swollen and tingly, the heat of Mingyu’s hands lingering on your back, your cheeks burning hotter. You pray neither of them notice the clear signs they interrupted whatever you were doing with him in the back.

Mingyu sweeps through the door, pinker than you left him, hair a mess. “Who is ready for some cake?”

“I think I wanna do wedding planning,” you shared over a mouth of pasta.

“Wedding planning?” Mingyu asked. He manned the stove partially nude, only a pair of boxers saving his modesty, messy hair hidden by a backwards baseball hat – like a regular frat boy. He insisted on a midnight snack after a joint and a blowjob on the couch during the newest episode of Prehistoric Planet.

“Yeah,” you said. “Wedding planning. Planning weddings. Dealing with bridezillas and their crazy in-laws.”

Mingyu turned towards where you sit on the countertop with an amused smile, eyes bloodshot. “Okay. What can I do to help?”

“Do you know anyone getting married?”

“We know the same people,” he laughed.

“You’re not helping!” you whined.

Mingyu returned back to the pan, stirring with measured precision, shoulders tense.

Gotcha, you thought.

Mingyu couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it. Especially from you. Not for long. He had one, you just needed to apply the right pressure.

You pulled him away from his cooking, ushering him to stand between your legs. You weren’t playing fair, in his shirt and nothing else, gazing at him with soft features he was already enamored with. “You don’t know anyone thinking about getting married?”

Like an overstuffed pillow, his lips bursted open with a rush. “Soonyoung is planning to ask Holly.”

A wicked grin splits your face. “Really?”

“But they’re eloping.” Mingyu collapsed into your shoulder, nose tracing the curve of your throat.

“Well, I can still help them!” you said. “When is he asking?”

You ignored his hand sneaking up your thigh but it’s not necessary. He only wanted to hold you close, cuddly and touch starved from a little too much weed. He sighed, squeezing you tight against him.

“Next week, when we’re all back at the lake house.”

You shuddered at the idea of sharing the wall between the bunk bed room and the master suite while they celebrated. Even after six years of dealing with their volume, it never got any easier. But this was the chance you needed. Something small, something with two people as easy to please as Soonyoung and Holly.

“Do you think I’ll be good at it?” you asked, suddenly self conscious.

“I think you can do anything you put your mind to,” he whispered against your hairline.

Clipboard. Check. Phone charger. Check. Wallet. Check.

You methodically pack your bag for today’s appointment at the venue. You’ve never seen it in person but if the reviews and photos are even half true then it would be perfect, exactly what Sarah and Joshua envisioned. By some gigantic miracle, the Ellery Estate had a cancellation aligned with their desired date which has come simultaneously fast and slow. One more week, ten days to be specific, and this entire thing would be a done deal.

In the meantime, you just have to survive.

On the brightside, Mingyu was radio silent over the past four weeks, only responding when you reached out to him to confirm attendance for today. He insisted on delivering everything for the weekend himself and needed to know exactly how the kitchen was set up. Somehow, it became Sarah and Joshua offering to pay for his accommodations to stay through the event in case there was some cake related emergency. Joy.

The silver lining is he seemed to be as intent on ignoring the kiss as you were. He didn’t make any smart comments, or throw it in your face. After the cake tasting last month he all but sprinted into the back of the kitchen after everything was settled. It shouldn’t make you as annoyed as you felt, which made you even more annoyed. You shouldn’t have kissed him and he shouldn’t have kissed you back.

Your phone rings, a familiar tune playing instead of the default chime. Only one person has that ringtone. Because you never bothered to change it, because you didn’t remember it even needed changing until now because the last time you heard it was years ago.

“What?” you snap after answering, continuing to back your bag with shaky hands.

Mingyu’s scoff crackles through the speaker. “Hello to you, too.”

“Hi. What?”

Mingyu sighs deeply over the line. “My car broke down.”

“Your what did what?”

“My car broke down. Well, someone actually totaled it – but the point is, I don’t have a car.”

“The run through is this afternoon,” you say, voice shrilling with panic.

“So nice of you to be concerned. I’m fine by the way. And yeah, I know.”

Everyone had to be at the walk through, they had to. The caterer, the photographer, Seungkwan, you, Josh and Sarah, and Mingyu. There is no make-up day for Mingyu to go alone, the venue was booked solid up until the ceremony. Today is it.

The vein in your temple starts to throb. “You can ride with me.”

“Are you sure? That’s a long drive…”

“It’s fine. I need this to go well and if that means towing your ass everywhere then that’s what I’ll do.”

“How considerate,” Mingyu huffs.

“I’ll be at your apartment at noon. Do not make us late.”

“I’m not that bad anymore!” he argues.

“Alright, see you in an hour.” You hang up before he can say anything else.

You spend the next thirty minutes sprawled on the sliver of floor space between the couch and coffee table. This was fine. It was perfectly, absolutely, totally, one hundred percent fine. Better the rip off the bandaid of awkward discomfort sooner than later. You kissed Mingyu and now that it happened, it was firmly out of your system. You definitely don’t think about how if your mind slips from the tight leash of control, you can still feel everywhere his body pressed against weeks ago.

But as the last few weeks showed, no amount of ignoring the memories helped. When you literally took matters into your own hands, the short lived bliss of an orgasm fizzled into hollowness. Nothing relieved that consuming need. At your wits end, you downloaded Tinder with the sole purpose of finding someone who was not Mingyu to help but deleted it because deep down you knew it wouldn’t work either.

It hadn’t worked yet but, if you could firmly cement Mingyu as someone you worked with and not someone you knew every intimate detail about, then maybe the desire to kiss him again would go away.

Hopefully.

When you pull up outside the bakery twenty minutes later, Mingyu is waiting with his arms crossed over his chest and his foot tapping impatiently. Apparently, he lives in the apartment above the bakery. At least, that’s what he said. Maybe he’s lying to you because he doesn’t want you to know where he lives in case he screws up and you plot to kill him in his sleep.

“You are not wearing that,” you say.

“What’s wrong with this?” Mingyu looks down at his outfit: t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. And like always, that ugly Dodgers hat.

“They’re paying half a million for this venue. Put on some damn slacks,” you snap. “And brush your hair!”

“Who pissed in your cereal?” he grumbles but goes back inside. Ten minutes later, Mingyu walks out in slacks and a navy button up, hair tousled. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

He mutters something else under his breath before buckling his seatbelt. Then you’re off.

The drive isn’t horrible. You’ve got a playlist that Mingyu is content with and he brought coffee along with a few pastries to snack on. You don’t linger on the fact he still remembers your order – iced latte with cinnamon. It doesn’t mean anything. He just has a good memory and was probably trying to smooth over the tension.

Three hours later and a slightly numb but later, a large iron gate rolls into view, manned by multiple security guards. They check your IDs against their list of guests for the day before waving you through.

“Where the hell are we?” Mingyu asks. “Buckingham Palace?”

The venue is a modest mansion on 8,000 acres of lush land, hidden away in between rolling mountains and dense forest. Surrounding the pristine white building is a massive yard, mowed with a perfect checkerboard pattern. You creep down the pebbled driveway towards the front of the house where a man waits on the steps, impatiently checking his watch.

Mr. Ellery.

Even though you only spoke to him on the phone and exchanged emails, you know it’s him by his dry gaze and silent imposition, the fine cut of his suit screaming money. He resembles the butler from Haunted Mansion a little too much for comfort. Brown eyes – perfect to see straight through you – and thick white hair cropped close to his skull.

Several other cars line the driveway. Sarah’s BMW, Seungkwan’s Volkswagen. The others you don’t recognize as you pull in next to them. You put the car in park, turning to Mingyu who looks a little paler than usual.

“Please don’t say anything stupid.”

“When have I ever—”

“I’m serious.”

Mingyu mimes zipping his lips before getting out of the car. You take a deep breath, lungs stretched until they burn, releasing it slowly before opening the door.

“Mr. Ellery,” you greet, shaking his hand. You hope yours aren’t clammy with nerves. Either way, the slight annoyance on the older man’s face makes you feel like you could cure cancer and still be an inconvenience. “And this is our baker, Mingyu, he’ll be—”

“Everyone else has already arrived,” Mr. Ellery says dryly. “This way.”

You studied the venue website extensively before booking but nothing could have prepared you for seeing it in person. The massive exterior of the house does a poor job of betraying how spacious the inside is. Each click of Mr. Ellery’s expensive leather loafers on the marble floor echoes loudly, the high ceilings make the room feel infinite and you’re nothing more than a speck of dust floating through, about to be swatted by a maid.

Sarah and Joshua are sipping champagne and nibbling cookies in the Rose Room, chatting with Jeonghan about the article for their wedding. Seungkwan is in the corner entertaining the caterer and photographer. You’re not late but somehow the shocked expression from everyone as you and Mingyu arrive makes you feel like you’re back in elementary school.

“Now that the entire party has arrived,” Mr. Ellery drawls. “We can begin our tour.”

A young woman named Tabitha leads Seungkwan, Mingyu, and the Dokyeom away to tour the kitchens and access points they’ll need while you, the happy couple, Jeonghan, and the photographer, Wonwoo, follow Mr. Ellery back into the main foyer.

“As mentioned on our website, my staff will handle all decoration set up and tear down. I have many priceless family heirlooms throughout the estate and wish to keep them in pristine condition,” Mr. Ellery says.

The air around him is stiff with seriousness. Ironic for a man named Shannon but you focus on nailing down details for the ceremony next week.

“Of course,” you nod. Your clipboard covered in notes is slowly checked off as each obstacle is addressed. Live band? Check. Dance floor installation? Check. Bridal suite, groom’s room, wedding party accommodations. It all flows smoothly.

Three hours later, you’re standing outside in the center of the Ivory Garden, one of the seven formal gardens. White tulips and daffodils explode out of the ground. Shrubs covered in pale quince petals offer a natural division on the sides, puff balls of viburnum exploding from emerald bushes.

Wonwoo directs the couple around the space for some candid shots while you and Jeonghan watch from afar. Shannon was called away to handle an issue with the estate’s swans, leaving all you to kill time until he returns.

“I think he keeps bodies in the basement,” Jeonghan whispers.

“I think you should focus on interviewing Josh and Sarah.”

“When Joshua Hong, heir of the Hong Diamond’s empire met Sarah Ko, he knew he had a rare gem on his hands,” Jeonghan says into his phone microphone.

“You are so painfully cliche.”

He presses the record button again. “Their wedding was planned by the ultimate stick in the mud, Y/N. Her hobbies include drowning kittens and drinking tears.”

Before you can respond, or push him into the nearest bush like you itch to, Sarah comes running up. “Isn’t it just perfect?”

“Absolutely,” you nod.

“It’s going to be like a fairytale,” she sighs, face glowing. “Do you think delphinium would work better in the aisle floral arrangements than snapdragons? With all the space I think we’re going to need more height. Jihoon can do that, right?”

“That sounds like a great idea. Let me text him.” You smile but beneath the lift of your mouth, every muscle in your body pulls taunt. Jihoon already associated Sarah and Joshua with his own personal version of Hell. Changing the flowers a week out is going to put you on his hit list, if he doesn’t hunt you down immediately.

You fumble with your phone, shooting off the request and bracing for his reaction.

Y/N: don’t hate me

Jihoon: if it’s the Hong wedding, i will kill myself in front of them and then haunt you

Great.

“My apologies,” Mr. Ellery says upon his return. “Where were we? Oh, yes. As we discussed, the champagne toast will take place in the courtyard…”

He shepherds your group back towards the manor. You follow behind, furiously typing on your phone.

Y/N: please tell me things are going well even if its a lie

Seungkwan: things are great! (not lying)

Seungkwan: DK says kitchen is perfect. He and mingyu worked out storage and timing

Your shoulders relax a fraction. At least something seemed to be fine. You’d take your wins wherever they came from. Even if it was just Mingyu and Dokyeom working out who got what shelf in the fridge.

Catching up to the group, Ellery stops in front of the large fountain serving as the courtyard’s centerpiece. “I believe that concludes our tour. Please join me inside for some refreshments before taking your leave.”

Dark clouds swirl overhead, only just hesitating to release all the water they’ve swelled with over the course of the afternoon. As much as you wished to stay and brow beat the old man until your face turned blue, three hours in the pouring rain back to the city wasn’t worth what could be solved over email.

Seungkwan, Dokyeom, and Mingyu stand around, chatting with Tabitha in the main foyer, much laxer than you expected. At least your assistant wasn’t lying to your face. If things went poorly, you don’t Dokyeom and Mingyu would be acting like long lost friends.

You snag a glass of water from the table, emptying it before heading in Mingyu’s direction.

“How’d it go?”

“Good,” you tell him. “It’s a long drive back so we should head out.”

“I can drive,” Mingyu offers.

“I don’t think so.”

“You have work to do. I don’t. Just let me drive.”

There's more to it than that and you know it. Hiding your anxiety from clients was one thing. They didn’t know what cracks to look for, what obvious tells were. But Mingyu did. He always had a way of reading you like the back of his own hand.

Even if he’s doing it to be nice, Mingyu gives you a solid excuse to pretend like everything is fine. You really can’t afford to lose three hours to driving when you have an angry florist to talk down from the ledge, hotel reservations to finalize, and a serious lack of sleep. Jihoon would take at least an hour to convince not to disappear into the woods forever.

“Fine.”

You ignore Seungkwan’s pointed look at Mingyu takes your keys and you open the passenger side door.

The drive home is much the same way as the drive out, quiet but the tension from before seems to have melted. Mingyu hums along with the radio, fingers tapping a steady rhythm into the steering wheel. You send off emails and texts, Jihoon finally calming enough to bargain for a steep upcharge you don’t even try to haggle over. Seungkwan asks about Mingyu every other text and you manage to ignore them in favor of tasking him with picking up Sarah’s aunt from the airport Thursday night.

Rain pelts the windshield, new mist immediately blurring the road barely a second after the windshield wipers clear it.

Incoming Call…Jeonghan Yoon

A frown crosses your lips as you answer. “Hello?”

“Listen, I need some more info for the announcement but Sarah and Josh are all booked this week. Can I pick your brain?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Well don’t sound too eager. I’d hate to think you’re excited to hang out with me.”

Your lips quirk, a puff of amused breath. Leave it to Jeonghan. “Dinner. Tuesday, 8 PM at Plazzo’s.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Bye.”

You end the call and return back to Ellery’s email detailing that the parking for the wedding would have to be valet only and the shuttle services would require an extra fee.

“Date?” Mingyu asks.

You prickle. “No.”

“It’s fine if it is. I don’t—”

“It’s none of your business!” Your voice comes out sharper than intended. “But if you must know, it was Jeonghan who I’m not sleeping with and never have. Is that really what you think of me?”

“Sorry,” Mingyu concedes. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

The car is quiet after that. Not even the dull hum of the radio can mask the tension. Embarrassment already burns your face. Mingyu was just trying to make things feel normal.

“It’s not a date.”

“Okay, it’s not a date.”

“And even if it was, I wouldn’t talk about it with you.”

“Why not?” You level him with an expectant look. “Okay, fine. But for the record, it’s not like I don’t expect you to be dating. It’s been a long time.”

“For the record, I barely have the time to sleep, let alone date.”

“At least we still have that in common,” he jest. “If you need any advice on getting back out there—”

“No offense, but you are the last person I’d take dating advice from,” you snort, before realizing what you said. “Sorry that was mean.”

What was a warm space, froze back over. You watch Mingyu from the corner of your eye, the signs of his frustration clear as day; his jaw set tight, tongue pinned between his teeth. The rain falls steadier now, fat drops challenging the wipers to keep up.

His grip on the steering wheel tightens. “No, you’re right. I haven’t been on a date in…years.”

The math circles your brain but you refuse to acknowledge the implications of his confession.

“Why not?”

“Time. I’m in the bakery for like fifteen hours a day and I never—”

Just then, the car shudders violently. The force overrides Mingyu’s control of the wheel, swerving into the other lane before he regains control to slow down and pull up onto the side of the road.

“What the hell?”

The car feels off balance, Mingyu’s side slouching closer to the ground. Fuck.

Your eyes close, head meeting the dashboard in preemptive defeat. “Please tell me it’s not what I think it is.”

“It’s exactly what you think it is.”

A long sigh leaves your nose. “Great.”

Mingyu mutters a curse before throwing open the door and disappearing outside. It’s so dark his silhouette is barely decipherable through the rain. All you can do is watch as he examines the tire in the dark.

A few minutes later, he ducks back into the driver's seat, significantly wetter than when he left. “The tire is flat. Should be an easy fix. Where is your spare?”

You hesitate. “That might be the spare.”

“I—” he starts. You prepare for a lecture about why driving on the spare is bad, how dumb you are not to get it replaced but Mingyu stops himself. “Do you have the number for a tow truck?”

“Yeah, let me just…no service. There was an exit a few miles back. Maybe we can walk there?”

“In this weather?” Mingyu asks.

“I don’t see you coming up with any ideas,” you reply.

“We wait until morning, when it’s not pitch black and raining, and then walk.”

“Fine.”

It's only a little past ten. No service means no distraction to fill the time with. Mingyu’s perpetually uncharged phone is already dead, and he doesn’t want to waste the car battery on charging it. So you both crowd together to watch the one show you have downloaded on your phone: Prehistoric Planet.

There’s nothing sexual or romantic about it other than the memories of giving Mingyu hickies on the lumpy couch of your shared apartment. The backing track to high makeouts that always led to more. This might be the first time you’ve actually tried to pay attention to what the mosasaur is doing.

Half way through the episode is too late to bail. Unless you want to admit to what exactly is going through your head, what he is clearly remembering; the massive elephant in the car. Next to you, Mingyu tries to act like he isn’t remembering the same details which only makes it all the more awkward. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t look at you.

Forty minutes later, the credits roll. The car is dark. Mingyu’s breath comes out measured, yours too.

You don’t know how it happens but Mingyu is folded at the waist over the center console, your hands on the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss. Unlike last time, he doesn’t hesitate. He tugs at you with equal enthusiasm, a hum of content tickling against your lips as you comb a hand through his hair.

He gets you into the back seat with some maneuvering, legs and arms at awkward angles but you're so caught in his orbit you don’t care. All you want is him and the more you have, the more you want.

Planted in his lap, you tug at his damp shirt. Tilting your head back, Mingyu nips along your throat until the collar of your shirt stops him. But not for long. You have it off and lost to the floor, while he folds the cups out of the way before sucking a nipple into the heat of his mouth. Distracted by the pinch of his teeth, you don’t feel his hand snake between your legs until the pads of his fingers prod against your panties.

“Mingyu,” you moan.

“God, you’re so wet.”

It’s only half the sentence you expect to hear. In the past he’d add “for me” but he doesn’t now. You don’t dwell on it. This is a bad idea. A horrible idea. No one is scheduled to interrupt, to remind you there is a world outside of the one between you and Mingyu’ that consequences for this lapse in judgement verge on fatal.

“We should—hmm—talk about this,” you whimper.

“Do you want me to stop?” Mingyu pants against your neck, fingers tucked inside your panties, teasing with a shallow dip up to his knuckle.

“No,” you object, dragging him back into another kiss. “Don’t stop.”

It’s only you and Mingyu. No one has to know, and in a week you’d never have to see him again.

You flatten your chest into his, teeth hard against his lower lip as you rut desperately across the firmness of his crotch. You want him in your mouth, inside you. You’re too needy to make either of you wait very long.

He’s hard enough for your hand to cup around as you twist into a familiar position, knelt on the car seat between Mingyu’s spread thighs. Years ago, back in college when you both had roommates, Mingyu’s car on the side of an abandoned road was a frequent spot for hickies and blowjobs.

You don’t give yourself time to think as you peel his boxers down his thighs, honing in on his length immediately. Pretty isn’t a word you ever used to describe dicks until the first time you saw his. Mingyu huffs, chopped and ragged, as your tongue wets his cock with heavy licks; savoring the taste of him.

“Oh my god,” Mingyu groans at the roof, throat on display.

His thighs jump under your nails as you suck the tip softly, a light tease he used to despise. All of his turn ons are at the front of your brain: gag a little too loud, squeeze on the upstroke, act like you want nothing more than the taste of him on your tongue.

A hand rest heavy on the back of your neck, nudging you down with the smallest amount of force. You gag with it, a rogue tear joining the mess dripping down your chin. You pull off to slap his cock against your tongue.

“Holy shit,” Mingyu gasps.

You wonder how long it’s been for him, if he’s gone through the same dry spell as you. Mingyu said he hadn’t been on a date but that doesn’t mean he’s been celibate too.

“Fuck, babe,” he keens.

You work him with a spit slick grip, while catching your breath. “Take your shirt off.”

Saliva drips down your chin, fucking him with your mouth in slow measures. If Mingyu could see how fucked out you know you look then he’d be cross eyed. He silently pleas for more, hips curling into the torture you rain down onto his length. Your throat opens as you swallow his cock down, nose to his stomach.

Mingyu tries. He really, truly tries not to blow his load in the first five seconds of having your mouth on him, but your lips tighten when he’s half way out and he flounders like he’s never had a blowjob before. Cum washes over your tongue, and you take it all, swallow it cleanly. It floods your mouth, excess pushing out the corners of your lips for you to collect later.

You don't get to enjoy the pleasure of a job well done for long. Mingyu hauls you up into his chest, sucking the traces of his spend from your teeth, fingers back back between your legs more aggressive than before.

“Just like that,” he instructs, his other hand dragging you over his crotch like you're riding his cock and not his thigh. You wish you were.

But there isn’t a condom nearby. You’re desperate, not stupid. Maybe it’s for the best that you don’t fuck your ex-boyfriend turned colleague in the back of your car. So you settle for thinking about how his cock was made to split you perfectly, imagine Mingyu fucking you hard and fast while his fingers supply a decent alternative.

“Gonna c-come.”

“Good,” he croaks. “Want you to.”

Two fingers become three, the heel of his hand leveraged against your clit for a perfect grind. You claw at his chest, pink lines to be found in the morning.

Fantasies and memories swirl together behind your eyes. Mingyu telling you to take his cock, praising you for it, giving it to you as hard as you can take and then some more.

“Mingyu.” Your back arches painfully as a thousand stars explode in your eyes.

Brain dulled by the first truly satisfying climax you’ve had in months, you nuzzle down into Mingyu’s neck and fall asleep.

The morning comes slowly then all at once. You’re warm, sweaty around your hairline. Your face angles out of the sunlight but it’s no use. You open your eyes just a hair. You’re nose first against the upholstery of the backseat, an old sweater serving as a blanket, Mingyu nowhere to be seen.

Memories of last night assault you.

Fuck.

No wonder he left. He’s not good at letting people down easily. Even if it didn’t mean anything he’d hate to be the one to say it.

Checking your reflection in the visor mirror, you look exactly like someone who hooked up in the backseat of a car and fell asleep right after. You fix your hair, tug the collar of your shirt high enough to conceal one of several hickies Mingyu littered across your chest. Most are lower, where no one will see, which is somehow better and worse for the sense of dread coil in your stomach. You shudder to think what he looked like this morning.

Just as you're about to go looking for him, a tow truck pulls up.

“Need a tow?” the driver calls. Sitting beside him in the cab is Mingyu, significantly more put together than you thought he’d be.

“Ugh, yeah.”

Stuart wiggles out of the car, barely coming to your chin in terms of height and maybe old enough to be your grandfather’s grandfather but he carries himself with the energy of someone much younger. A toothpick sticks out the corner of his mouth like he’s some Western movie star.

“Where did you find this guy?” you ask Mingyu.

“The diner in town. Here,” Mingyu says, handing you a styrofoam coffee cup. “He says he can take us all the way back to the city.”

“How much will that cost?”

“Free ninety nine for my new friends!” Stuart interrupts. “This fella gave the misses the tiramisu recipe we read about in the paper from his shop. Can’t put a value on secrets.”

You probably could have given how tight lipped Mingyu is about his recipe book, protecting it with his life. It’s the only thing he has ever been able to successfully hide from you.

“Thank you, Stuart.”

“My pleasure,” he nods, before getting back into the truck and working to load your car.

Mingyu rocks from one foot to the other while watching from the sidelines. “About last night…”

“It was a mistake. We shouldn’t have done it.” You beat him to the punch.

“Mistake?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.”

You don’t wait for his response as you brush past him, thankful Stuart’s truck has enough room for you to hide in the backseat while Mingyu takes shotgun.

Day one of the Hong-Ko wedding weekend extravaganza starts with a bang.

Literally.

Seungkwan beats down your door long before the sun is up. Guests won’t arrive until at least dinner time but that means you only have a few hours to get to the venue, set up basecamp, double and triple check everything, and acclimate to Mingyu’s presence enough to not become a sweaty, blushing mess every time he comes within eyesight.

“I still can’t believe you two didn’t make out,” Seungkwan says.

He hammered for details from the moment he arrived at your apartment until parking the car outside the estate. You managed to keep the details under lock and key. Mostly because you didn’t want to hear Seungkwan’s conspiracy theories, but partially because if you say it happened then you can’t ignore it anymore. But your rigid silence didn’t deter him. Now that the day is done and there are no guests to eavesdrop, Seungkwan takes the mantle back up.

“Well, believe it,” you respond, only a step behind.

You still aren’t familiar with this part of the house. The pale walls are covered in old paintings, each door decorated with a different flower to denote the suite’s theme. You were in the Lily room, while Seungkwan was further down the hall in the Tulip suite.

And right next to you happened to be the Rose room where Mingyu would be staying.

He made a brief appearance this morning at the check in meeting with all the vendors in staff in the ballroom. You only noticed because stood out a head taller than everyone else, perfect height to show off the Dodgers hat he tore off when you made eye contact. Then he was lost to the chaos of the day.

You consider it a blessing that Jihoon went toe-to-toe with the staff about where he could and couldn’t put his arrangements while you played referee. It kept you far away where you couldn’t do anything stupid.

“See you in the morning,” you yawn, leaving Seungkwan in the hallway.

Every muscle in your body aches from spending all day on your feet, lifting chairs and moving decor. Who needed a gym when your job was so physical?

You need a shower to wash away the grit and sweat of the day – the noise of water drowning the outside world into silence, only the floral soap and sting of hot water preventing you from drifting away into nothing.

On the bathroom counter is an array of goodies. Sheet masks, bubble bath, bath salts and oils. If you had the energy, you’d take a long soak in the clawfoot tub, maybe call the kitchen for some tea. But tomorrow will be another long day and you should get to bed.

Thankfully the shower has great water pressure. You crank it all the way up, enough to boil alive, scrubbing until your skin hurts.

After you’re sufficiently raw, you let the water run over you. In the haze of steam, your mind wanders. To do lists, itineraries, details for other weddings. You try to block them out and focus on nothing but that leaves you with the one person who you really don’t want to think about.

Touching Mingyu hadn’t worked, ignoring him hadn’t worked. There weren’t many options left besides assuming a new identity and running away to another city. Even if you did, you know it won’t help.

How right it felt to have him beneath you, moaning into his skin from even the lightest touch. More recent memories you’re desperate to forget but the universe clearly refuses to give up its entertainment just yet. If you can’t beat them, you might as well join them.

You imagine his mouth, Mingyu on his knees before you, lips teasing over your stomach. The way he’d watch you through his lashes, waiting for you to beg him to touch you.

Just as your hand skates down your front, a familiar moan echoes through the wall.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

You freeze.

This cannot be happening.

“Y/N,” Mingyu whimpers.

For a moment you think Mingyu knows you can hear him, every muscle in your body zipping tight. But that isn’t possible. You didn’t even know he was in the shower until just now and the likelihood he could hear you was slim.

His broken voice rounding over the syllables of your name replays over and over and over.

You know what Mingyu is doing, can picture him down to the last detail. Another curse. Lip snagged between his teeth, stomach caved in, cock leaking through the tight grip of his fist. You’ve watched him do it enough times to know exactly what makes him sigh and moan and grunt. Made him come the same way only a few days ago. You remember it all. How he’d try to keep his eyes open to watch your reactions and fail, how his chest and throat tinged pink, how his thighs flexed and—

“Fuck,” Mingyu’s disembodied voice shudders.

And how he sounds when he’s coming.

You flee the shower, hair soaked, scrambling for the world’s smallest towel courtesy of housekeeping. This cannot be happening. All you wanted was one night of peace but even that was too much to ask for.

It’s one thing to think about Mingyu. It’s another ordeal to rub one out while he seemingly does the exact same thing only a wall away, unaware he has an audience. At least he is free from the weight of knowing you use him as spank bank material. You have to live with the fact that he fucks himself with your name on his lips.

The bedroom is safe from Mingyu but your brain isn’t. You try thinking of something else – anything else – but nothing can break through the loop of his sighs. Trying to escape him between the sheets proves to be worse. Every time you turn, you half expect to see him on the other side of the mattress. Each time the windows rattle from the wind it reminds you of the shaky noise of his moans. The tug of the sheets across your body reminds you of his hands, caressing your stomach, your thighs, your chest.

You don’t sleep a wink.

Your feet hurt, your head hurt. A sixteen hour day filled with a crying bride and demanding family drained your entire life force. All you wanted was to get home, lay down, and pass out.

When you made it through the door, Mingyu was sitting at the kitchen table. Another thing in your way.

“How was it?” There was an edge to his tone. It’s not a question, it’s an integration. Sometime after the fifth hour you turned his contact on Do Not Disturb and Mingyu knew it.

“I don’t want to do this right now. I’m tired,” you say.

“You never want to do anything. You put more energy into other people’s relationships than ours.”

“I’m sorry I have a fucking job!”

“It’s not about that!” he argued.

You collapsed into one of the dining chairs, the last flame of fight snuffed out. This was it. The inevitable end that you attempted to put off for months. You thought it was a rough patch, an adjustment period from doing weddings full time. But there were more bad days with Mingyu than good ones. You cried for no reason, avoided him in your shared apartment. It was all so exhausting.

“I don’t want to dread coming home. I don’t want to fight with you all the time. I’m just…tired,” you choked, tears pricking your eyes already. “I—I think we should take a break.”

“What?” Mingyu said.

Mingyu stared at you, unmoving. Once upon a time, you thought he was it. The one. Your person who would be with you through everything. Someone you’d figure everything out with. When you started planning weddings full time, you watched couples exchange vows over and over and over, all with the same cliches. Two puzzle pieces, halves of a whole circle, soulmates. No matter how many times you heard the metaphors, you always pictured Mingyu and the day you would be standing at the end of the aisle saying the same thing.

Until you didn’t.

“We should break up.”

“Fine,” he said.

When he left that night, you stayed behind to pick up the pieces of your heart.

The entire day leading up to the rehearsal dinner goes smoothly. Joshua and his groomsmen hung out on the estate’s golf course while the bridesmaid’s took over the spa, and you avoided the kitchen at all costs. Luckily, one of Sarah’s aunts has a conniption over the size of her suite and you spend the entire day rearranging room assignments, careful to follow Josh and Sarah’s rules. Aunt Beatrice cannot be within fifty feet of uncle Simon, Simon and Grandma Tildy both snore loud enough that whoever is in rooms adjacent need earplugs but Sarah’s mom won’t wear them so her parents need to be far away. It’s a giant puzzle. One you thrive on untangling, mind lost to figuring out the limited combinations that will prevent all out war.

At 4:30 the rehearsal ceremony ends and you’re corralling the entire wedding party and dozens of relatives into the formal dining room where Dokyeom waits to serve them. Seungkwan helps usher everyone to their assigned tables. Far easier than reshuffling rooms since half of them refuse to go near tables with their known nemesis present.

Dinner continues without a hitch, champagne flowing through each course. Dessert comes and with it Mingyu. The staff served the panna cottas under his watch, meticulously checking each tray before it’s served. Your gaze follows him like a magnet. It makes you smile, pride blooming in your chest.

What happened with Mingyu was a bruise that might always remain tender, but you want him to be happy. Even if you weren’t the person to do that anymore.

As the desserts go out, Seungcheol, Joshua’s best man, rises to give a speech. You find an empty table in the back to watch.

“I met Josh when we were six years old and he decided to pour milk in my shoes. Lucky for me, I met Sarah under far better circumstances. She side swiped my car.”

Everyone laughs.

“It was an accident!” Sarah argues.

“Can you believe this guy?” Jeonghan whispers, taking the seat next to you.

You don’t know Seungcheol well but the number of photos of him and Josh from childhood till last week speaks to their friendship, they flash by on the giant projection screen. Apparently, Seungcheol introduced them.

“Some people actually speak from the heart and not just pretend to for a paycheck.”

Jeonghan clutches his chest. “I’m offended.”

“Good, that’s why I said it,” you snort.

You’ve worked with Jeonghan enough to know he’s always working an angle. He probably wants to know which bridesmaids are single and not insane, or he’s looking for something to keep himself entertained.

“So you and the baker…”

There it is.

“I will kill you where you stand.”

The threat rolls right off him. “First, I’m sitting. Second, who will write about your weddings?”

“Michael,” you shrug.

Jeonghan’s eyes roll. “Michael can barely string two sentences together.”

“Okay, but he isn’t as annoying.”

Snagging a champagne flute from a passing waiter, you slouch back in the seat. If you’re going to talk about Mingyu with Jeonghan, then you need something much stronger.

“Listen, far be it for me to give you relationship advice,” Jeonghan says with shocking sincerity. “But if I didn’t know you were attempting to be a nun then I think you two would make a good couple. He seems like a nice guy.”

“Been there, done that,” you mumble.

Jeonghan opens his mouth to ask for more details but something over your shoulder stops whatever he was going to say.

“What?”

“Looks like someone else is currently trying to do that.”

You follow Jeonghan’s stare to the corner of the room where Mingyu is held captive by a tipsy bridesmaid. Her hand on his chest, bright red manicure contrasting against his pristine white chef’s jacket. Like blood on fresh snow. The same red tinges the corners of your vision.

The corners of his mouth tilt upwards. “Jealous?”

“No,” you say stubbornly.

Mingyu can do whatever he wants, with whomever he wants. It’s not your business. What is your business is the fact he’s supposed to be working right now, not chatting up a tall blonde in the corner of the room. You know every bridesmaid, at least what Sarah deemed important enough to share. Margaret lives in New York City, does pilates six times a week, and looks like she is perpetually put together in a way that says she is not trying at all. The last part you figured out yourself when she arrived yesterday, fresh off a sixteen hour flight from Bali without a hint of jet lag.

Seungcheol wraps up his speech, applause echoing in the room as the maid of honor takes his place. You stay rooted in place, watching Mingyu flirt and chuckle at whatever Margaret is saying.

The final straw is she squeezes her nails into his arm like he’s a piece of meat.

Downing the last bit of bubbly, you stand. “I’ll be right back.”

“Go get ‘em tiger.”

You cuff Jeonghan on the back of the head before heading to battle.

He’s flirting on the job. That’s what you tell yourself this is about. Mingyu tarnishing your reputation by association because he can’t keep it in his pants, despite the fact that you are about as bad as he is. Except the closer you get, the more obvious he is doing the complete opposite of that.

“Do you work out?” Margaret asks, reaching up on her tiptoes to speak into his ear.

“Not really,” he responds, voice tight. When his eyes meet yours over Margaret’s shoulder, they flash with something you assume is HELP ME.

“Sorry to interrupt,” you smile politely, teeth glinting like knives as they both turn towards you. “But I need Mingyu’s help.”

He untangles from Margaret’s clutches, strategically using you as a shield. “What’s wrong?”

“Um… kitchen emergency,” you say, side-eying Margaret pointedly.

Mingyu blinks in confusion. “Emergency?”

Margaret’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “What kitchen emergency?”

“Confidential. Sorry. Have you tried the champagne? It's great,” you say as you wrap your arm around Mingyu’s and stride towards the hallway. The opposite direction of the kitchen. Oh well.

“What happened in the kitchen?” Mingyu says once outside. “Did Dokyeom fuck with my cakes? I told him not to touch—”

“Everything is fine,” you explain. “I just thought you could use an out.”

Mingyu laxes before shuddering. “I thought she was going to eat me.”

“Margaret is harmless. Sarah told me her last divorce ended on good terms.”

“Well, in that case.” He pretends to turn back, jerking back where your arms are linked.

“Please do not make me deal with a pissed bridesmaid because you turned her down.”

“How did you know I was gonna turn her down?” he argues.

“Because you look like a constipated baby when you don’t know what to say.”

“I do not!”

Stifling a grin, you level him with an expectant look. “You looked like you wanted to die.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as well. “Well, you aren’t wrong. She was asking if I modeled.”

“Oh, god. Don’t let that go to your head.”

“Why not? Don’t you think I’d be a good model?”

His face morphs into the best Zoolander impression he can manage which isn’t saying much. You’re still linked at the elbows, allowing Mingyu to pull you closer when you try to hide your laugh from his ridiculous expression. Feels nice, normal even, having him by your side, laughing over something stupid. You can almost forget last night. Almost.

You look at the floor, continuing to walk further away from the party you’re still working. “Finance guy turned baker turned model.”

“I am a man of multitudes.”

Mingyu stops, face inches from yours. You falter under his gaze, smile dissolving as you stare up at him. His eyes fall to your mouth, close enough you can count each of his eyelashes. Then it rushes you all at once, stunned by the realization that you want him to kiss you and you want it to mean something. Your chin tilts up, Mingyu already halfway there and…

Seungkwan’s voice cracks in your ear. “We’ve got a drunk bridesmaid causing a scene.”

You inhale shakingly, untangling your arm from Mingyu’s and stepping back. You wince before lifting the mic to your lips. “Be there in a second.”

“There is throw up in a potted plant,” Seungkwan replies. “One of Jihoon’s potted plants.”

Cringing again, you take a step back. “Well, there is now a real emergency so I better…”

“Yeah, I…Yeah.”

Turning on your heel, you walk back towards the party, barely stopping yourself from looking back at where Mingyu waits.

You spend the entire night tossing and turning, brain firing at rapid speed. You never sleep well during an event. Skin tight and itchy, you pace back and forth. Opening the windows helps a little, the light chill of wind breaking the restless feeling.

Except it’s not about the wedding. By all accounts, for the time you were granted, everything has gone shockingly well so far. Everything is sorted and the only things that can go wrong at this point are the numerous possibilities that would require years to list out. You’re seasoned enough to know that.

It’s Mingyu.

And the way he looked at you after you saved him from Margaret. The way he looks at you in general, when he thinks you’re not looking. When he walks into a room and you’re the first person he looks for. His face when you said the night in the car was a mistake.

You’ve been so stuck in not wanting to look bad in front of Sarah and Joshua, you haven’t given your feelings any real thought. Clearly, not thinking about him wasn’t working so perhaps you needed to actually untangle your problems the way you did with a seating chart.

On one hand, Mingyu seems like he isn’t the same man you left years ago. He’s happier, more himself than he was in those months culminating in your break up. Different. Not in a way that scares you, the Mingyu you know is still there, in the way he jokes and tries to fix things before they become a problem. Whatever is different about him excites you.

On the other, you don’t know what he’s thinking. If any of the kisses or stolen moments meant anything to him. If he was working through the same feelings or if he was just a guy looking for a good time with someone he knew intimately. He could still be the same man who accused you of putting him on the backburner for your career.

You wouldn’t know what he wanted until you ask.

One of you had to be brave enough to address whatever was happening, and after multiple rejects you were the one who had to do it. It would suck and you would probably cry but after this weekend, you promise yourself to talk it out with him. If that firmly shut the door closed on your relationship then so be it but at least there would be an answer. At least, you wouldn’t spend every night spiraling.

The uneasy nerves from before are quieter this time. Having a plan, even when it’s as simple as asking Mingyu where his head is at, calms you.

The sun barely peeks over the horizon when you head to the bathroom to get ready. Mingyu has never once been an early bird in the time you’ve known him and he didn’t have to be anywhere to be until tonight for the cake cutting at the reception. You still listen for any signs of him on the opposite side of the wall but nothing, not even a question shuffle, comes through.

Taking your time, you wash your face, the cold water keeping you alert enough until you can snag a coffee from the kitchen. There isn’t a point in putting too much effort into your hair and make up, the day was forecasted to be warm and with all the running around you needed to do you’d sweat out whatever effort you put in.

When done, you pull out the black dress laid out for today. The usual slacks and blouse didn’t seem formal enough for a day like today. Floor length, with just enough back exposed to still be appropriate, it is the most expensive thing you own. You’d probably be wearing it to the grave to justify the cost. But you can’t put a price on looking the part of ‘wedding planner everyone wants to work with.’

After twenty minutes of twisting and forcing flexibility you do not have, the dress is zipped, your heels are on, and you head back into the bathroom for final touches.

While you fought with a pile of chiffon from hell, Mingyu woke up.

“No, I can’t just—” Mingyu’s voice floats through the wall.

You look fine in the mirror. There's no reason to linger any longer. You’re about to leave, determined not to eavesdrop, when his voice makes you stop.

“I can’t ask her to get back together, Mom, that’s not fair.”

It’s like someone cut the tether to your body, and now you're floating.

Get back together…

The words don’t hit you like that should. At least, not at first. It’s like being underwater, Mingyu tossing you into the deep end.

“I know she doesn’t want to do this with me,” he continues. “No, she didn’t say that but I can’t imagine working with your ex-boyfriend on the biggest wedding of your life is very fun. She’s worked hard for this, I’m not gonna ruin it for her by making it about me.”

Your ass meets the tile floor, his words replaying over and over again. When you snap back, you can’t hear anything but the steady rush of your pulse, lungs burning like you ran a marathon. For a second you think everything Mingyu said is a hallucination co-sponsored by stress and sleep deprivation. But you know that isn’t the truth which means you have half an answer on what he’s feeling. It makes bringing it up later seem much easier to approach than jumping feet first.

The vibration of your phone snaps you back to now.

Seungkwan: ellery says no coffee for vendors

Later, you can browbeat Mingyu into telling you everything. Right now you have work to do. First, stop a mutiny of florists, musicians, and kitchen staff.

You type out a response while rushing out the door.

Y/N: tell him i will personally reimburse him for whatever we drink

Seungkwan: i told him to eat my ass

Y/N: i pay you to make my life easier…

Seungkwan: you do not pay me enough for that, settle for my dazzling humor and friendship

Glancing up from your phone, you see a frozen Mingyu hovering half way out his own door. White coat in hand, ready to head down to the kitchen.

And he’s staring at you like you might as well be naked.

“Hi,” you manage, voice more breath than sound.

Good morning, I heard you tell your mom, who still texts me every year on my birthday by the way, that you want to get back together. Coffee?

“You look nice,” he offers, eyes raking over you from head to toe.

Your heart thuds with the urge to confess everything, to hide away somewhere on the grounds for the rest of the day with him and work it all out. Now. But this is the biggest wedding of your life and you have worked hard for this. Whatever you need to have out with Mingyu, he will be waiting on the other side of today.

“Thanks. I—um— I have to go.”

You barely make it ten feet down the hall before Mingyu says your name.

“Wait!” he calls.

You turn to face him. “Mingyu, I really need to go.”

He looks like he didn’t plan further ahead than asking you to give him a second glance, unsure of himself now that he got it. “I just wanted to say…good luck.”

“Thanks. You too.”

Within ten minutes of descending the stairs, no less than four issues require your attention. The guest book is nowhere to be found, the band left cigarette butts outside in the garden last night sending Ellery into a fit and prompted him to withhold coffee, the flower girls (Sarah’s twin nieces) refuse to share their basket, and Jihoon is on the verge of a mental break down over bouquets.

Divide and conquer. While Seungkwan tracked down the book, you focus on negotiating with Satan himself.

In the kitchen, Mr. Ellery guards the coffee pots like a watchdog, snarling at anyone who gets too close. You approach him without an ounce of fear. Honestly, you’ve had enough of his weird eyebrows.

“Mr. Ellery,” you greet. “I heard we had a bit of a situation.”

“‘A bit of a situation,’” he gasps. “I will not have my family home littered with garbage!”

“And I agree. That is why my assistant is already outside cleaning up the mess and I’m going to speak to the people responsible once we’re done.” You plaster the same slightly unhinged smile on your face from last night. “However, if my staff isn’t treated well then perhaps next time I have a premium event, I’ll take it elsewhere. Just to avoid this same conflict from happening.”

No one got fair in this business by letting people walk all over them.

Don’t fuck with me, old man.

Brown eyes went wide. “Well, let’s not be hasty—”

“Coffee. Now.”

Not caring to respond, his arms cross tightly over his chest with a ‘humph’ before stepping away, defeated. One of the catering staff jumps in immediately to start the machine.

One down, fifty million to go.

Next is the band.

They huddle around in the corner of the ballroom. Laughing and joking with one another despite the early hour. You know exactly one of them, Jun, who is a head taller than the other two. He had worked a few events with you before and you know he isn’t the one leaving a mess outside. He probably didn’t know it happened.

You stand behind the shortest one, clipboard clinched in your grip, waiting for their attention. Jun and the bassist, Minghao, stop talking to stare at you while the one in front of you continues.

“And so I told her, I have to—”

“Excuse me,” you snap.

The brunette whips around, a high pitched squeal leaving his throat.

“You.”

“Me?” he replies.

“Are you the one who can’t clean up after himself?”

His eyes go wide, the hands in his pockets now in front of him like you might take the clipboard and beat him to death with it. “I didn’t—”

“Listen to me very carefully,” you went on, taking a step closer. “You’re going to go outside and pick up every single filter, every single ash and leave it like you found it. Actually, better than you found it. And you do it again and I will light you on fire. Got it?”

“Chan’s in trouble,” Jun singsongs.

“Yes, ma’am,” Chan mumbles to his shoes.

“Give me your cigarettes and a light,” you demand, hand out like a teacher confiscating a note. Chan shoves the entire pack into your hand, his own shaking. “Now, if you all could go set up, I would appreciate it.”

The four of them all but sprint out of your vicinity. They’re still in earshot when you hear Chan scream again, probably because Jun has him by the ear like a parent. You can’t relish in the humor of it for long.

Seungkwan finds you at the entrance of the ballroom, the book and a second basket in hand.

“Where did this end up?” you ask.

He huffs without any amusement. “Grannie Donna apparently has sticky fingers.”

You take his hoard, swapping the cardboard box in your hand for the basket.

“Take Jihoon outside, give him these and the biggest coffee you can find. Whatever you do, don’t let him leave.”

“Yes, boss,” Seungkwan salutes and beelines it down the hall.

“And only let him have those out in the parking lot,” you call after him. “Not the gardens.”

“Got it.”

You’re alone in the hallway. Not really, because venue staff are rushing about to set up breakfast, clean before guests come down from their rooms. But even with the morning mishaps, the day is already ahead of schedule. At three the ceremony will start, pictures, dinner, and then Mingyu.

Mingyu with the cake, you remind yourself.

Checking your watch, you head to the foyer. The makeup artist should be arriving any minute and that meant—

“Holly, thank god.”

She beams when you pull her into a hug, her kit digging painfully into your side. “Good to see you too. Now, where is the bride to be?”

“Upstairs. I’ll show you.”

“So Soonyoung said Mingyu is here too,” Holly says after reaching the second floor.

“Small world,” you shrug.

“You are a horrible liar.”

“Am not!”

“Yes, you are,” she says. “So how many times have you kissed him?”

“Twice,” you say.

“Damn it.”

“What?”

“I owe Soonyoung twenty bucks.”

“You’re betting on my love life?”

Holly laughs. “I am married. I need some form of entertainment.”

There’s no use in lying. Of all the people to judge you, Holly is the last person to join the line. Besides, she’s the only one that knows Mingyu almost as well as she knows you.

“I may have overheard him talking about wanting to get back together,” you share.

Holly doesn’t miss a step as she replies, “Yeah, he does that a lot.”

“What?”

“Okay, maybe not a lot but I know he’s asked Soonyoung more than once if it was a good idea to call you and I also know six weeks ago he showed up at our house like he’d seen a ghost.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You stop on the landing, facing her. Holly stops too, unphased by your petulance.

“If you did that, would you want Soonyoung to tell him?”

“You’re telling me now.”

“Yeah well, you planned my wedding for free, I owe you.”

“Mingyu made your wedding cake.”

“He also threw up in my pool and I didn’t kill him so he’s at net zero.”

“What if…What if we don’t work?”

Holly taps her chin, head tilting to the side. “Then it doesn’t work.”

“Thank you wise one, what would I ever do without you.”

“Things change. People change. Mingyu…he’s worked really hard to be in a better place than when you two broke up. I think if you don’t at least talk to him about it then you’ll regret it.”

“Okay,” you nod. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Full transparency, I take credit for getting you two together. I knew he’d be obsessed with you the moment he laid eyes on you and I was right. So when you two do work out, I will be first in line to make a speech.”

Your eyes roll. “Whatever you say. Now, go. Sarah is waiting.”

Six hours later, the ceremony goes off without a hitch.

It’s the wedding of fairy tales. The florals Jihoon nearly ripped his hair out over transform the already stunning garden into a botanical wonder. Each of the bridesmaids look straight off the cover of a magazine in their gowns, the same for the tailored tuxedos the groomsmen don. After the flower girls scatter white rose petals all over like confetti, Sarah floats down the aisle in her wedding dress to a teary eyed Joshua, they recite their vows with just enough vulnerability, and when the officiate cues them, Joshua wraps Sarah in his arms, dips her low to the ground, and seals their love with a kiss.

Your favorite part of weddings isn’t the first look or watching the bride walk to her soon to be husband. It is always the moment after the kiss. When the couple is so clearly lost in their own world, staring at each other as if all the cheering from the audience is silenced in their own little bubble. And then comes the snap back to reality. No matter if they were bold or timid, it is the same every time. A moment just for them you’re lucky enough to witness.

After that is chaos.

You assist Wonwoo with corralling the bridal party for pictures. If the ceremony is a highlight reel, then everything leading up to the reception is a compilation of top ten worst things to ever plague mankind. A hungry bridal party you feed between shots, Sarah’s mom insisting on her good angles which contradict with Sarah’s good angles, and the sun hot in the sky rising beads of sweat along your eyebrow.

“I think that’s good for now,” Wonwoo announces. “I’ll take more inside.”

Dinner passes with no casualties. You even manage to go to the bathroom and eat a plate for yourself without the building catching on fire. With everyone glued to their chair for the meal, it’s hard for anything to go wrong. Then it’s time for the cake.

And with it, Mingyu.

You watch him roll the massive cake out from the kitchen, three feet tall and covered in white frosting. Exactly what Sarah and Joshua wanted down to the fresh cherries resting on the pipped peaks.

To be completely and truly honest, it’s the tackiest wedding cake you’ve ever seen.

Sarah and Joshua cut the cake, Wonwoo snapping pictures from every angle of the monstrosity. You pray the Franken-cake is left out when the photos come out in whatever bridal magazine next month.

“Not half bad,” you tell Mingyu, leaning on the wall next to him.

“I’ll be sure to put that review on my website,” he snorts. “Dessert First Bakery, we’re not half bad.”

Sarah swipes a frosting covered finger against Joshua’s chin.

“It’s so ugly,” Mingyu whispers, horrified.

“It was…unique.”

He pins you with a look. “I used fifteen pounds of buttercream. It’s fucking ugly.”

“You said it, not me,” you shrug.

For a few moments, you simply look at each other. You don’t have the urge to rush away and find some distraction, not like before. The only thing you feel is an ache in your stomach, one you thought died years ago that dark night in that cramped apartment. There aren’t butterflies but full sized birds trying to take flight.

“Well,” Mingyu’s jaw flexes. “I’ll leave you to it.”

You watch him go, escaping out into the hall, leaving you behind. That moment with him still lingers, the entire party dull on your senses because all your brain focuses on is where he disappeared, the urge to follow him like a moth to flame.

Lifting the mic of your head set, you speak. “Seungkwan, can you cover for me?”

“On it,” he responds instantly. “Go get your man.”

You don’t bother chastising him. There are more important things to do. Like finding Mingyu before he slips away.

The first step towards the exit is hard. The ones after are incredibly easy.

He’s halfway down the hall, back in the direction of the kitchens, when you catch him. “Mingyu, wait.”

Mingyu’s face gives nothing away.

“Can we talk?”

He nods.

“Not here.”

“Then where?”

You take one look at Mingyu before turning on your strutting past him towards the stairs. “Come on.”

His footsteps click behind you the entire way back to your suite. Luckily, everyone else is down at the reception or tucked away in their rooms for an early night. Neither of you speak the entire way, not stopping until the door of your suite latches with a barely audible click.

As close as you feel, the chasm between you and Mingyu is much wider now that you're at the edge and attempting to cross.

“I’m guessing this isn’t about the invoice,” Mingyu jokes, hands in his pockets.

Your head shakes. Your hands are shaking too. The room feels so much smaller with him taking up space.

“Then what is it?”

You exhale. “You told your mom you couldn’t ask me to get back together. Why?”

There goes being subtle about it.

“How do you know that?” he asks, shocked.

“I’m psychic,” you deadpan. “I can hear you through the bathroom wall, genius.”

“You were spying on me?”

“You were the one jerking off while thinking about me so I’d say we’re even.”

His neck flares red, eyes wide in horror. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Mingyu, I don’t care about that,” you huff. “Why did you tell your mom we couldn’t get back together?”

“I didn’t think it was an option.”

“I’m not saying it’s an option, I just…”

“Then what are you saying? What do you want from me, Y/N?”

“I—”

Mingyu steps closer. “You wanted to break up. I agreed. You wanted space, I gave it to you. You wanted me to do this wedding, I did it. I didn’t sleep for three days making sure everything was exactly how you wanted it. After the car, I thought you said it was a mistake so I dropped it. I’ve always tried to give you what you want. So tell me what you want and I’ll do it,” he says, voice a little desperate.

“I was planning to talk to you about this after this weekend was over…” you shudder, chest tight.

“Talk to me about what?” Mingyu watches you with guarded hope, fingers flexing at his sides like he wants to reach out and hold you but he doesn’t. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

“I want you.”

The words hang in the air, spelled out in the space between you and him, heavy like smoke.

“Be more specific.”

“I miss you and I want you back, even if we hate each other and don’t work and you hope I get hit by a bus—”

Mingyu pulls you into his chest, silencing your ramble. “I have never hated you.”

You melt into his warmth, the smell of his cologne and sugar and vanilla conjuring tears. It feels like home. He feels like home.

“Every time I look at you I feel like…” you trail off. You don’t know how to describe it. Like a million balloons popping at once, like you’re in the eye of a tornado. Something about a half made whole and whatever other cliches people throw around about the person they love.

“I know,” Mingyu whispers into your hair. The thud of his heart beats into your ear. “I feel that way too..”

As good as it feels to have him unfiltered once again, you’re still terrified. “But we didn’t work, Gyu. What’s changed between now and then? I work more. You work more. Wasn’t that what we always fought about? Not having enough time?”

“That’s not what I was upset about.”

“Then what was it?”

Untangling himself from your hold, Mingyu sits on the bed, chin tipped down, face hidden in his hands. You want to pretend like you never asked, that you two are back together and everything is sunshine and rainbows because you have him once again. But you can't put a bandaid on an infected wound and hope it’ll heal on its own. As painful as it is, the infection of your past needed to be cleaned.

“I started seeing a therapist,” he says after a long moment.

“You did?”

“I felt like…” his voice clips like he’s trying not to cry. “I felt like I wasn’t good enough for you.”

“Mingyu…”

“I know. And that made me feel even worse. I started talking to them a few months after we ended and I realized I wasn’t upset you worked all the time. I was ashamed because you did exactly what you dreamed of doing and I was too scared and I took it out on you. I was always proud of you. I still am. When I see your weddings in the paper and everything. You were so much braver than I was and I felt ashamed of it. And when you left I didn’t even blame you for it. And I’m sorry for everything I said, and that I didn’t tell you and I let you think you weren’t important to me.”

You wait in case he wants to share anything more but Mingyu doesn’t speak.

“Mingyu,” you whisper, stepping into the space between his legs. He hides his face in the fabric covering your stomach. “Mingyu, Mingyu, Mingyu.”

Each repetition of his name is punctuated with against his hair. He melts beneath them, tension evaporating from his body as he pulls you closer.

“I forgive you.”

You do. It surprises even yourself that you can forgive him so easily but Mingyu has been trying. Not with the intent to get you back but because he knew he was wrong and wanted to be better.

Those seem to be the magic words he needs. Mingyu collapses back onto the mattress, pulling you with him. You both lay there, glowing with content. He traces circles on the back of your neck, other hand curled over your back like you might leave. You won’t. Not this time. Not again.

“If I tell you a secret, promise not to make fun of me?”

“Hmmmm.” You pretend to consider it while planting kiss after kiss over jaw, down his neck, soaking in the steady rhythm of his pulse against your lips. “Depends.”

“What if it’s romantic?”

“I guess.”

“I named the bakery after you.”

“What?”

“You told me to save the money I’d put on a ring to open it one day. It felt like the least I could do.” Mingyu hides in your hair, squeezing you so tight your bones hurt. “You always said dessert should be served first at dinner.”

Whatever witty comment blooms on your tongue wilts instantly. So you bite him instead.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

“Oh my god, I love you, you cheesy motherfucker.”

Mingyu pulls your palm to his lips, looking straight through. “I love you.”

Your hand curls around his cheek before you kiss him. Just once. A soft pass of your mouth over his, dual sighs of relief mingling together.

“We’re getting back together, right? Because I really can’t handle—”

“Yes, we’re getting back together.”

“Thank god.” Mignyu sags with relief.

“You know,” you say, arms weaving over his shoulders. “I have the night off.”

“Oh really?”

You bite your lip to keep from smiling too big. “Mhm.”

“And what do you plan to do with your free time?”

“I have a few ideas.”

You suck his bottom lip, fingers working at the buttons of his jacket. He only makes it more difficult by rolling on top of you, taking advantage of the moment to snake his tongue along yours.

Mingyu groans in frustration, refusing to pull his mouth away from yours. “How do you get this dress off?”

You prod his shoulder, standing to present the zipper curved down your spine. “Help me.”

The fabric goes slack. You let it fall, no attempt at modesty. Turning back to face him, Mingyu stops you, plastering his front to your back, cupping your chest as he watches over your shoulder.

His thumbs graze your nipples, over and over and over again. It’s madness, how turned on you are from this alone. If he gave you something to grind against you’d come.

“Mingyu,” you grovel. The ‘please’ is implied with the arch of your ass against his hard on.

A puff of air rains across the curve of your neck, his teeth quick to follow. “I told you to tell me what you want.”

“I want you to eat me out.”

He bends you over the desk with a gentle push. Mingyu nudges your legs further apart, fully on display for him. You hear his clothing fall, the thump of a belt buckle hitting the floor. You hope he’s naked.

When you look back to check, he’s zoned in on your ass and palming over his briefs. You arch a little bit more.

“Are you planning to just stand there or are you going to do something?” you goad.

“Patience.”

His nose traces over your spine and you savor the attention. The waiting is the worst part but you crave a deeper intimacy than a quick tumble. You want to rediscover all of him, and him all of you.

Teeth sting into the curve of your ass, your eyes rolling.

Your voice thins when you speak. “Is there a reason I’m still wearing heels?”

“Hot,” he grunts into the back of your thigh, fingers etching along the hem of your thong.

The wet heat of his tongue snakes through what little is covered by the fabric, right where the arousal he stokes out of you collects. There is some pleasure in being teased but tonight isn’t one of the nights for it. You want him. All of him. Now.

Your fingers slither back into his hair, holding firm. “Take them off.”

Mingyu rolls down your thighs, abandoning them at your knees to bury his face between your legs.

“Oh my god.” He sucks your clit, tongue lashing with no build up, rough hands spreading your ass.

No one ate your pussy as well as Mingyu does. He’s too devoted to be selfish, willing to spend as much time as it takes for your eyes to roll and muscles to seize.

Each shudder and moan forces your breast across the desk, nipples catching on the waxed surface.

“Fingers,” you moan. “Fingers too.”

Your sighs rise, moaning through the addition of his fingers coupled with a rough lap of his tongue that has you arching back to ride his face. His lips suction tight. You let him fuck you in with slow strokes.

The desk keeps you upright. All you have to do is take it, take what Mingyu gives and let it fester.

“Oh my god,” you choke when he leans back and spits on your cunt.

Reaching back blindly, you tug him back by the hair.

You can feel the end just out of reach. A few vulgar flicks and its release in long waves that make you keen his name horsley.

The surface of the desk is cool against your skin, soothing the burn in your cheek as you catch your breath. Mingyu kisses up your back, wet lips leaving traces of your arousal everywhere.

He nips your ear. “Good?”

You nod, craning to kiss him. Mingyu turns you around, not breaking contact, and leads you to bed. Your knees fold over the edge and then you’re looking up at him from where he stands between your spread legs.

“My feet hurt,” you pout.

Mingyu stretches your legs up his chest, ankles right at eye level as he undoes the buckle. He’s still teasing. The bulge of his cock pressed, hidden beneath his underwear, heavy against your ass.

“You’re the worst.”

He smirks but maintains focus on the dainty strap. “Be patient.”

“Mingyu,” you sigh, half begging half objection from the subtle grind of his hips. “Want you.”

“Let me enjoy this.”

“You’re driving me insane.”

“Now you know how I feel seeing you in that dress this morning.”

Your eyes roll. “It’s not that nice.”

“I was talking about the woman wearing it.”

Free from shoes, your legs spread, pussy on display. Mingyu swallows hard as your fingers move through the mess of spit and arousal. “Well the woman wearing it wants you to fuck her.”

He cocks a brow. It means nothing with the red tint of his ears. “Does she now?”

“Missed having you come inside me,” you tease.

Mingyu shivers. “Yeah?”

“You were the only one.”

“All mine.”

You sit up, mouth at one of the marks from last week, already healed and just a shadow of what it was. Moving slightly, you pin his nipple between your teeth. “Will you give it to me?”

“Whatever you want,” he pants.

His underwear hits the floor, cock perfect in your palm. You lean back, eyes on his, and spit on it. Mingyu’s hips kick, fucking himself through your grips.

“What do you want?”

He groans, throat raw. “Wanna come inside you, want you to ride me.”

“Then come here.”

You guide him into the sheets, splayed out like a full meal. He pulls your leg over his lap. You could stay here. Sat on his thighs, stroking his cock until cum paints his chest white. Clean it up with your mouth. And do it all again over and over.

But this isn’t the only chance to drag him through hell for the sake of pleasure so you save it for later.

Mingyu grips himself, presenting his length like a throne. All it takes is an easy roll of your hips and your flat against him, full beyond belief.

“Fuck, I love you,” he moans into your mouth as you sink down.

You rock forward, grinding to prevent even a moment without the satisfying feeling of your insides molded to his cock.

His fingers dig into your ass, helping you with gentle thrusts. “Feels so good, fuck.”

“Mingyu,” you hiss.

“Want you to come for me again.”

His eyes glue onto the view down your front: your throat, your breasts bouncing with every grind, the way his cock disappears and comes back soaked. You watch him watch you, drooling for the fucked out look on his face.

You kiss the cord of muscle in his neck.

“Come inside, Gyu. Give it to me,” you whisper, all breath right in his ear. “I wanna feel how hard you come for me.”

He pinches your nipple, the pain shooting straight to your core. Your back curves and you feel his cock in the back of your throat.

“Don’t stop,” you beg. “Fuck me. Please, fuck me.”

Tugging you off, Mingyu manhandles you down into the sheets.

“No,” you protest, scrambling for him. Any part of him you can reach.

Those muscles go to use pinning you in place. One hand holds your wrists over your head, thighs splayed across his. Mingyu slaps his cock against your pussy, leaking tip teasing your clit. “Tell me you want it.”

“I want it,” you nod, dumb.

He dips lower, lips rubbing against yours for his next command. “Tell me how much you need me to fuck you.”

“Need it,” you sigh, thighs squeezing around his waist, aching for a chance to slip him inside. “Need you to fuck me.”

In a frenzy, Mingyu ruts into the snug feel of your walls. The angle stretching you out just right, cock battering that place inside that makes your joints lock. He spreads your legs wider with a roll of his hips, finding your clit easily.

“There, there, there.”

He rubs you raw to the core, not stopping when you tremble. It’s not fair he can fuck you like second nature, dragging you to the brink of insanity with the tiniest bit of effort.

“C-cumming,” Mingyu shudders, finding your mouth once again. You’ll be sore tomorrow from the way he bares down into you, until you’re flat against him, taking it deeper.

You shudder when he grinds down into you a few more times, pure greed driving him to stay inside you despite his own sensitivity.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, carefully pulling out. You’re not empty for long. His fingers stuff your opening, slick cum making it an easy slip.

He pulls them out, presenting them in the pale light of the room. You snag his wrist and suck them between your lips, preening at his reaction.

“God, that’s hot,” Mingyu mutters.

You give another lewd suck before popping off “C’mon lover boy, I need a shower.”

“I can come?”

You laugh. “Yeah, you can come.”

Mingyu sneaks back into his room, snagging whatever clothes he needs for the night while you hop into the shower. The steam softens all those sore muscles when you hear a knock.

“Can you hear me?” he asks through the wall.

You knock back. “Yes!”

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Now hurry up, it’s getting cold.”

An hour later, you’re squeaky clean between the bed sheets with Mingyu. He brought one of his old shirts for you to wear from college. You regret buying him so much Dodgers paraphernalia as a gag gift for Christmas all those years ago. But you take the shirt because it makes him happy. Almost happier than if you chose to sleep naked.

Cuddling up to him, you let your mind wander off, sleeping rolling over you. Your eyes open for one last look only to find him already looking at you, face soft, eyes committing your face to memory.

“Stop staring at me. It’s creepy.”

“I’m not creepy,” he pouts.

“You’re not but watching me try to sleep is.”

“I was going for romantic.”

“How about going to sleep. We have to be up early.”

“Goodnight kiss?” he asks, halfway to your mouth already.

One turns two and two into many more.

You’re both still awake when Mingyu’s alarm goes off hours later.

2 Years Later…

Whisking Up a Perfect Match: The City’s Most Notorious Wedding Planner and Beloved Baker Say 'I Dough’

BY JEONGHAN YOON

They say love is a lot like baking; it takes patience, precision, and a little bit of magic…

taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @sliceofwoozi

@writingbarnes @dokyeomkyeom @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @wobblewobble822

@futuristicenemychaos @seungkw1 @horanghaezone @jespecially @scoupsjin

@isabellah29 @luvseungcheol @crisle19 @iamawkwardandshy @lukeys-giggle

@aaa-sia @tinkerbell460 @gyuhao365 @ourkivee @bokk-minnie

@cookiearmy @moonlightwonu @kyeomofhearts

@melonacco @lllucere @wwjagabeee @syluslittlecrows @yourbimbohope

@whrryuu @wonrangwoo @xchaenx @champagnenoona

#lonelyheartscafecollab #thediamondlifenetwork #ksmutsociety #kim mingyu x reader #kvanity #svt x reader #mingyu smut #kim mingyu #svt smut #seventeen smut #kim mingyu smut #mingyu fluff #mingyu angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #svt fluff #svt angst #🫡 highvern

2K notes · View notes

dawngyu · 6 months ago

Text

THE SCIENTIST

pairing: popular hueningkai x deaf fem!reader

summary: Kai, who thrived in sound. Loud noise, vibrant conversations, the hum of life. And the quiet girl that sits prettily by the window—had begun to haunt his mind—stirring his heart the way only music ever had.

There must be some scientific explanation for this... right?

warnings: deaf reader, set in 1995 timeline, verbal!abuse, physical!abuse, family-trauma, ableism!(hate this word so much). side character!death, purely work of fiction. subtle implications of survivor guilt, high-school setting but everyone is 18 and above. everything written here is not a description of any idols. characters like chae-won, yun-jin etc are used. if any of the warnings above might be triggering for you, please proceed with caution if you decided to read. (let me know if i missed anything.)

smutwarnings: explicit!smut, pull-out method(pls don't),fingering!, missionary!, virginity!loss. MDNI.

wc: 21k

notes: inspired by twinkling watermelon. while I’ve done some research to better understand what it’s like to be deaf, there may still be inaccuracies. I did my best to approach the subject with care and respect. love knows no boundaries, hence I wrote this piece. a big thank you to my beta reader.

You were born with the inability to hear anything.

The world is nothing but a muted place for you. You never heard the birds singing at dawn, the hum of a bustling street, or the warmth in your parents’ voices—even your own. The sun might be painting the sky with its warm hues, but for you, it was just another day of deafening silence.

And then there was that one particular day.

You didn’t hear the crash, the scream of tyres, or the shattering glass. You didn’t hear your mother's voice, soft and trembling, as she held you close. Eyes brimming with tears, searching yours, face pale and streaked with blood.

You tried—desperately—to focus, to read the words forming on her lips. But your head spun, the world blurred, and all you could feel was her cold hands cradling your face. How can you? When you couldn't even hear your own pained whimpers from the glass that cut your skin. Strangers pulled you. They carried you away—away from her, away from her forever.

You’ve convinced yourself it must be punishment—a cruel reckoning from a life before this one.

Why else would your hearing be taken from you? Why else would the universe strip away the one person who truly saw you, who tried to understand you, even in your silence? What crime could have been so unforgivable that it warranted a lifetime of loss?

You stabbed at the food on your plate, pushing it around without taking a bite. Your stomach churned—not from hunger but from being trapped here. The room was filled with people who called themselves your family. Family—nothing more than a coincidence of living in the same house.

A sharp kick to your foot snapped you out of your thoughts. Your eyes met hers—your stepmother. Her perfectly practised smile didn’t reach her cold, calculating eyes.

She had arrived after the accident, ten years ago, when you were just eight. Back then, she was a tutor, brought in to give your father hope—a cruel, empty hope that you could still learn to speak. She had played her role well, and now she sat at the head of this table, the head of this house, ruling with her own. Her daughters—your stepsisters—sat on either side of her, mirroring her expressions, their eyes flickering toward you.

“Is the food not to your liking?” she asked—you read her lips, something you had to do out of necessity. Her stare burned into you.

You knew that look too well. Behave. Know your place.

And, as always, your father sat there, oblivious. His eyes never caught the disdain in hers, never lingered long enough to notice the cracks in the perfect picture she painted. Soon, he'll be back overseas for another business trip.

"Y/N?"

You hesitated, lifting your hand to sign, then you caught her eye—a sharp, pointed look. Your hand faltered, dropping back to your side.

Instead, you let out a hum. It wasn’t much, just a sound—a vibration you couldn’t hear but felt in your throat. She tilted her head slightly, giving a satisfied nod.

Your father pushed back his chair, standing with the same distracted air he always had. He walked over to you, placing a hand on your head, a gesture so routine it barely meant anything anymore. I’m going now. That was what it always meant.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead briefly, before straightening up. His secretary hovered near the door. You watched his back as he walked out, leaving you staring from the table.

The day your mother left you, you lost... him too.

Seeing the doors close, you rose from your seat, but your stepmother was quicker, blocking your path. She loomed, her face a mask of forced patience. "Do I need to remind you again?" she said, "I said speak. No hand signs or whatever that is. That is not allowed here on this house. Do you want me to get mad at you again?"

Her glare felt like a physical force, pinning you to the spot. Unable to meet her eyes, you nodded weakly, looking at the floor. But she wasn’t done. She stepped closer, grabbing your shoulders in a firm, punishing grip. Her fingers dug into your skin as she shook you, her frustration spilling over.

Everyone watched. They just.. watched. The maids stood frozen in the corner, their expressions carefully blank, devoid of any emotion, too scared to intervene. Your stepsisters whispered to each other, their mocking smiles only adding to the humiliation.

You nodded again, your only escape was to comply. A soft hum escaped your lips, the sound she always, always insisted on, a token of submission that seemed to satisfy her. Her hands drop from your shoulders. The moment her grip released, you ran. Up the stairs, down the hall, into the only place that felt remotely yours—your room.

Once inside, you collapsed at your desk, leaning forward until your forehead pressed against the hard surface. The tears came quickly, spilling from your eyes as sobs racked your chest. They said crying was supposed to help, to lighten the burden somehow. But for you, it only made the weight heavier. You couldn’t even hear yourself cry. The silence made your pain feel endless.

In your despair, your arm knocked into something on the desk. You looked up in alarm, your heart skipping as you saw the mess. Paints, scattered and spilling, teetered dangerously close to the last drawing you had finished the night before.

Frantically, you reached out, your hands moving quickly to fix it. The thought of losing that small piece—felt unbearable. You righted the paints and saved the smudged edges of the paper, tears blurred your vision as you looked at the sketch.

A boy, in your uniform, with bangs that fell over his eyes and the back of his hair just shy of touching his collar, stood smiling softly. In his hands, he held a guitar, fingers resting gently on the strings.

Huening Kai has so much to be delighted for—his mom, his dad, his sweet sisters—but if he’s being frank, what he’s most thankful for is the day he picked up a guitar and found his love for it.

Music has been his refuge during both the small, frustrating setbacks—like failing a math test he poured hours into studying for or losing a manga he cherished so much and never finding it again—and the moments that cut far deeper.

It was there when his parents decided to end their marriage, leaving him struggling at first—to make sense of a family that no longer looked the same. It was there when Lea packed her things and left for college, that he felt the ache of her absence in a much quieter house. It was there when two of his bandmates graduated, their spots in the group left empty, a reminder of how quickly life can change.

Through music, he met people who became his closest friends, his second family—people he couldn’t imagine living without.

It all comes back to one truth: music doesn’t betray you. It’s always there, no matter what. It’s honest, a constant in a world that often feels anything but. It’s there when you need it most, wrapping you in its arms like an old friend who doesn’t need words to understand—even when you can’t find them yourself.

“Huening Kai!” a high-pitched voice calls out. He feels the soft thud of pillows hitting him and a sharp slap against the back of his thigh. Seriously? He had just fallen asleep.

“I’m going to eat all your food if you don’t get up,” the voice threatens. That gets his attention. Groaning, he blinks his eyes open, adjusting to the dim light of his room. Familiar sight of used guitars propped against the wall, the gleam of trophies, and the dark violet hue that wraps around the room.

He blinks. Oh. It’s his sister, Hiyyih.

Hiyyih stands there, a plate in one hand, an annoyed look plastered across her face. Kai can tell she’s been sent by their mom to rouse him, probably against her will. She takes a deliberate bite of scrambled eggs, her eyes narrowing as she gives him a pointed look before turning to leave.

Kai chuckles softly, shaking his head as he rubs his eyes. He stretches, muscles still heavy, and a frown tugs at his lips. Today is the first day of his last year in high school. The final chapter. Soobin and Yeonjun won’t be there anymore. He sighs, swinging his leg off the bed.

He runs a hand to his tousled hair, grabs a hoodie from the back of his chair and pulls it over his head. He heads towards the chatter—smell of eggs, bacon and pancakes makes his stomach growl.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," His mom greets him with a smile. His frame now towering over the kitchen shelves. He catches her watching him, a soft look in her eyes, and it makes him smile back.

"Morning," Kai mumbles, sits down at the table, reaching for a slice of toast.

Hiyyih watches him,"I thought I was going to have to eat all your food," she teases.

Kai rolls his eyes but grins. "You wish."

"Big day, huh? Last first day of school."

"Yeah. It feels… weird. Soobin and Yeonjun aren’t going to be there. Has Lea called yet?"

"She did. She's doing great so far, being a college girl." his mom answers, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure you'll make even greater memories this year."

Kai smiles, appreciating her words. "Thanks, Mom."

Breakfast was filled with small talk, morning routines wrapping around them. Hiyyih busied herself packing her lunch, their mom helping her with a few finishing touches. Being just a year below Kai, their schedules almost mirrored each other, so they will go to school together.

"Kai, want me to sneak some of these into your lunch?" Hiyyih asked, voice dripping with exaggerated sweetness. He glanced over to see her holding up rice balls shaped like hearts and little animals, clearly proud of her handiwork.

"No, thank you," Kai replied, his tone flat but amused.

"Killjoy," she muttered, giving him a mock glare before returning to her task. He watches as she carefully places a tiny heart-shaped piece of seaweed to form a cat's nose. Something he did not understand.

Why go through all that effort?

The three of them make their way to their mom’s old car, a little worn but still reliable. Kai slips into the passenger seat, and Hiyyih climbs into the back, fussing with her hair even though she just brushed it a minute ago.

“Why don’t you let me drive?” Kai asks as the car starts rolling through the neighborhood. “That way you don’t have to keep going back and forth from school to home.”

His mom glances at him, a smile tugging at her lips. “Son, just because you turned 18 last summer doesn’t mean I’m handing over the keys. Besides,” she adds warmly, “I want to do this for you and Hiyyih.”

Kai leans back in his seat, nodding. She’s right. And anyway, it’s not like they head home together after school. His afternoons are spent in the band room while Hiyyih flits between her own plans, always busy with something or some girlfriends.

The car rolls up to the massive school grounds, Kai glances out the window. The sight of students milling around, the towering building ahead—it’s the same as always. He exhales and starts gathering his things.

He steps out, the crisp air latch on his face. With a quick ruffle of his hair, he pushes his longer bangs away from his eyes, though they fall back almost immediately. The strands at the back have grown out too, brushing the collar of his jacket. Slinging his backpack over his right shoulder and his guitar case over his left, he adjusts the weight and sets off toward the main building. Black—headphones rest around his neck.

He’s barely made it a few steps before he feels it—the stares. The whispers.

“Isn’t he one of the handsome seniors?” “The main guitarist of TXT.” — “He’s so tall. And cute.”

Kai shrugs it off, keeping his focus ahead. He’s used to it. Beside him, Hiyyih is already swept up by one of her friends, her laughter fading into the background after she’s pulled in another direction. His feet carried him down the well-worn hallway, a path he didn’t even have to think about. He could probably make the walk blindfolded. The band room.

When he reached the door, he grasped the doorknob and paused, a small smirk tugging at his lips as the low, bassline thrummed from inside. Peeking inside, the sight was just as he expected—home.

“Yo! Huening Kai!” Beomgyu’s voice rang out, bright and animated, as he set his bass down. His grin widened as he crossed the room in a few quick steps, pulling Kai into a hug before he could dodge. “How was your summer?”

Kai let out a soft laugh, prying Beomgyu’s arms off him. “It was fine. I went shopping with Taehyun a couple of times,” he said, making his way toward his guitar shelf. “Watch it.” he added, shooting Beomgyu a look as the other trailed dangerously close behind.

Beomgyu’s eyes landed on the guitar case Kai was carrying, and his grin turned sly. “What’s this? A new baby?”

“Yeah,” Kai replied, carefully unzipping the case and pulling the guitar out as if it were a fragile treasure. “Dad brought it back from abroad.”

Beomgyu snickered, reaching out to pinch Kai’s cheek. “You’re absolutely smitten, aren’t you?”

“Would you stop?” Kai swatted his hand away, but there was no hiding the small, proud smile tugging at his lips.

Before Beomgyu could tease him further, the door swung open again. Taehyun stepped inside, clipboard in hand, expression calm and no-nonsense as usual. “The new auditionees are here,” he announced, motioning to the two figures who followed him in.

“This is Heeseung,” Taehyun said, gesturing to the taller one. “He’s here to audition for piano. And Jay—he’s trying out for drums.”

Kai glanced at the newcomers, giving them a polite nod as Beomgyu rubbed his hands together, mischievous grin returning. "Alright," Beomgyu said, "let’s see what they’ve got."

The next hour flew by with skills checks, and it didn’t take long for them to see that Heeseung and Jay were solid. They were skilled, sharp, and seemed to fit right into the gaps left by Soobin and Yeonjun. It felt like they could pick up the left space and carry it forward without missing a beat.

Afterwards, Taehyun waved them off, heading to his next class, while Kai and Beomgyu walked in the opposite direction. They shared the same class, while Taehyun, ever the academic overachiever, headed to the advanced one.

“Only the brainiacs go there,” Beomgyu says, nudging Kai with his elbow.

Kai shook his head. Taehyun’s class was famous for being perfectly orderly—a stark contrast to theirs, which was noisy and chaotic on a good day. Their room always felt like the epicentre of the school’s commotion, every day.

The rest of the hours passed in a blur of introductions and meetings with their new advisors. And, of course, Kai’s least favourite math teacher made his return, every bit as strict as before.

Kai slouched in his chair, barely stifling a groan as the teacher droned on about equations and formulas. His mind drifted—Why do he even need this? Is he going to calculate the quadratic formula to buy chips at the grocery store? No.

He glanced down at his hands, the faint calluses on his fingertips from hours of guitar practice catching his eye. He’d much rather spend his time until his hands were sore than trying to decipher problems that made no sense to him.

Beomgyu leaned over, “I think your brain just checked out.”

Kai grinned, giving him a light shove. “Math checked me out first.”

The two of them exchanged quiet laughter, abruptly stopping when the teacher eyed them down.

By the time the last class wrapped up at 4 p.m., Kai found himself right back where he’d started his day: the band room. He and his four bandmates were deep into their after-school practice, bestowed in instruments, time slipped by unnoticed.

“Shoot,” Jay muttered, his gaze snapping to the wall clock. 7:30 p.m. Thirty minutes past the curfew for club rooms.

The realization hit them all at once. If the guards caught them here, it would mean one thing: detention.

“Pack up. Now,” Taehyun said, already slinging his bag over his shoulder. The others scrambled to gather their own gear.

Everyone slipped out into the dark, quiet halls, trying to move as silently as possible. The sound of their footsteps seemed louder.

“Hey! Who’s there?” A booming voice cut through, and suddenly, ta flash of light caught them mid-step.

“Go!” someone hissed, and chaos erupted. The guard started running toward them, and they bolted in every direction. Beomgyu let out a panicked squeal as he sprinted with his bass case clutched in one hand.

Kai didn’t have time to think—he just ran, heart pounded as his legs carried him blindly through the halls. He rounded a corner, only to see another guard up ahead. The group split, scattering.

He can’t get detention on the first day. His lungs burned as he pushed himself further. He kept running, not even sure where he was going, until his body… gave out.

Panting, he slumped near the wall, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He glanced over his shoulder and froze. A flashlight beam swept the hallway behind him. His pulse quickened as he realized he was at a dead end.

Frantically, his eyes darted around, then saw a room ahead. Kai’s brow furrowed at the sight of the mop propped against the door handle, clearly used as a makeshift way to keep it shut. Weird.

He hurried over, carefully removing the mop, and slipped inside. The room was pitch dark, save for the faint glow of light spilling in from the high windows. It cast eerie shadows on the walls, but he didn’t care. He just needed to hide.

Kai tried flipping the light switch, but nothing happened. Figures, he thought bitterly. He shut the door as quietly as he could, pressing his back against it to steady his breathing.

“Anyone there?” The sound of footsteps echoed outside. The guard’s flashlight swept across the small window in the door, and Kai instinctively slid to the floor, curling himself. He crawled, akwardly, backwards, toward the corner at the far end of the room, hoping to make himself as invisible as possible.

But something bumped against his foot. He whipped his head around, his breath catching in his throat. Sitting in the corner was someone else.

You.

Your legs were drawn up to your chest, wide eyes staring right back at him.

“Shi—” Kai started to curse but stopped himself, clapping a hand over his mouth—heart hammered in his chest, not sure if it was your unexpected presence in the room that caused it—or the way your wide, startled eyes locked onto his in this small space.

Chae-won, like you, is in her final year of high school, while Yun-jin is a year below. Your stepsisters.

When they first moved in, your twelve-year-old self had hoped you could be... friends. You had imagined shared secrets, laughter, and maybe even sisterly bonds. But the moment your father’s attention shifted elsewhere, it was clear that your stepmother’s whispers had already planted seeds of resentment in their hearts.

You couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it started. When did it all go wrong? Was it because you were the only biological daughter in the house? Because your father, despite his best intentions, never really connected with them either? Or was it simply because you couldn’t speak?

The inability to communicate fully, to bridge the gap between your world and theirs, seemed to widen the chasm. You often wondered if things would have been different if you could—if words could have built a room where silence had only erected walls.

After years of trying, of reaching out and being met with cold indifference or outright hostility, you gave up. You stopped hoping for understanding, stopped yearning for a connection that seemed impossible. The effort of trying to be part of their society when they wanted nothing to do with yours had only broken your heart.

"Watch where you're going, fucking weirdo," Chae-won sneers, her foot juts out, sending you stumbling. The water bucket you were carrying—filled with the murky grey water of used paintbrushes—tips forward, dousing your chest. You don’t hear the laughter, but you can feel it, buzzing around you in the painting room.

You look up, your gaze darts to Yun-jin. She leans against the counter, arms crossed, her painted red lips curved into a smug smirk. She raises an eyebrow, as if daring you to do something about it.

You’re in your school's art room, surrounded by the faint smell of turpentine and dried paint. Art has always been your peace. But your love for it didn’t go unnoticed by your stepmother.

It wasn’t long before she pushed her daughters into it too. You’re not sure if it was to force some kind of twisted togetherness between you, or if it was her way of ensuring they would always outshine you, in everything—even this.

You push yourself up, your clothes clinging to your body, damp. Your eyes narrow as you stare at Chae-won. You want to tell her off, to demand an apology, to ask why she does this—

"Cat got your tongue?" she taunts, her lips curl into a cruel grin. "Oh, wait. You can’t speak. Poor girl. That’s what you get for being such an attention seeker."

Your breath hitches as your brows knit in fury. You can’t reply with words, but actions—actions—will do just fine.

As she turns to leave, you grab her hair, yanking it back with all the frustration and hurt bottled up. She shrieks, spinning around to claw at you, and soon you’re both tangled in a fierce struggle.

The others jump in.

Someone grabs your arm, wrenching it back. Another slaps you hard across the face, the sting reverberating through your skull. A foot connects with your leg, sending you buckling. You hit the ground again, tasting blood on your lips as they shove you down.

Your things are heartlessly thrown at you—your bag, your books, your sketchpad—hitting you like stones. Footsteps retreating, laughter echoing in their faces. They close the door before you can even blink.

You force yourself to your feet, every movement a struggle against the ache in your body. You stumble to the door, testing the handle. It doesn’t budge. Of course, it doesn’t. They’ve done this before.

Silence.

You sink back down onto the hard floor, your chest heaving as tears spill freely down your cheeks. Trembling hands reach up to the corner of your lips, fingers brushing the split skin. The sting makes you wince.

The clock ticks on, indifferent. 4:50 p.m.

You take a shuddering breath and wipe your tears with unsteady hands. You smooth your hair, trying to tame the mess they made of it. With a quick swipe, you clear the blood from your mouth, leaving behind only the faint metallic taste.

All you can do now is wait. Alone—praying—that someone will come and find you in this empty room.

What you didn’t expect was that someone would come—three hours later, long after the sun had set. You’d been staring at the door for so long that when it finally creaked open, you were already halfway to your feet.

But then you froze.

It’s him.

Of all people, it’s him.

You swallowed the surprise in your throat, pulse-quickening as you watched him slip inside, crouching low, moving backward like he was avoiding something.

He was hiding. From what, you didn’t know—not until a beam of light swept across the windows above, brushing against the walls like a searching hand. Your body stiffened, instinct telling you to stay still.

You weren’t sure you could.

When his gaze finally landed on you, the shock in his expression was unmistakable—and you knew yours mirrored his. Suspended in that shared disbelief.

“Quiet, please,” his lips shaped the words. His hand rose, a single finger pressing against his mouth. The dim light barely reached him, but you caught the faint pink of his lips.

Minutes passed. Neither of you spoke, just staring at each other like you were both trying to figure out something. He shifted, his eyes widening in alarm.

“B-blood,” he stammered, pointing at your forehead.

Your hand shot up instinctively, fingers brushing against the skin there. When you pulled it back, you saw it—smudges of red streaking your fingertips.

He's as startled as you, he tapped his chest, like he was trying to centre himself, and quickly rummaged through his pocket. He pulled out a handkerchief, holding it out to you with a slightly trembling hand.

You didn’t take it. You couldn’t. It must be the ache in your bones, the hunger in your stomach, the blood still fresh on your hands—or maybe... your mind was still catching up to the fact that he was here, standing this close to you.

When you didn’t move, he took another step forward, hesitating only briefly before carefully pressing the cloth to your forehead. His touch was cautious, you could feel the warmth of his hand through the fabric.

From this close, you could smell him. Clean, with a faint trace of musk, and something sweet underneath. You hated how your chest tightened because of it.

“What happened? Why are you here?” he asked, his fingers were steady as he wiped the blood from your skin. His brow furrowed as he inspected the small cut, his concern written plainly on his face. “Did someone lock you in?”

You shook your head, hesitant. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, so you let your gaze fall somewhere—anywhere—but on his eyes.

He didn’t press for more. “Let’s get out of here.”

His hand found yours. All you could do was stare at your entwined fingers. You can feel the tip of your ears go warm. He gave it a gentle squeeze before he stood and pulled you up from the cold, unforgiving floor.

The boy who had only ever been a distant figure to you. The boy you’d sketched on countless pages, the one whose smile crinkled his eyes so perfectly it made your chest ache. The boy you were sure didn’t even know you existed.

He pulls you out of this suffocating room. His tall, sure figure led, guiding you as you ran. Every so often, he glances back, his eyes searching yours and for a fleeting moment, you glance down and see your shadows on the wall—together. His hands never let go of yours until you weren't in the dark anymore.

Huening Kai.

Kai slouches in his seat, letting out another heavy sigh. His body’s in class, sure, but his mind? It’s stuck somewhere else—somewhere back last night.

He can’t stop thinking about you. And he's not sure why.

You both made it out of the school grounds safely, and he even helped you gather your things from your locker. He stood there awkwardly, watching when you downed a bottle of water in one long gulp like your life depended on it. His suspicions were confirmed—someone did lock you in that room.

How long had you waited, sitting there in the dark? His stomach churned at the thought. What if he hadn’t been hiding that way? What if no one had found you? The idea of you spending the entire night in that empty space until a teacher or janitor happened upon you made his heart race. It’s… eating him alive.

But the thing that gets him, the part he can’t stop replaying, is how… quiet you were. No explanations, no complaints—just a nod here and there, avoiding his eyes the whole time. Did he cross a line? Say something wrong? Overstep somehow? Did he offend you without realizing? Or worse—do you just not like him?

He rubs the back of his neck. And yet, despite all that, he also can’t stop thinking about how your eyes seem soft under the moonlight, making them look so—

“Dude.” Beomgyu’s voice cuts, “What’s with the brooding? Bell rang.”

Kai glances around the classroom. Almost empty. “Oh. Right. Nothing,” he mumbles, grabbing his bag.

Beomgyu narrows his eyes. “You’ve been sulking like my dog when I don’t share my snacks.”

Kai remained silent, pouting and followed Beomgyu out of the classroom. It’s lunch now, and as usual, they’re headed to meet Taehyun at the cafeteria. Heeseung and Jay will probably join them too.

Walking through the hall, Kai forces a polite smile at the people who greet him. Beomgyu, on the other hand, is his usual exuberant self, grinning and dapping up every other guy who greets him as they pass.

The two make their way into the cafeteria, people stared. They walk toward their usual spot, a table near the centre of the room. No one ever sits there. Everyone knows—it’s their table. Yeonjun made that mark. It's an unspoken rule.

Kai drops into his seat, setting his bag down and pulling out his packed lunch. The cafeteria food doesn’t really do it, not when his mom’s food is always better.

“What do you have?” Beomgyu asks, leaning over.

“Tempura and some beef,” Kai replies, popping a piece of shrimp into his mouth.

“Give me some,” Beomgyu demands, already reaching for his chopsticks. Kai rolls his eyes but slides the container a little closer, watching as Beomgyu happily steals a piece.

Taehyun walks in, weaving the crowded tables with his usual stride. “You're early,” he greets, his seat across from them. "That's a record."

Kai’s eyes flick toward the entrance, catching sight of you slipping. You moved slowly, clutching your tumbler. You keep your head low, glancing around as if to make sure no one’s watching. Kai stands, pushing his chair back abruptly. He can't miss this chance.

Beomgyu pauses mid-bite, raising an eyebrow. “What’re you doing?”

Taehyun gives him a sideways glance. “Kai?” Kai ignored them. He just heads toward you.

“Hey,” he calls out, but you don’t turn. Hesitating for only a second, he gently taps your shoulder.

You whirl around. Your grip tightens on the water bottle, and your eyes widen slightly when you realise it’s him. Around you, a few people glance over.

“Hey,” he says again, softer this time. “How’s your head?” He tilts his own slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of the bandaid peeking out near your hairline. “That looks better,” he murmurs.

“Would you like to join us for lunch?” He points behind him toward his table when you don't answer, where Beomgyu and Taehyun are undoubtedly watching. As he expected, you shake your head quickly, almost instinctively, avoiding his eyes.

The small rejection stings more than it should. Kai nods, trying to hide his disappointment. “Alright,” he mutters. Then, before he can second-guess himself, he gently takes the tumbler from your hands.

He heads to the water station, fills it to the brim, screws the cap on tightly, and hands it back to you. “Here,” he says simply. It's small. But he wanted to do it for you.

You nod, a small, polite gesture, and turn to leave without a word or a backward glance.

Kai watches you, chest tight. When he trudges back to his table, Beomgyu’s smirk is already waiting for him.

“What was that about?” Taehyun asks, leaning forward.

“I was just checking on her,” Kai mumbles, slumping into his seat. “She never talks to me. I don’t get it.”

Taehyun’s gaze sharpens, and he studies Kai for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. “She can’t,” he finally says, voice calm but firm.

Kai blinks, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“She can’t hear you.” Taehyun explains, his tone softening. “She’s deaf, Kai,”

Taehyun filled Kai in, sharing what he knew about you.

Kai was surprised to learn that you were in the same advanced class. As always, you kept everything to yourself. Taehyun admitted he had tried reaching out to you before—once or twice—but even he hadn’t gotten far.

“She’s… just quiet,” Taehyun said with a shrug. “Not just because she’s deaf, either. I’ve tried writing things down for her, you know? Like, in a notebook, to make it easier. But she only ever gives one-word answers. A ‘yes’ here, a ‘no’ there.” He sighed, “It’s hard to get through to her.”

Kai leaned back in his seat, dragging a hand through his hair. Guilt tugged at him. He’d been so quick to assume you were ignoring him, brushing him off on purpose. But now?

Now, he couldn’t stop imagining what it must have been like for you that night. Locked, no way to call for help, no way to know if anyone was coming. Alone. Not even the sounds of footsteps approaching to give you hope.

He swallowed hard, his chest tightening. Would he have been able to handle that? Sitting there for hours, completely cut off from the world? Probably not. He’d have broken down.

That's why Kai finds himself walking in the opposite direction of his classroom, away from Beomgyu’s puzzled stare. He doesn’t look back. His feet carry him toward where Taehyun had gone—toward where he knows you are.

The hallway buzzes with life. Groups of students linger outside classrooms, laughing and chatting, their voices blending into the hour of lunch break. A few glance his way as he passes, curiosity in their eyes.

Kai’s steps slow as he approaches the room. The back entrance gives him a clear view inside. His eyes scan the rows of desks. Someone calls his name. Heads turn, smiles and greetings thrown his way.

But not yours.

You’re sitting in the front row, by the window, farthest from where he stands. The sunlight filters through the glass, casting a soft glow over you. There’s a sketchbook open on your desk, the pages large and blank except for the lines you’re drawing with practised ease. The way your hand moves—purposeful—tells him this is second nature to you.

You’re so focused, so completely lost, that you don’t notice the subtle breeze dancing through the window. It catches your hair, making it sway just enough to draw his attention.

He watches as you pause, tucking the stray strands behind your ear before continuing with your sketch. You look just like him whenever he's with his guitar. Kai feels something tighten in his chest.

You look beautiful.

He doesn’t even know your name. But now, he wants to. More than anything, he wants the honour of knowing you.

It’s free time now, and the history teacher had just left. Most of the class scattered—some heading out to the grounds, others roaming the halls for a little fun. But you stayed. You always stayed.

The thought of running into your stepsisters made your stomach turn. They acted so innocent the night you came home, as if they had nothing to do with your wound. Your stepmother, of course, scolded you for being late, hurling her usual cutting remarks, but she didn’t dig any deeper. Sometimes you wondered if she knew—if she already suspected it was her daughters who had done it and simply chose to stay oblivious.

You sighed, flipping another page of your book, trying to block out the noise in your head.

The sudden sight of a chair being pulled up in front of your desk jolted you. You look up.

Huening Kai.

He was sitting right there, a small, easy smile on his face. His eyes held a kind of softness you weren’t used to. And then, he waved.

Your eyes widened in surprise, and instinctively, you turned your head to check if he was talking to someone else. Surely, this wasn’t for you. But the room was nearly empty. The only other person was fast asleep at the back.

Kai watches as you glance around nervously, he might have thought how beautiful you were from afar, but sitting this close now—you’re breathtaking.

When your eyes meet his again, questioning, he clears his throat and speaks. “Hi.”

You nod, silent—attentive. His voice softens, deliberate as he says the next words slowly, “Can I have your name?”

It takes a moment for the meaning to click, and then you’re reaching for your bag, fingers fumbling slightly as you pull out a notebook—the one you use to communicate.

Kai watches as you flip through the pages, landing on a blank one. You jot something down quickly and then turn it toward him.

Y/N.

He reads it, and a smile breaks across his face, his dimple appearing. You notice for the first time the delicate constellation of beauty marks scattered across his skin. How it suits him.

“Y/N,” he repeats, your name rolling off his tongue like he’s trying it out for the first time. His gaze lifts to meet yours. “That’s a pretty name.”

The compliment catches you off guard, and heat rises to your cheeks. You look away—embarrassed. His fingers tap lightly on your desk, drawing your attention back.

“How are you?” he asks.

You write, I’m okay.

Kai reads it, his brows furrowing slightly. Without hesitation, he leans in, his voice low but insistent. “Does anyone bother you? You know… when I found you that night. That wasn’t an accident, was it?”

You stare at him, lips parting slightly in surprise. Kai thinks for a moment that maybe you didn’t catch what he said. But then, slowly, you lift your pen: Why?

Just as he opens his mouth to explain, you’re already writing again.

Is it because you pity me? You’re looking at him now—directly, unflinchingly.

He doesn't want you to misunderstand anything. So he gently takes the pen from your hand, his fingers brushing yours for a moment. Without saying a word, he leans down and writes his response in your notebook.

Because I want to be your friend...

Your breath catches as you read his words. He adds another line beneath it, the letters a little bolder this time.

And because no one deserves what happened to you.

Kai looks at you then, his expression earnest and open, waiting. The notebook sits between you, and the sound of a new bridge forming in the back of your mind.

When you didn't write anything back, he glances down and picks up the pen again, his handwriting slow and deliberate.

By the way, my name is—

Before he can finish, you reach forward, your hand brushing his ever so slightly making him freeze. You write, finishing it for him.

Kai. Right?

The faintest flicker of surprise crosses his face when he sees what you’ve written. His lips twitch into a small smile, trying his hardest not to let out a wide grin.

You look up, meeting his gaze again, and shrug lightly as if to say, Of course, I know who you are.

Everybody knows you.

The words hang there on the page, Kai blinks, processing your response, and then lets out a soft laugh, his shoulders shaking gently, lips slightly apart.

You watch him, a strange ache tugs at your chest. You wonder, How does his laugh sound? Does it sound as pretty as he looks? Now, you're wishing for something you’ve trained yourself not to want—a window into the world you’ve long been shut out of.

It'll be nice to hear his laugh.

The two of you spent the rest of your free time in that same spot. You talked—or rather, wrote—filling the pages of your notebook with conversation. He was surprisingly talkative, and before you knew it, you'd used up two blank pages. When the conversation naturally faded, you went back to your book, but this time, you pulled another one from your bag and handed it to Kai. He took it with a small smile and began to read as well.

There you were, two students, sitting across from each other, lost in your own worlds yet somehow sharing the same one. The room felt warmer, leaving just the two of you in the bubble. You were aware of the flush in your cheeks, the way it stubbornly lingered, but you didn’t mind.

You snapped out of your thoughts when you noticed classmates filtering back into the room. Their steps slowed as they took in the scene—Kai, the school’s band guitarist, slouched in front of your desk, reading quietly across from you, the school's outcast. The deaf girl. His long legs stretched out under the desk, almost touching yours.

He didn’t bother to look up. He didn’t greet them or acknowledge the weight of their stares. Instead, his eyes stayed on the page, though every now and then, they flickered back to you. Each time, he’d give you that same small, reassuring smile—the one that made your heart flutter.

He snapped out of it when your foot gently nudged his leg. The classroom was full now, with students bustling back to their seats, most kept stealing glances at Kai. Their eyes darted back and forth, curiosity written all over their faces, as if trying to make sense of why he was here with you.

Out of the corner, you saw Taehyun make his way over. You couldn’t catch their conversation—Taehyun’s body was turned slightly away—but it was clear from his expression that he was asking why Kai was here. Kai gave him a brief nod, and after a moment, Taehyun returned to his seat, still throwing occasional glances in your direction.

You glanced at the clock. Five minutes left of free time. Before you could process it, you felt a light tap on your shoulder. Kai stood, waving a quick goodbye. He slid his hands into his pockets, all eyes on him as he walked out.

He had just spent his entire free time here. Here, with you.

You swallowed hard, your heart thudding in your chest. Your gaze drifted down the newly etched words he left in your notebook.

See you later :>

You found yourself smiling at nothing, the memory of your afternoon with Kai playing over and over in your mind. Back home now, the evening settling around you, it felt.. warm.

With a watering can in hand, you moved through the small garden—your mother’s garden. It was one of the few things left untouched by your stepmother, a living memory of the woman who once nurtured it with care. What had started as a modest patch of green had grown into something more of a sanctuary.

Your gaze fell on the cornflowers nearby, their vivid blue seeming to shine a little brighter today. Maybe it was the light, or maybe it was the joy still bubbling in your chest, making everything around you seem more… alive, more beautiful. You crouched, fingers brushing gently against the petals, and it felt like your mother was right there, as if she, too, could sense the happiness blooming inside you.

Your thoughts were abruptly cut off by an icy cascade of water, soaking you from head to toe. The coldness stole your breath, bit into your skin and you let out a shriek, the shock more than you could bear. Spinning around, you found Chae-won standing there, a smug grin plastered on her face, the empty bucket tossed carelessly to the side. Behind her, Yun-jin stood with her arms crossed, her glare sharp.

"Are you a witch now, too?" Chae-won sneered, her voice dripping with mockery. Her eyes locked onto yours, glinting with cruel satisfaction. "For someone who's deaf, you're pretty damn loud."

Before you could react, she grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking you down with a force that sent you stumbling. Your knees hit the ground hard, the sting of the impact mixing with the cold that seeped into your clothes. You trembled, pain and humiliation washing over you.

"Kai? What did you say to him?" Chae-won continued. "What the fuck did you say to make him hang out with trash like you?"

Tears welled up in your eyes. You tried to stand, but Chae-won shoved you back down, making you cry out in frustration. You reached for her, desperate to defend yourself, but Yun-jin stepped in, pulling Chae-won away, smirking and enjoying your helplessness.

Chae-won then dusted off her shirt as if your touch had soiled her, letting out an exaggerated huff. "You better not think about—"

Her threat was cut short by the arrival of your stepmother. "Chae-won," She approached, her eyes sweeping over your sodden form with a detached disapproval. "Her father might come home today."

That was enough to make Chae-won and Yun-jin roll their eyes, angrily retreating into the house, but not before casting you one last withering glare.

Your stepmother's gaze lingered on the garden, then flicked back to you, her expression unreadable. "Fix yourself," she said coldly before turning away, following her daughters inside, as if she just didn't witness them assault you.

You wiped your tears with the back of your hand. The cold water seeped into your skin, its touch biting deep, while the chill of the night’s wind wrapped around you, amplifying the discomfort.

When—when—would they ever stop? When would they finally fail to crush anything close to the hope you dared to feel? You swallowed hard, heart hurt when you saw one of the cornflowers crushed, the delicate blue petals were bent and broken, scattered across the dirt like they didn’t matter.

Just like what they did to you.

Kai thrummed his guitar, his head bobbing in time with the beat as Jay kept pace on the drums. A wide grin spread across his face as he glanced at Jay, impressed. That guy could really play.

The upcoming festival had everyone excited, especially since their band was set to perform. It wasn’t just their idea; the school had practically begged them to be part of the lineup. Naturally, everyone agreed.

As the final song ended, Kai slung his guitar strap off and gave Heeseung and Jay playful pats on the back. “Good session,” he said, voice light. Taehyun had already disappeared for some student council meeting, and Beomgyu crouched near the amp, fiddling with the cables.

As Heeseung and Jay left the practice room, Beomgyu glanced up, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. “So… you caused quite a stir yesterday, huh.”

Kai paused, brow furrowing. “What are you talking about?”

Beomgyu leaned back, his arms crossed over his chest. “Everyone’s talking about you and… the deaf girl. How you were hanging out with her.”

Kai’s hand stilled on his guitar case. “Don’t call her that,” he said sharply, “She has a name.”

Beomgyu blinked, taken aback by the intensity of the glare Kai shot him. He raised his hands in mock surrender, smirk faltering. “Whoa, okay. Chill, man. That was disrespectful of me. I'm sorry.” Kai didn’t respond, his focus shifting back to securing his guitar. The other could tell he was still irritated.

“So,” Beomgyu's tone was now more careful. “What’s her name?”

Kai hesitated, his fingers pausing over the latch of the case. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, “Y/N.”

Beomgyu caught it—the way Kai’s whole demeanour shifted, softening just at the mention of your name. He grinned knowingly, a teasing glint in his eye.

“Oh, man, you’ve got it bad, huh?” Kai didn’t answer, but the way he bit his lip, was enough. Beomgyu chuckled, shaking his head as he stood. “You’re in deep, dude.”

The two of them walked out of the band room, sunlight streaming across the school grounds as they headed toward their next class. Kai’s guitar hung over his back, his steps light with anticipation. He had a plan for today’s free time—he was going to show it to you.

Then he froze.

“Why’d you stop?” Beomgyu asked, frowning at his friend’s sudden halt.

Kai’s gaze was locked on you. You were walking across the yard, a book clutched in your hand. But something was off. Your steps were uneven, almost shaky, like you were struggling to keep your balance. His chest tightened as he noticed you blink rapidly, expression dazed.

A cold knot of worry tightened in Kai’s chest.

Kai bolted toward you, his long strides eating up the distance between you in moments. The world around him blurred—voices, students, the sun—all of it drowned out by the urgency pounding in his chest. He reached you just as your legs gave up. You fell into his arms.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, voice shaking. His hand settled on your face, and the heat of your skin sent alarm bells ringing in his mind. Scorching hot. A fever.

Your eyes fluttered closed, forehead creased, and face was pale. Too pale.

“What the hell happened?” Beomgyu’s voice came from somewhere behind him, but Kai barely registered it. "Is she okay?"

Without thinking, Kai shrugged off his guitar, letting it drop carelessly to the ground. “Help me,” he said quickly, his voice tight. He grabbed your arm, trying to shift your weight. Beomgyu caught on immediately, stepping forward to assist.

Together, they managed to lift you onto Kai’s back. His arms hooked under your legs, his grip firm but gentle as he adjusted you. “Hold on,” With you securely on his back, Kai broke into a run, his breath coming in quick.

“Slow down, man! You’re gonna trip!” Beomgyu followed close behind, clutching the guitar Kai had abandoned without a second thought—because of you.

The school nurse moved quickly, her practiced hands checking your temperature and administering care as Kai stepped back, his chest still heaving from the run. He stood there, hands on his hips, watching you, his heart refusing to slow down. Beomgyu excused himself, talks about getting water, leaving Kai alone.

His eyes fell on the notebook you had been clutching, which fell on the floor. He reached for it carelessly—a loose page slipped free, back to the floor. He crouched to pick it up, and the moment he turned it over, his breath caught.

It was a sketch. Of him.

Every detail was there, drawn with painstaking precision—the dusting of freckles on his cheeks, small moles he often forgot about, his jawline, his hair. The lines were sure, as though you had poured hours into capturing him just… right.

His throat tightened as he stared, unable to tear his eyes away. Was this really how you saw him?

Kai swallowed hard, and glanced at the rest of the page. Small sketches of cats bordered the margins, their playful forms lightening the otherwise focused artwork. A soft smile enters his lips when his eyes also land on your pen, its barrel adorned with tiny cat designs. His fingers touch the paper, careful not to smudge your work.

You're perfect, he thought, the words echoing in his head, shouting like a whispered confession. How could someone be so perfect?

Kai had to leave you at the clinic to attend classes.

He hesitated, lingering by the door, his eyes darting back to your still form on the cot. You were fast asleep, but the colour slowly returned to your cheeks. He wanted to stay, to make sure you were okay, but he knew he couldn’t. With a defeated sigh, he left. And you were gone when he returned.

"Someone came to fetch her," the nurse explained when he asked. He's still bothered. You were home now, he told himself, safe and resting. Right?

The next morning came, he sat at the kitchen counter. What he wanted to do first thing, was to see you. "Hiyyih,"

She glanced at him over her shoulder, her brow raised. "Yeah?"

"Can you, uh… can you make my lunch today?" Hiyyih stopped, turning fully to face him. "What? But I always make your lunch."

Kai shifted in his seat, awkwardly. "I mean… could you make it like yours?"

"Like mine? What do you mean, like mine?"

Kai hesitated, the words sticking in his throat. Finally, he blurted out, "The cat rice balls. Can you add those?" There was silence as Hiyyih stared at him, her lips tight. Then, she broke into a slow, knowing smirk. "Cat rice balls, huh?"

Kai felt the heat up his neck, and he quickly averted his stare. "Just—just make them, okay?" He groaned, dropping his head onto the counter.

Hiyyih burst out laughing, her teasing ringing through. Oh, he's sure. This was going to haunt him for days.

Kai spent the day in restless anticipation, his usual self replaced with something far more jittery. Even his friends couldn’t ignore it. He fidgeted during class, zoned out at times, and seemed to barely hear what anyone was saying.

It was all because of you.

When he saw Taehyun at band practice earlier, the first words out of his mouth weren’t about music. “Is she coming today?”

Taehyun had nodded, confirming you were attending class, and Kai had been trying—and failing—to calm his racing thoughts ever since. By lunchtime, the decision was made. He slung his bag over his shoulder, he turned to Beomgyu. "I’m skipping the cafeteria today."

Beomgyu just gave him a knowing look, his smirk light, teasing. "Didn’t think you needed to explain," he points out. "Your face already did."

Kai didn’t even bother denying it. Instead, he took a steadying breath and headed toward the one place he knew he’d find you. Your classroom.

His steps slowed when he spotted you inside, seated at your desk. The heaviness in his chest lifts. You were pulling open a lunch box, carefully arranging everything, your expression calm and focused.

He stepped inside, and when he was almost infront of you, you glanced up, your eyes widening slightly when you saw him.

"Hi," Kai said, a small, nervous smile sitting on his lips. You blinked, surprised, but a faint smile broke through as you set your chopsticks down.

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling warm under your gaze. "I, uh… I figured I’d check on you. Make sure you’re okay, you know… after the other day."

You nod, reaching for your notebook to write a reply, but Kai gently stopped you with a small shake of his hand. “You should eat first, okay?” he said softly, his lips forming the words carefully for you to read.

Your response was simple—a quick thumbs-up—but it was enough to make a boyish grin spread across his face.

Pulling out a chair, Kai sat across from you, his movements just a little nervous, though he tried to hide it. He set his lunchbox on the table, the bright cat decorations catching your eye. It's hard to really miss how much effort had gone into it—cat-shaped rice balls, tiny details, and colourful accents that screamed effort.

Kai caught your expression. "Hiyyih made it," he admitted. What he didn’t mention was how he’d spent an entire morning persuading her to make it perfect, offering bribes, doing her chores, and enduring her teasing, all just to get her to agree.

He opened the lid and carefully moved a portion of the food into your lunchbox. "Here," he said, nudging it toward you.

You glanced at him in surprise, then back at the food, your lips parting slightly before they curved into a smile—a real smile. Not the polite, hesitant ones you used to give him, but a full, bright smile. It reached your eyes, crinkling them at the corners.

Kai froze for a moment, his breath catching in his throat. You’d smiled at him before, but not... like this.

He had never quite understood why his sister went to such lengths with these little creations—why she got up before sunrise to shape rice into animals or why her mood seemed to brighten whenever someone praised her work. But now, watching the way your face softened, the way your smile seemed to linger longer than usual, it all started to make sense.

If something as small and silly as this could make you look at him like this, if it could bring you even the smallest bit of joy, then he thought to himself—he’d start doing it too.

Swallowing, he picked up his chopsticks, forcing himself to eat even as his appetite felt oddly… irrelevant. He stole glances, and it struck him how happy you looked. The memory of when he’d first met you flashed in his mind, alone, wounded and withdrawn. And yet, here you were now.

His stomach fluttered, suddenly feeling full—not from the meal but from something that only your smile seemed to give.

After lunch, Kai didn’t get the chance to spend his free time with you. Beomgyu practically dragged him to practice, which he didn’t resist—especially since seeing you healthy and smiling had already lifted his spirits. His energy during practice was unmatched, his fingers flying over the guitar strings with a renewed vigour. For once, it felt effortless, like his heart was finally in sync with the music again.

When the day wound down, he found himself waiting by the school gates. A few students greeted him as they passed, and he returned their smiles politely, though his attention remained elsewhere. His heart leapt the moment he spotted you walking toward him, your steps purposeful yet light. His lips curved into a small smirk before he could help it.

"I wanted to see you before you went home," he said softly.

Your smile in response made his chest tighten, and you pulled a small notepad and pen from your pocket. After a brief moment of scribbling, you held it up for him to read:

Thank you for everything, Kai.

The simple words hit him harder than he expected, and a warm smile tugged at his lips. “You waiting for your sisters here?” he asked, but as soon as he mentioned them, your smile faltered slightly, and something shifted in your expression.

He remembered Taehyun mentioning that you had two sisters at school, but nothing beyond that. He didn’t press. All he knew was that you usually arrived and left together in the same car.

You scribbled another note. They went home early. Shopping, I think.

Kai’s brows furrowed slightly. Why didn’t they wait for you? Before he could ask, you were already writing your next reply.

I’ll take the bus today.

“Let me take you home,” he said, leaving no room for argument.

The bus was packed, and you followed Kai closely as he led the way. He glanced back, his eyes searching for something until they landed on an empty window seat. With a small nudge of his shoulder, he gestured for you to take it.

Sliding into the seat, you couldn’t help but notice how his arm brushed against yours as he stood beside you, gripping the rail overhead. He leaned down slightly, reaching for the notepad in your hands. His handwriting was a little crooked, he had written quickly, but his message was clear:

Are you okay?

You nodded and took the pen to write your response. Yes.

Satisfied, he smiled. He reaches out, hooking his pinky finger to yours. It stays there, throughout the ride. One that you wished that didn't have to end.

Kai’s eyes widened when you gestured toward your home.

Sure, his own house was comfortable—his family could provide everything he needed—but this? This was on another level. Massive gates, the sprawling estate beyond them, the kind of place that practically screamed wealth, grand estate that made him feel like he’d stepped onto the set of a drama. His thoughts stumbled over themselves as the realization hit: you were a chaebol.

And yet, the thought lingered in his mind: how could they leave you to manage on your own, just because your sisters decided to go out? The question sat uncomfortably in his chest, though he kept it to himself.

You turned to him, drawing his attention back to you. Standing there, you looked up at him, your figure small against his tall, broad frame. He looked so effortlessly handsome it made your chest ache. You wished, fleetingly, to reach out and run your fingers through those dark locks, to feel their texture beneath your hands. He had done so much for you today—more than you could put into words.

See you later?

Kai read it, his lips quirking into a gentle smile.“Go inside,” he said, tapping your head softly. “See you later.”

As you turned and walked toward the house, he stayed rooted to the spot, watching your retreating figure until you disappeared through the gates. He let out a quiet breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his heart beating steadily against his ribs.

He could do this every day, he thought. Waiting for you, walking you home, making sure you were safe. He wanted to do this every day, however many days, as long as you’d let him.

After sending you home, Kai steps into a familiar bookstore, and the scent of old paper hits his face.

The owner greets him, casually mentioning the new volume of Slam Dunk just released, but Kai doesn’t even register the words. He’s already moving past, heading toward the back of the store where the shelves are less familiar.

He stops in front of a section—far away from the music books, the theory guides, and mangas. He picks it up.

Beginners: Sign Language.

You closed the door behind you, the weight in your chest heavier than it should’ve been. Dinner was supposed to be a happy time, right? Eating with your family, sharing moments. But it never felt like that for you. Not in this house.

Your eyes caught the sight of the fax machine on the side table, a piece of paper hanging loosely from the tray. You walk over, your steps slow, uncertain. Only two people know your number: your dad, and… Kai. You grabbed the paper, the handwriting unmistakable.

Come out. Will be there in 20 mins. —Kai.

Your breath caught. Dinner had taken longer than that. You scrambled to the window, heart pounding, and there he was—a silhouette against the dim streetlights, a mess of dark hair leaning casually against the gate.

You didn’t hesitate. Grabbing your pen and notepad from the desk, you ran. The startled looks of the housemaids blurred past you, and even the sharp, judgmental gaze of your stepmother from the couch—teacup poised mid-sip—couldn’t stop you. She doesn’t matter right now. Nothing does but getting to him.

You burst through the front gates, your eyes locking with his. His face breaks into a soft, immediate smile when he sees you, the sight of you in your loose shirt and pyjamas makes his heart skip a beat.

You raise your notepad, writing quickly, then holding it up for him to see. What are you doing here?

You reach for your notepad and pen, the confusion evident on your face as you extend them toward him. But instead of taking them, his hands move, and the world around you seems to pause.

"Hi." His fingers shape the sign, hesitant, uncertain. Your heart stumbles as you watch his hand move again, spelling out your name, letter by letter, in sign language. It’s slow, almost clumsy, but every movement is intentional. He’s trying, and it sends your heart racing.

"How was your—" He falters mid-sign, his hands falling to his sides. You watch as he digs into his pocket, pulling out a small book. The title catches your eye, and your chest tightens. He scratches the back of his neck, looking at you with an embarrassed sort of determination as he mouths, Wait.

And then he tries again, repeating the signs, "How was your dinner?" His movements are a little smoother this time. The question lingers in the space between you, and you feel your throat tighten as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. It feels like you can hear—his voice.

Your body moves before you can think. You step forward and wrap your arms around his neck. Your head presses against his chest, and you feel the slight hitch in his breath before his arms slide around your waist, holding you close. His warmth steadies you as a single tear slips free, trailing down your cheek.

No one had ever done this for you before. No one had ever tried to meet you in your silence, to understand the world you lived in. At home, they’d dismissed sign language, rejected it, treating it like some kind of shameful reminder of what they wanted to ignore. They’d made you feel like you were something to be hidden, something that's less.

But here he was—a boy who, just weeks ago, had been a stranger—bridging the gap, pouring himself into learning just to reach you. Crossing the distance to meet you where you were alone.

For the first time, you didn’t feel stranded on an island of your own.

Kai spent the next few minutes basking in the warmth of your presence. When another tear slipped past your eye, he reached out, his thumb brushing it away with the gentleness of someone afraid to break something precious. His attempts at signing sentences were clumsy at best, and your happiness marked your face—something that made his heart do flips.

"Yah, I'm trying, you know," he huffed, feigning indignation as he stomped his foot playfully. His pout only deepened when you smiled at him, and he could feel the heat crawling up his neck to his cheeks. He wanted to tease you back, but the words caught in his throat when you raised your hands.

It was the first time you signed in front of him. The motion was small but deliberate, the flick of your hand touching your chin before extending toward him. Kai’s eyebrows knit together, his mind scrambling to catch up. He flipped the pages of his book, muttering, “Wait, what does that mean?”

You reached for your notepad, scribbling the word: Thank you.

Before he could process the words, you signed again, your hands moving with a fluidity that stopped him in his tracks. The glow of the moon and the faint light from the lamppost illuminated your every move, casting soft dancing shadows across your face. And Kai—he forgot how to breathe.

You looked… different. You were stunning. Not the shy, hesitant version of you he’d grown used to, but confident and sure. Each gesture was almost poetic, and he was utterly mesmerized. The way your fingers moved felt like a song without sound—it suited you in a way words never could. He didn’t even want to blink, because he was afraid he’d miss something.

All he could do was watch, completely captivated by the real you.

"You didn't really have to. But thank you… for learning it for me."

The moment was shattered by the loud creak of the gates swinging open. Kai turned, his gaze meeting a woman’s sharp, glaring eyes. He opened his mouth to bow in greeting, but he quickly realized her scowl wasn’t for him—it was directed squarely at you.

Confused, Kai glanced back at you, his eyes scanning your face. Panic was written all over it. You hastily scribbled on your notepad, the letters uneven and rushed: Step-mother. Go home now, Kai.

He read the words and nodded, even if he didn’t fully grasp the situation. When your eyes met his again, there was something pleading in them. Turning back to the woman, Kai mustered a polite bow. “Good evening,”

She didn’t acknowledge him. “Go inside or we’ll lock you out here all night.”

Kai froze, the words almost too cruel to believe. He remembers you being locked up that night at school. His jaw clenched, but he kept his expression neutral, eyes flicking back to you. You were already scribbling again: Good night. Be safe travelling home.

He noticed something then—why hadn’t you signed it? He’d learned those words, and he knew you knew them too. But he didn’t ask, didn’t want to add to your distress. Instead, he nodded silently, stepping forward to close the distance between you. He bent down and pressed a light, lingering kiss to your hairline. A small gesture to remind you that he was here, even if he had to leave now. "See you later."

When he straightened, he turned to your stepmother, who was staring at him with thinly veiled disdain. Kai met her gaze, nodded politely, and then stepped back.

He didn’t look away until he saw you retreat inside.

The gates slammed shut with a force that rattled him. Your stepmother's tone echoed in his ears, harsh and dripping with contempt. He hated the way she’d spoken to you, the way her eyes had looked at you as though you did something so wrong.

He walked away, fists clenched at his sides. The thought of you living in a house with someone like that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Kai reunited with you the next day.

He carefully tried to bring up the encounter with your stepmother, but you avoided the topic entirely. He didn’t push, though. Instead, he quietly accepted it when you told him you lived with her, your stepsisters, and that your father was out of town on business. He said he’d wait—that he’d listen when you were ready to open up, when you felt comfortable.

Now, he’s on his way to the band room, arriving half an hour early for practice. His hand is wrapped around yours as he pulls you along. The soft warmth of your fingers in his feels just right. Students pass by, glancing your way, but Kai doesn’t care. Not when you’re here with him.

You agreed to come, though you weren’t sure what to expect. When you step into the room, your eyes widen. Trophies line the shelves, instruments are arranged neatly against the walls, and there’s a large, inviting couch in the corner. There's also a small door that must lead to a private bathroom.

Kai settles you on the couch, his lips curving into a gentle smile as he pulls his guitar out of its case. He tells you he wanted you to see this. He also mentions the upcoming festival in two days—a subtle invitation in his words.

As he strums the first notes, your eyes are drawn to him. The memory of the first time you saw Kai surfaces—your second year of high school. That day, he was being calmed down by Soobin, the band’s previous genius pianist. Even then, he left an impression so strong that you couldn’t forget him, no matter how much time had passed.

Now, sitting here in the band room as he plays his guitar for you, it feels surreal. If someone had told you back then that this would happen, you’d have laughed it off or called it impossible. But here you are, and he glances up, his eyes flickering between the strings and your face.

"I like it," you sign.

Kai’s face lights up. He reaches for something—your eyes are drawn to his hands. There, faint guitar scars run across his fingers, etched into his skin like a map of all the hours he’s poured into his craft.

An idea enters your mind.

Two days later, the school day comes to an end. You quietly pack your belongings, slipping books and papers into your bag as the chatter of students fills the room. The festival is less than an hour away. You’re just about to zip up your bag when movement near the doorway catches your attention.

Choi Beomgyu steps into the classroom, his eyes scanning the room like he’s on a mission. You glance at him curiously as Taehyun notices and stands up, greeting him with a nod then points in your direction. Beomgyu makes his way over with Taehyun trailing behind him. "Hi, Y/N," he signs, the motion catching you completely off guard. Your eyes widen in surprise. Did Kai teach him that? Did he teach both of them?

Before you can even process the thought, Beomgyu hands you a folded shirt. You take it hesitantly, inspecting it as the fabric unfurls in your hands. The moment you see the name Huening Kai printed boldly on the back, your heart skips. It’s his band shirt.

“He’ll love it,” Beomgyu says, a small grin tugging at his lips and winks. He reaches out, lightly tapping your head like it’s the most casual thing in the world. Without another word, he throws an arm around Taehyun’s shoulders, and the two of them leave the classroom together. Some girls in your room look at you with dirty looks. It matters not, you'll have to change your shirt first.

Kai’s eyes catch on your shirt almost instantly, his pace slowing as he closes the distance between you.

Confusion flits across his face, but then realization dawns. His band shirt. His name, his number on your back. His eyes widen in disbelief, and he lets out a laugh.

When you’re close enough, he reaches out, gently turning you around so he can see the full print. His fingers linger lightly on your shoulders. His grin widens, a mix of pride and something softer that you can’t quite name.

“You’ll watch, right?” he asks. His throat feels tight, and it’s not just the sight of you in his shirt—it’s everything it means.

You nod, slowly reaching into your pocket, pulling out a small gift box. You hold it out to him, “For me?” he asks softly, taking it with both hands.

When he opens the box, his breath catches in his throat. Inside are guitar picks, each one smooth and carefully chosen, but what draws his attention is the tiny, handwritten phrase etched onto them. He squints, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tilts the pick closer to the light.

See you later.

The phrase so familiar, a staple in all your goodbyes. It’s what he always waits to hear from you, what he secretly pouts about if you forget to say it. It’s a simple phrase, used by so many people in passing, but between the two of you, it’s different—reassurance that you’ll always find your way back to each other.

His chest tightens, emotion welling up in a way he hadn’t expected. He steps forward, pulls you into a hug, holding you close, his chin resting on your head. "What do I do with you?" He whispers to himself. He finally pulls back, his hands linger at your elbows, eyes searching yours. You lift your hands to sign, your movements slow.

"Good luck, rock star."

Soobin’s hand rested on your back, touch steadying as the crowd began to thicken around the stage. Kai had entrusted you to him and Yeonjun, and though the absence of Kai’s presence made you nervous, Soobin’s calm demeanour offered an unexpected sense of safety.

Yeonjun had gone to grab water, leaving you and Soobin to hold your place by the barricade. The festival was just moments away from starting, with students from your school, other schools, and alumni who had come back for the event. You found yourself gripping the metal tightly, the unfamiliar place… overwhelming. It's your first time to even attend one.

Soobin noticed immediately. He tapped your shoulder gently, “Are you okay?”

You turned to him, his concern reflected in his face. You nodded, returning a small smile. His kindness felt natural. You could see why Kai spoke of him so fondly.

You barely had time to respond before you were pulled into a sudden hug. The embrace was tight, and a sweet floral scent filled your senses. You froze in surprise, but when the person stepped back, the grin on her face was so bright and genuine that you couldn’t help but soften.

“Hi! I’m Hiyyih!” she exclaimed, her face full of excitement, her eyes shining like she’d been waiting forever to meet you. Her name made you pause, recognition flashing through your mind. Your eyes widened slightly, but you smiled back at her, quickly scribbling in your notepad.

Y/N. Nice to meet you, Hiyyih.

She read it, and immediately squealed, her reaction so heartfelt and full of life that it drew laughter from Soobin. “How did my brother pull you, huh?” she teased, shaking her head in disbelief. Then, with mock irritation, she turned to Soobin and added, “Seriously, how?”

Soobin chuckled, clearly amused. “I know. She's too pretty. Magic, maybe,” he offered casually, and Hiyyih groaned dramatically. She hooked her arm through yours, as if you’d known each other for years. You're glad they didn't mention the blush evident on your cheeks.

Yeonjun returned, handing you a cold bottle of water. “You okay?” he asked, his tone just as kind and considerate as Soobin’s had been. You nodded again, clutching the water tightly as you looked between them all—Hiyyih’s bright enthusiasm, Soobin’s quiet reassurance, and Yeonjun’s laid-back charm. It feels nice to be surrounded by people you want to be with.

You could get used to this. Being with people who made you feel like you mattered—more than your own family ever had.

It was dark now, the festival lit only by the vibrant glow of stage lights, casting shifting colours across the crowd. The ground trembled beneath your feet as people jumped and swayed, their cheers blending with the music in an electrifying symphony.

Your eyes scanned the stage, searching—and then you saw him. Kai. There he was, guitar in hand, lost in the music. The way he moved was effortless as if the instrument was an extension of himself. His face was lit up, not just by the stage lights but by a joy that radiated from within. He looked alive. Happy. He belonged there. He owns it.

And then his eyes found yours.

The chaos around you seemed to fade. Slowly, you signed, "You look cool," your hands steady even as your heart raced. You watched as his gaze followed the movement of your hands, his eyes softening with every word you formed. You didn’t need to be close to him. You didn’t need to hear his voice. As long as you could see him—and he could see you.

His lips curved into a smile, and he winked, the playful gesture making you smile back, heart swelling with pride.

The performance was incredible, each member of the band owning their moment, their energy filling the space and igniting the crowd. When the last song ended, the crowd erupted into cheers, and the band bowed together, camaraderie evident even from a distance. But before you could fully take in the scene, Kai was running.

The moment he stepped off the stage, his eyes searched for your face. His shoulders eased as soon as he saw you, surrounded by people he trusts. He loves performing—he truly does. But the thought of returning to you, is louder than any applause. His feet move before his mind can think.

Straight to you.

He reached you in seconds, his chest heaving, adrenaline still coursing through him. "I can't stop looking at you,” he said, his voice low, the words had been waiting to escape all night. His hands cradled your face, calloused by the guitar scars. "I need to kiss you right now or I'll go crazy."

You barely noticed the stares of the crowd or the murmurs of those nearby. All you could see was him. He leaned in, his breath mingling with yours, and his lips brushed against yours in the softest kiss. You’d always known his lips looked soft, but they still managed to surprise you—how perfectly they fit against yours.

When he pulled back, his grin was so wide. His arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you close as if you were the only thing that mattered. Around you, his friends clapped him on the back, their faces proud with congratulations.

“See you later?” Kai signed, his movements fluid, more confident. You nodded with a smile, waving as he stepped back. His grin widened, and he watched you enter the gates of your home.

That smile lingered on your face, carrying you all the way inside. The front doors opened for you, the maids greeting you with quiet bows, and you headed for the staircase, ready to retreat to your room.

But before you could take the first step, a hand seized your wrist and yanked you back. The slap came next, sharp and sudden, leaving a sting that spread across your cheek like fire. Startled, your hand flew to your face, and your wide, disbelieving eyes met the furious glare of your stepmother.

“You skipped your painting lesson,” she hissed, face trembling with anger, “and came home late without even telling me.”

“And what for?” she spat. “To loiter with boys? To parade yourself in public, chatting in sign language for the entire neighbourhood to see? What else do you have left to ruin? Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is for the family?” Her voice grew louder, shriller, her hand resting on her hip as she glared at you like you were something she could barely tolerate.

You noticed your stepsisters standing just out of the line. Equal anger on their faces. It was clear—they had told her. Once, their expressions had the power to make you shrink, to make you doubt yourself. Now you felt nothing but disdain. Family, you thought bitterly, scoffing as you turned your head away.

Your stepmother’s hand shot out, grabbing your chin and jerking your face back toward hers. Her nails bit into your skin as she snarled, “Did you laugh? How dare you laugh at me?”

You shoved her hand away. “Don’t touch me,” you signed, your movements sharp, gaze unwavering. You didn’t care that she couldn’t understand. This was the only way you could speak, and you were tired of swallowing your voice.

Her face twisted with fury. “I said stop using sign language!” she barked.

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you signed again, your hands trembling. “I’m not alone anymore,” you told her, the tears burning at the edges of your vision. “You can be the queen of this house, control everything and everyone under this roof. But there’s a world outside these walls. And out there, I have friends. People who see me. People who care.”

“Talk! Talk like a proper person! I told you to talk!” The slap came hard and fast, snapping your head to the side. Your cheek burned with the impact, but this time, you didn’t freeze. You pushed her. Hard.

The room erupted with a collective gasp.

“Touch me again, and you’ll see your name in the newspaper.” Your glare shifted to Chae-won as she stepped forward, her mouth opening to speak, but you didn’t wait to hear what she had to say.

You bolted up the stairs, your heart hammering in your chest, panic fueling every frantic step.

The space felt thick as you threw yourself into your room, slamming the door shut behind you. You moved toward your desk, your hands shaking as you tore your bag open, yanking out a piece of paper. You didn’t have time to think, only enough to scrawl a desperate message, the words barely legible through the blur of your haste.

The door creaked open behind you. Panic surged. You turned, your pulse pounding as you spotted them—the maids stepping into the room. You bolted to the fax machine, shoving the paper in and frantically typing his number. You had to send it. You had to.

The machine whirred, halfway through sending, when two pairs of hands grabbed you, one on each arm. You thrashed and kicked, trying to wrench free, but their grip was too strong. Your stepmother appeared in the doorway, her smirk was cruel, triumphant, and your stomach churned with dread.

And then you saw it—the glint of metal in her hands. Locks.

"Get her upstairs. Now." Your breath caught in your throat. The room seemed to tilt as a memory surged forward, unbidden and suffocating. The attic. The last time she locked you up, you were fifteen. Your skin crawled at the thought of being trapped there again. You were dragged out, your feet sliding against the floor, your cries echoing down the empty hall. It took three of them—three people to overpower you, until the door loomed.

They shoved you inside, your body hitting the floor with a dull thud. You scrambled to your feet, lunging for the door, but it slammed shut in your face. You pounded on the door, fists aching, tears burning behind your eyes. It was harder for you to breathe.

This was her punishment—her way of crushing you every time you dared to fight back, dared to speak your truth.

She’d leave you here, in the dark, in the suffocating silence, until you broke. Until you admitted she was right. Or until your father’s nearing return forced her to let you out, pretending everything was fine.

You had tried to tell him before. Slipping notes into his pockets, scribbling messages when she wasn’t looking. But her eyes were always there, sharp and watchful, snatching away every chance you had. You can’t help but wonder—if you hadn’t stood up to her, if you hadn’t accepted that small, fleeting chance to feel alive, would you still be here right now? Or would you just be trapped in another kind of prison, shackled to the cycle your stepmother has forced you into?

Dust coated every surface, the faint light that seeped through the cracks wasn’t even enough to pierce the gloom to give you hope. You curled up against the wall, knees pulled to your chest, fingers trembling as they pressed against the cold floor. It was something that you had to endure before.

For years.

Kai was running.

He didn’t care about the stares from strangers or the disapproving grunt as he ran the streets. He didn’t care about his mother’s worried gaze when he bolted out the door or the sting of his lungs from sprinting so fast. None of it mattered. All that mattered was getting to you.

The fax had come just minutes ago. He had been half-asleep when the machine whirred, spitting out a crumpled piece of paper with words that sent a shrill down his spine.

Kai, pick me up. Come get me, please. He knew it was you.

His heart pounded as he reached your gates, the mansion unwelcoming under the grey sky. He rang the door frantically, and when a maid opened the door, her polite greeting barely had time to escape her lips before Kai pushed past her.

“Sir, what are you doing?” she cried, alarmed. But Kai didn’t stop. He pushed through the grand double doors, his eyes scanning the room wildly. His gaze landed on a young woman, about his age—your stepsister, he realized with a flare of anger.

“Where’s Y/N?” he demanded, his voice booming through the space. The room fell silent. The maids froze, glancing at one another nervously, while your stepsister stiffened, her lips tightening into a scowl. “Where is she?” Kai shouted again, taking a step forward. A timid maid finally cracked, her wide eyes darting toward the stairs before quickly looking away. It was all he needed.

Kai took off, his legs carrying him up the staircase two steps at a time. As he neared the top, he heard it—a faint pounding, far but desperate. His blood ran cold as realization struck.

The attic.

Kai’s chest tightened as he reached the door. His fist slammed against the wood, the sound reverberating down the hall. The pounding on the other side grew more. His heart felt like it might tear itself apart.

“Open this door!” he says, spinning to face the maids who had followed him upstairs. “What the hell is wrong with you people? Do you want to go to prison for this? Do you want to be accomplices?” The maid who’d glanced upstairs earlier flinched, her hands shaking as she fumbled with a key.

Finally, the lock clicked, and he shoved the door open. His breath caught as he saw you huddled on the floor, your arms wrapped tightly around your knees, your face streaked with tears. “Y/N,” he breathed, rushing to you.

"You found me." You signed, eyes locking on his. He crouched, his arms wrapping around your trembling frame. He pulled you close, his hand smoothing over your hair as he held you against his chest.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m getting you out of this place.” His eyes darted around the attic, taking in the oppressive walls, scattered drawings—sketches you must’ve made. Some looks old, others newer. They had been locking you up here. Trapping you.

Kai stood, pulling you with him, “Come on,” his hand tightened around yours, and you nodded.

He led you down the stairs, his grip never faltering. At the bottom, your stepmother appeared, her expression twisting into one of fury the moment she saw him.

“Do you even realise what you’re doing right now?” she demanded, her voice sharp and grating. “This is kidnapping. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?”

Kai didn’t flinch. He didn’t hesitate. His voice was steady, cold, and razor-sharp. “Not as serious as imprisonment. Or abuse.”

Her lips curled into a mocking sneer. “I’m disciplining her,” she spat, as if the word justified everything.

Your stepmother’s eyes flicked to you as your hands moved, signing. “You’re hurting me.”

Her face darkened. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop signing?”

Kai froze, his mind reeling at her words. “What?” he said, voice low. His jaw tightened as he stared at her, fury building in his chest. “How do you expect her to communicate if she can’t speak?”

She sneered. “Return her inside while I’m still asking nicely,”

“No,” Kai snapped, he turned to her fully, standing tall and unyielding. “I’m not talking to you. Tell her father, when he finally gets home, to come find me personally if he wants to see his daughter again. And don’t even think about stopping me. My mother knows I’m here.”

Your stepmother opened her mouth to argue, but Kai didn’t give her the chance. He turned away, tugging you along behind him as he strode toward the door. His glare silenced any maids who dared step forward, daring anyone to challenge him.

“If you walk out that door,” your stepmother hissed, “you’ll regret it.”

Kai didn’t stop. He didn’t even look back.

The cool night air hit your skin as he pulled you through the gates and into the street. He didn’t care about her threats. He didn’t care about what came next. The only thing he knew was—he would regret it far more if he didn’t leave with you tonight.

When the two of you arrived at Kai’s home, his mother was already at the door, her face filled with concern. The moment she saw you, her eyes softened, but they couldn’t hide the shock and sadness she felt at your condition. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said gently, ushering you inside with open arms. “Let’s get you settled.”

She led you to a spare room, “This was Lea’s room,” she explained with a small smile. “Kai’s sister. She’s away at college now, so it’s all yours for as long as you need.”

Kai, stepped outside, pacing the front yard. His hands clenched and unclenched, breathing unevenly as he tried to calm himself. “How could they do that to her? As human beings?” he spits, in disbelief. “Even animals wouldn’t treat someone like that.”

His mother followed him out, gently placing a hand on his arm. “Kai, breathe,” she said softly. “She needs space to process everything right now.”

Kai shook his head, “What you did was good,” his mother continued. “Let her stay here for now. She’s safe with us.”

“And what happens when her father comes back?” Kai snapped, “What then? She just gets sent back to that place?”

His mother sighed, her grip on his arm steady. “Kai, it’s obvious he doesn’t know what’s been happening. Do you think any father would knowingly allow this?”

“That man, he lives in the same house as her. How does he not know? He’s either blind or he doesn’t care because all he does is make money and turn ignorant to everything else.”

His mother stepped closer, pulling him into a hug before he could spiral further. “It’s not your place to decide what kind of father he is, or if she should forgive him. That’s up to her. Right now, she needs rest.”

You sat curled up on the edge of the bed, knees pulled tightly to your chest, your back pressed into the corner. Your fingers picked at your nailbeds. Every breath you took felt shaky, like you were on the verge of falling apart.

It was the first time you’d ever stood up to them—to that whole oppressive house. The weight of it settled heavily on your chest, but more than that, you worried about Kai. About his family. Would they be okay with you here? What if they went after Kai or his family for taking you in? Would your presence bring trouble to their door? You felt like a curse, dragging misfortune wherever you went.

The sight of the door sliding open startled you. You looked up to see Kai’s mom stepping in, her form soft in the dim light. She carried a stack of clothes in her hands, a small smile on her face.

“Hiyyih’s already asleep, so I had to grab these for you,” she said, setting it down in front of you. “These are Lea’s—Kai’s sister. I’m not sure if you’ll like them, but I thought these might fit you.”

You nodded silently, your heart pounding as you glanced at her. You could not shake the fear that she might say you’d put Kai in danger, that bringing you here was a mistake. Or how much trouble you might’ve caused him. The guilt plague, making your stomach turn.

She didn’t say anything at first, just sat there, her gaze soft and thoughtful. Then her smile widened, and her eyes crinkled at the corners like Kai does. “Gosh, you’re so pretty,” she said, as if she was stating the most obvious fact in the world. “Look at your eyes—they’re so clear, so bright.” Her words made your breath hitch.

“Not being able to talk must be so hard,” she continued, face replaced with sadness. “You must’ve felt so upset. So frustrated.” She moved closer, her hands reaching for yours. Her touch was warm, and something about it made the tears in your eyes sting even more.

“But you did such a good job, honey,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “Growing up into such a beautiful, strong young lady.” Her thumb gently brushed the back of your hand, and she smiled again, “I’m proud of you.”

Her words shattered something inside you, breaking through the walls you’d tried so hard to keep up. You bit down on your lip, but it was no use. The tears slipped free, rolling down your cheeks.

“If anyone ever hurts you again, if anyone tries to trap you, you come here,” she said firmly, her tone shifting to one of conviction. “Don’t ever put up with it. Just come back here. Or stay here and live with me." She grinned at the thought, expression animated, like it was the simplest solution in the world.

You couldn’t hold it back anymore. You cried, your shoulders trembling as the sobs punished your body. All the days you had endured in silence. The days they made you feel invisible, like you didn’t matter. The way they looked at you, spoke about you, treated you, as though you were something other, something different. Not belonging. Not normal.

"Don't cry," She pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly as she rubbed your back in soothing circles. You were starting to see it wasn’t true. Starting to believe. And her embrace is so… familiar. It was like holding onto a memory you’d been too afraid to revisit—the one you’d clung to as a lifeline but had started to fade, little by little.

It felt like you were eight again, back in time—cradled in your mother’s warm arms.

Kai stood at your door, it's been an hour when he saw his mother leaving, her eyes red from crying. She had tried to reassure him to give you space, to let you be alone tonight—but Kai's heart couldn’t rest. He knocked softly before slipping inside.

You were facing away from him, the sheets pulled up high against your body. He walked over, unsure of what to expect, and tapped a single finger on your shoulder to check if you were awake. You shifted and glanced back at him, your face still soft with the remnants of tears.

He offered a small smile, his hands signing softly, “Hi.”

You didn’t respond with words instead, you scooted over, making room for him on the bed. He slid in beside you, leaving just enough space between you both. “Are you okay?” he signed, his face filled with concern.

“Yes,” you replied quietly, your fingers moving slowly, tracing the air. “Because you always come whenever I need someone.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Anything for you,” he whispered, gaze never left yours. "I'll do anything for you,"

His fingers slowly lifted to cradle your face, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek. Your eyes fluttered closed at the touch, and Kai could feel your breath hitch. You shifted closer to him, pressing your head to his chest, seeking his intoxicating smell.

He tucked you in carefully, his arm lying beneath your head as his head rested gently on top of yours. His touch was warm and soothing as his hand trailed down your back, the warmth from his skin seeping through the fabric of your clothes. You closed your eyes, feeling the calm settle in your chest, until a small movement in his chest caught your attention.

You pulled back slightly, confusion in your eyes. His face was soft, but his eyes shimmered with tears that hadn't yet fallen. His lips parted, searching for the right words. “How did you put up with all of that?” he whispered, a tear slipping down his right cheek. His chest seemed to tighten with the weight of the question. “What they did to you, it was the worst. I— should've found you sooner. I promise… you will not be alone anymore, okay?”

You nod, tearing up at his words. It was the first time someone made a promise to you that you knew he wouldn't break. A small smile found its way to your lips. His hands moved, fingers gently pressed against your palm as he spelled out.

"You're safe now,"

You wake up slowly, your eyes squinting as they adjust to the soft morning light spilling into the room.

Kai's arms are still wrapped around your waist, his body pressed against yours, his face nestled against your chest. You gently trace the lines of his face with your fingers, captivated by the details you never want to forget—the way his freckles and moles give his features a softness, an angelic quality. He's so beautiful. The light in a world that once felt so dark. In a life that’s often felt like a nightmare, he’s the one thing that pulled you into the almost impossible daylight.

You lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He murmurs in his sleep but doesn’t stir. You smile softly at his innocence, feeling your heart flutter. You try to untangle your legs from his, hesitant to leave the safety of his embrace, but you slowly make your way out of the bed.

As you step into the living room, the smell of breakfast makes your stomach rumble. You find Kai’s mom and Hiyyih already in the kitchen. The latter smiles warmly at you. “Good morning,” she greets, and you return the smile.

Breakfast is simple but comforting. The food amazing, your appetite comes back little by little with every bite.

When you’re finished, Hiyyih looks at you with a bright smile. “Want to help me with the lunch boxes?” she asks, and you nod eagerly. She helps you slip on an apron, her fingers fumbling with the straps as she giggles. It's contagious, and makes you smile.

She pulls her hair back into a ponytail, a few strands fall loose, and you reach for your notepad. You quickly scribble, Let me braid your hair?

Hiyyih’s eyes widen with delight, and she nods. You gather her hair gently, carefully weaving the strands together. A soft smile spread across her face at the comforting touch of your hands.

Kai stretched his arm to your side, but the space was empty.

His eyes snapped open, sleep quickly fading as he registered the absence of your presence. He sat up abruptly, fumbling to slide his feet into his house slippers, the soft padding of his steps barely audible as he hurried out of the room.

Where could you have gone? Has someone come to take you home? His thoughts raced, each one more frantic than the last. He barely noticed the cold air of the hallway as he hurried toward the kitchen—then he stopped, heart halting in his chest.

There you were.

The tension melted away as he took in the scene. You stood at the counter, laughter spilling from your lips as you helped Hiyyih pack three lunch boxes. The soft fabric of an apron hugged your frame, and his mother moved gracefully beside you, pouring cups of steaming chocolate milk, a soft smile gracing her lips as she watched the two of you.

Your eyes found his, and the world seemed to slow. A smile softened your features as you raised a hand, signing a simple "Hi," and motioning for him to come closer.

"Good morning," Kai murmured. His heart swelled at the scene before him—three women who meant the world to him. "Morning, Mom."

The two watched as Kai closed the small distance between you and him. He softly placed his hands on your shoulders, the touch gentle. Then, he leaned down, pressing a light, quick kiss to the top of your head. His small act makes you blush.

"Good morning, Son," his mother interrupts warmly, passing him a plate of pancakes and sausages. "Y/N and Hiyyih have already eaten. Here’s your breakfast."

Kai took his seat, the clatter of cutlery mingling with the soft sounds of your and Hiyyih’s giggles. His mother, ever attentive, placed a notepad on the counter, making sure nothing was lost in translation as she communicated with you.

If you truly want to express something, you’ll find a way. And if you want to say even more, you’ll learn, until your heart speaks louder than words ever could.

It was the first time you were in a car, heading to school, and there was a grin you couldn’t wipe from your face.

Everything felt lighter today—the warmth of Hiyyih’s arm gently looping around yours, and every now and then, Kai’s glance in the rearview mirror caught yours.

Last night seemed to burn away, slipping from your mind like smoke on the breeze. The car pulled up, and you all said your goodbyes to Kai’s mom, her lips warm against your cheek as she kissed you. “What food would you like later?” Her question made you pull her into a tight hug, surprising her with the warmth you hadn’t known you had in you. It's true, that if you surround yourself with better people, you'll be better too.

It felt like everyone in school was watching, but you didn’t mind. Kai’s hand in yours felt so right, and Hiyyih was chatting away beside you, making everything feel like a dream. When the time came for Hiyyih to part ways, she also kissed your cheek with a smile, waving goodbye.

Kai’s eyes were on you, a smirk tugging at his lips as you laughed softly. He loved seeing you so light, so happy. When he walked you to your class, you bumped into Taehyun, who ruffled your hair with a grin and a gentle pat on the head. You felt like he already knew, given that his stare much more concerned than it ever was.

Is this what it feels like to be part of something? What a family is supposed to feel like?

You washed your hands in the sink, the corners of your lips still tugged into a faint smile. But the moment was cut short when a splash of cold water hit you, soaking your uniform. You gasped, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to your skin. You only know two people who find joy in these acts. Turning quickly, you saw Chae-won and Yun-jin standing there, flanked by three other girls whose names you didn’t even know but who were always with them.

“Are you done living your life like a victim?” Chae-won’s voice rang out, sharp and biting. A few other students in the bathroom froze, unsure of what to do, before slipping out the door, desperate to avoid being caught in the middle.

“Go home,” she spat, her glare searing. “I’m not letting my mother deal with trash like you.”

Your chest tightened, but you refused to show it. You held her gaze for a beat longer than you thought you could, then turned to leave. The quicker you got out of their sight, the better. You don't want to waste your energy on dealing with her. But before you could make it to the door, two of them grabbed your arms roughly and shoved you back.

“Go home now,” one of them hissed. “Or I’ll make sure everyone knows just how pathetic you really are.”

Something inside you snapped. The words stung, but your hand moved faster than your thoughts. The slap echoed in the tiled bathroom. Chae-won’s face twisted in shock before anger overtook her features. She lunged, pushing you into a cubicle. Her hands tangled in your hair as you tried to fight back, her nails digging into your arm as you struggled to block her strikes.

They always kept it hidden, their cruelty tucked away in the shadows—behind the closed doors of your home, in the quiet corners of the art room, places where no one else would see. Never here. Never out in the open like this. These were the same people you once looked at with longing, the ones you dreamed would someday call you their friend.

Tears blurred your vision as you struggled to catch your breath. The sharp ache in your scalp subsided when Chae-won was suddenly yanked off you, her grip torn away by a rough hand.

Hiyyih. Your eyes widened as you saw her, fierce and blazing with anger. “Get the fuck away from my sister, bitch!” she screamed, face cracking with rage. Before Chae-won could recover, Hiyyih kicked her hard on her thigh, her fury igniting as she saw the blood smeared across your arms.

Another girl was with her, someone you vaguely recognized, stepping in to help. Suddenly, it was three against five, chaos erupting in the cramped bathroom.

Hiyyih glared daggers at Yun-jin, voice trembling with raw emotion. “You think you can just hurt people? You think you’re strong because you can?”

The bathroom erupted into noise—shouting, scuffling, and the sound of feet scrambling for safety. Students crowded at the doorway, peeking in with wide eyes, while others bolted to find a teacher. You stayed close to Hiyyih, your chest tight with fear. What if they hurt her the way they hurt you?

You felt yourself shoved against the counter in the commotion, your pulse pounding in your ears. And then, cutting through the chaos, you saw them. Three figures pushed their way through the crowd, pushing onlookers, unconcerned that this was a girls’ bathroom.

Kai. Beomgyu. Taehyun.

Everything seemed to blur as Kai desperately reached you, pulling you close against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, steady and protective, shielding you from anyone.

“Enough!” Beomgyu shouts. “This ridiculous cat fight ends now.”

Kai’s hands cupped your face, his touch trembling as he scanned your cuts and bruises. His jaw tightened, his eyes dark with anger and fear. His eyes check his sister, now standing between Beomgyu and Taehyun. He exhaled sharply, pulling you behind him, his body a wall between you and the rest of the room.

“Stop this,” he said coldly, his words directed at Chae-won, who was fixing her hair with a smug expression. "This is your last warning—stay away from her.”

Chae-won sneered, venom dripping from her voice. “Why do you keep protecting that… thing?” she spat. “She’s abnormal. She can’t hear. She made us miserable. She’s selfish, always making everything about her. She plays the victim like it’s a sport.”

Her words made Hiyyih surged forward, ready to strike, but Taehyun held her back with a firm grip.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Chae-won blinked, startled by the harshness in Kai's tone—a tone so unlike the boy known for his warmth and kindness. “She’s the best person to ever walk these grounds,” Kai adds, eyes locked on Chae-won. “She’s everything you’ll never be.”

You tried to step out from behind him, to meet Chae-won’s glare head-on, but Kai’s arm gently stopped you, keeping you behind him, his body a wall between you and her cruelty.

“If anyone here isn’t normal, it’s you. Never her.”

For the first time, Chae-won’s smirk faltered, her confidence visibly shaken. Her eyes dart between Hiyyih, Beomgyu and Taehyun. They all look at her in disdain.

Her mind raced, her thoughts spiralling back to the words her mother had drilled into her—how you were less, how people would never care about you. But now—these people—they were standing with you, like they would shield you from anything that came your way. It made her gulp. She bolts outside, Yun-jin was hot on her heels, matching her pace. The other girls had already disappeared.

For the first time, she was afraid—of the consequences that might happen if she ever dared to hurt you again.

“You don’t have to forgive them, you know?” Kai says, his shoulder brushes against yours, as you both sit, legs dangling off the edge of the makeshift bench in the yard. The watermelon ice cream in your hand drips slightly, the heat of the sun melting it. His sister and mother are out of the house, shopping for tonight's supper.

“It’s okay to take your time,” he adds, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “Or never forgive them at all. You can stay here with us for as long as you want. There’s no rush to figure everything out.”

You shift your feet, wiggling your toes against the warm wood beneath you. Both of you are still in the loose, comfortable clothes you threw on after rolling out of bed. No shoes, no plans—It’s a Saturday—your first weekend here.

You look at him, and the light catches his face. A small smile tugs at your lips as you sign, “You know, I’ve never given you a proper nickname.”

Kai pauses mid-bite, blinking at you in surprise at your random words. “Huh?” he mumbles around the end of his ice cream. “What do you mean?”

You let out a soft laugh, your hands moving fluidly as you explain, “Since calling out your name in sign language takes a little more effort, it’s better to give you a nickname. Something simple but special, something that means ‘you.’”

Kai’s heart stutters in his chest. How was it possible that every time he saw you sign, it felt like the first time all over again? "Wha- what would you call me?"

You smile, a little shy. You’d thought of this nickname days ago, waiting for the right moment to share it. “Diamond,” you sign, your hands forming the shape—your thumb and index finger meet to form the letter D, before tracing an elegant upward motion, like a sparkle.

Kai’s breath catches. His chest feels tight, like his heart is swelling too big for the space it’s in. Diamond. The way you did it, the way it looked—it felt intimate. "It’s beautiful."

You smile softly at him, and his entire world shifts. “I can’t hear your voice, but I see it. You shine the brightest when you’re making music. That’s when you look the coolest, like you’re untouchable… like a diamond. But even then, I don’t feel left out when I’m with you. I never felt I don't belong when I'm with you.” Your hands falter slightly, your eyes glassy with unshed tears.

Kai watches every movement, every micro-emotion on your face. He understands every word.

He’s in love with you. Completely, helplessly.

He doesn’t need to be the doctor to diagnose his own symptoms, a teacher to put his feelings into words, or to be the scientist to prove his theory. None of those roles matters because—these things will never speak as loud as his heart. He loves you. And with every moment he spends knowing you, he finds himself falling even deeper.

And now, he can give you his music—something he once thought was beyond him. Loving you has been the easiest thing he’s ever done.

Kai's desperate need consumes him as he grabs your face, his heart racing with aching desire to kiss you. His lips crash onto yours, devouring the sweetness of your watermelon-flavoured mouth. You moan, a little sound that only fuels his need as he leans back. "You're so beautiful. I need you, please." He pulls you closer and kisses you again once you nod, unable to resist his sweet kisses. He breaks away and takes your hand, leading you. Like he always does.

You let him pull you into his room, the scent of him wrapping around you like a quiet embrace. The space feels personal—lived-in. It feels like... him.

Before you can say a word, his arms encircle you from behind, holding you close as his lips brush softly against the side of your head. His hands move slowly, sliding from your waist to your stomach. With a gentle tug, he lifts your shirt just enough to reveal the bare skin beneath. His touch is tender as his fingers graze over you, tracing delicate patterns, and caressing. Kai turns you around.

Kai's mind swirls with uncertainty. He stares into your eyes, and he signs the words that he has been holding back. "I love you." You respond by pulling him close, kissing him fiercely and tangling your fingers in his hair. Your mind is consumed by his confession, and his touches.

He pushes you onto the bed, flooding your senses with his smell. You wrap your legs around him instinctively, surprised at yourself for doing something naturally you haven't done. You're craving his touch.

"I need you," His voice is low, repeating the words. He wants to know. He wants to make sure that you're alright with this. You give a slight nod, granting him permission. He eagerly accepts, his lips crashing against yours in a frenzy of need. His hands roam your body, leaving trails of fire as he hungrily kisses down your neck. He goes down, he bites down on the fabric covering your nipples, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from you.

He gingerly lifted your shirt over your head, revealing your flushed skin. He took one of your hardened nipples into his mouth and gently sucked, watching closely as your face contorted in pleasure and your eyes fluttered shut.

He slides his hand under your silk pyjama top and gently traces the curve of your back with his fingers. He settles himself beside you, leaning as he reaches your waistband. His long fingers slip inside and finds you already wet, he spreads your lips apart and expertly flicks his finger over your clit. He adds another finger and watches your face for any signs of discomfort, peppering kisses along your cheeks as you shake your head in pleasure. Slowly, he inserts them deeper, making you grip his shoulders tightly as he stretches you.

He rolls his knuckles over your sensitive clit. With a swift movement, his hand opens like scissors, his thumb teasing your swollen nub. You let out a gasp and clutch onto his now longer hair, pulling him closer as he continues to pleasure you with his skilled fingers. Your mouths meet in a passionate kiss, his hot tongue brushing yours as he works his fingers in and out of you.

As he pulls out, you can feel his gaze on you, his eyes tracing every inch of your body. Every part of your body is beautiful.

You try to reach for his pants, but he shakes his head with a small smile. "This is all about you." He whispers, and places a kiss on your lips.

He slides into you, causing tears to escape from the corners of your eyes as you feel yourself being stretched and filled. He's so big, hot inside you. "Baby, I got you," He leans in close, his warm breath mingling with yours as he gently wipes away your tears.

Kai searches your eyes and waits for you to signal him to move again, you hummed nodding your head. He presses deeper, and the sensation makes your whole body tingle. With each thrust, he presses you further into the mattress, leaving hot kisses along your skin as his other hand finds its way back to your clit.

His lips found your ears, and he left traces of kisses. The overwhelming pleasure builds and builds until finally, you can't hold back any longer and release with a shudder. But he doesn't stop there; he continues to move inside of you groaning, pulling out before his release, he fists his erection and hot white cum comes undone on his hands. He leans down to give you a quick kiss on your forehead, smirking at your fucked out face.

Kai's touch was careful as he ran the cloth over your skin, wiping away, and cleaning you up. He worked slowly, keeping one of his hands holding your own.

When he was done, he looked up at you with that same soft smile. You feel your lips curve in response, reaching out to touch his flushed cheeks, your fingers brushing against his warm skin. The simple touch makes his smile widen into a boyish grin. You see his mouth open, saying "I love you." The same words he kept repeating over and over again even without you knowing it.

It feels unreal, like a fragile dream stitched together by your desperate mind to escape the torment of your reality. Kai doesn’t seem real—a fleeting fever dream you’re terrified will vanish the moment you wake. Your hands move almost on their own, signing the words your heart refuses to deny. "I love you too."

A floor table is set up in the yard, resting on a wide blanket with soft cushions scattered around it. Plates of food and side dishes fill the table, the space alive with chatter and laughter.

Kai sits beside you, his knee brushing yours beneath the table his hands caressing your back when no one's looking, Hiyyih is in the center, her laughter bright and infectious, while Taehyun and Beomgyu are across from you, locked in their usual back-and-forth.

Or rather, Beomgyu trying to bait Taehyun into bickering, and Taehyun rolling his eyes with amused restraint.

The sliding door opens, and Kai’s mom steps out, balancing a steaming pot in her hands. “Here comes the ramen!” she sings. The broth makes you realise just how hungry you are.

She begins ladling out bowls, and the clinking of utensils signals the start of the meal. As the first bite warms your throat, the cold night seems to retreat, replaced by the simple joy of being here, with them.

You reach out toward the dessert—ripe, glossy strawberries—but your hand freezes as you see Beomgyu grab the last one. He pauses mid-bite when he catches the longing look in your eyes. “Oh,” he says, a smirk tugging at his lips. Slowly, he pulls the fruit away from his mouth, holding it out to you with his chopsticks. “Because I’m a good guy, I’ll let you have it.”

Before you can protest, Kai reaches over with his own chopsticks and snatches the strawberry back. He shoves it into Beomgyu’s mouth, earning a muffled yelp. “You can keep it,” Kai says flatly, shooting a half-hearted glare at his friend.

Taehyun bursts out laughing, pointing at Beomgyu’s shocked expression. “He’s jealous,” he teases, his grin wide.

“I am not,” Kai snaps, cheeks betraying by giving a soft pink hue. “I just don’t want his germs spreading to Y/N.”

Beomgyu, finally swallowing the strawberry, points a dramatic finger at Kai. “You little shi—”

You laugh as Beomgyu leaps to his feet, determined to catch Kai, who’s darting away with that grin that melts your heart every time. Kai—the one who didn’t just save you from your own darkness, but who opened up his world and invited you in, piece by piece.

You sigh, not out of sadness, but happiness—a feeling slowly becoming familiar. It doesn’t feel impossible anymore.

You avoid your father’s gaze, his concerned eyes scanning you with a frown etched deep into his forehead. You shift, positioning yourself behind Kai’s broad back. You can still see your father, but having Kai in front of you makes it all feel bearable—almost safe.

Your father arrived first thing in the morning, dressed sharply in his suit, as though he hadn’t wasted a second to come get you ever since he came back.

He explained everything in a rush—what he’d done back at the house. Your stepmother was gone, and she’d taken your stepsisters with her. Without a marriage binding them, he ended it quickly, as swiftly as he’d once welcomed her into your home, believing she could be a solution, a saviour for you.

The maids who had turned a blind eye or worse—enabled the abuse—were fired on the spot. And now, he was determined to make things right—determined to press charges, to hold accountable anyone who had ever hurt you. His voice cracked when he spoke of it, the guilt etched deep into his expression.

"Would you mind if I speak for a moment?" Kai asks stance proud, and unwavering. Your father looked at him, taking in the way he stood in front of you, protective. It reminded him of the days when he had stood like that for your mother—the only woman he had truly loved.

“My mom doesn’t know any sign language,” Kai begins, “But she still talks to Y/N all the time. They understand each other perfectly.” He pauses, letting the words settle.

“That’s when I realized something,” Kai continues, his gaze unwavering. “You can say anything—anything at all—if it comes from a willing heart.” He pulls out a book. It’s a little worn around the edges, its cover creased from being used so often. It’s the same sign language book he’s been studying with you, the one he’s cherished so much.

He holds it out to your father, “I thought this might help. It’s a good place to start, so you can reach her too.” Your father takes it, his fingers brushing against the cover. His lips part, voice thick with emotion, “Thank you, Kai.” He extends his hand, and Kai shakes it firmly, a quiet understanding passing between them.

Then Kai turns to you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. His mom and Hiyyih wrap you in tight hugs, their warmth lingering long after they let go. You haven’t even stepped outside the gate yet, but they’re already asking when you’ll come back.

You smile, trying to give them an answer, but the truth catches in your throat. The truth is, you don’t know if you can live your life without them anymore.

The trip back to your house was quiet.

You opened the doors, but no one was inside. No one inside, yet it felt more… welcoming than it ever had. You walk into your room, and are about to reach to close your bedrooms behind you. But before it shuts, your father steps inside.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, “For everything.” All you can do is nod silently, feeling the sting of tears welling in your eyes. You’ve thought about this moment a thousand times—how you would say everything you’ve kept inside, how you’d finally tell him that his silence and distance hurt more than the physical abuse they gave.

You wanted him to know what his absence caused, how it made everything worse. You wanted to shout, to let him feel the anger you’ve carried for so long. But as you hear his apology, you find yourself lacking the heart to do so. Because this moment—it’s the one you’ve been waiting for your entire whole life. For him to finally come back to you.

He takes a hesitant step closer, his hands trembling as they reach up to cup your face. His eyes that screams nothing but regret. “You’re the only one left who matters to me,” he says, “I’m so sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I promise—I’ll make it up to you. Somehow, I’ll make it right.” Before you know it, he pulls you into his arms, holding you as if he’s afraid to let go.

The two of you cry, clinging to each other in the quiet of the house. No other words are spoken. The walls that once held the echoes of your pain now bear witness to something… starting to heal.

The horrors of the past don’t, won't disappear, but they begin to blur, fading as you melt inside your father's arms. You close your eyes as you cry—broken sobs, like a child needing comfort after a big bad nightmare, tasting the salt of your own tears as they fall.

It tastes like forgiveness.

"Do you want to come with me on my next business trip?" your father signs, his hands moving carefully beside you in the car. "New York."

You smile at his effort, the clumsy yet intentional movements making him seem more approachable—so different from the figure you once knew.

"I'd love that, dad." His face lights up with your response, a genuine smile spreading across his lips. He looks relieved, maybe even proud, that he's able to communicate with you more clearly now. Your gaze drifts to the newspaper folded in his lap, the bold numbers marking the year—1996.

The car slows to a stop, signalling that you've arrived. Your father leans over, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "See you daughter,"

You wave goodbye, stepping out onto the pavement, watching as the car pulls away. You clutch your shoulder bag, a soft smile playing on your lips—one that seems to have taken permanent residence these past few months. Your steps are light, your eyes brighter, and your heart hums a melody only you can hear.

Community for the Gifted: Advanced Sign Language

The words on the board seem almost dreamlike. A reminder that you're here. Everything that happened wasn't just a dream.

Before you can dwell on it, your bag is gently lifted from your hands. You turn, meeting his eyes—warm, full of affection. He dips his head, pressing a sweet, fleeting kiss to your lips, followed by another on your nose, and your brows.

"Hi, pretty girl," He says softly, shifting your bag to his other hand. He reaches for your free hand, fingers intertwining with yours. He squeezes it three times.

I love you.

Together, you step through the doors, hand in hand with the boy who loves you in ways you didn’t think anyone ever could. The boy who simply found you in your silent world. It amazes you—how one person can make life feel so undeniably worth living.

Huening Kai, who learned to speak your language, so you won't have to spend your lifetime translating your soul.

THE END.

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