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maretinelli · 2 days ago

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A HARD DAY

DadLewis Hamilton X Mom!fem!reader

Summary: When one of the girls is sick and the other took the day off to annoy her sister, Y/n and Lewis do everything they can to balance things out until the end of the day.

Words: 5.4K+

Warnings: Sisterly fights, Y/n tired and stressed, Lewis a good husband, a little anguish, Pietra a little annoying because she woke up in a bad mood hahaha, Marie sick, but happy ending.

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any mistakes that may be in the story such as spelling, grammar and writing. This is part of the Universe of A NON-SEPARATION, but can also be read separately.

MASTERLIST

The day dawned dark and gray, as if the weather itself foretold the chaos that was to come. The cloudy sky covered the British city, and a light drizzle ran down the windows.

Lewis knew he had a busy day ahead of him. Ferrari had sent a team to the UK, and face-to-face meetings demanded his attention early on. Before the sun threatened to peek out from behind the clouds, he left the house, giving his sleeping wife a soft kiss before leaving.

The tranquility did not last long. Just thirty minutes after Lewis closed the front door, Y/n was awakened by loud crying coming from Marie's room. His body was still heavy with sleep, but worry spoke louder.

She stood up and walked quickly down the hall, finding Pietra standing there, hugging her favorite stuffed animal. Her hair was all spiky, evidence that she had just woken up, and the frown on her face clearly showed her sour mood.

"What are you doing up at this hour?" Y/n asked as she opened the door to Marie's room.

Pietra frowned even more and grumbled: "That annoying Marie woke me up with her crying!"

"Don't talk about your sister like that," he warned patiently but firmly. "Go back to your room and try to get some more sleep. Or, if you want, you can come to my bed. I'll take care of Marie."

Pietra grimaced and turned around, slamming the bedroom door behind her.

"PIETRA!" Y/n called, but the girl ignored her.

Taking a deep breath, she walked into Marie's room and sat down next to her eldest daughter's bed, pulling her into a cozy hug.

"It's okay, my love." He whispered, feeling the girl's small sobs against his chest.

Marie curled up in her mother’s arms, seeking comfort. When the sobs subsided, Y/n pulled away slightly and asked, “What happened?”

"I had a nightmare... and I'm scared," Marie murmured, her voice weak.

"Don't be afraid, mommy is here" Y/n assured, stroking her daughter's hair. As he did so, he noticed that the girl was hotter than usual.

He gently laid her back on the bed. "I'll get a thermometer, okay?"

Marie just nodded.

Y/n walked to the bedroom closet and grabbed the small first aid kit that her daughters' rooms had, grabbing the thermometer and returning to bed.

The fever was high. Marie coughed softly, her little face drawn. "I don't want to sleep again."

Y/n smiled and caressed his face. "Okay. Let's go to the living room to watch something, okay?"

Marie nodded.

Y/n picked her up, feeling the heat of her feverish little body against hers. Before going downstairs, she went to her own room to get her cell phone and then went to the living room. There, she settled on the couch with Marie, covering them with the blanket that had been left there from the night before.

"What do you want to watch?" He asked, picking up the remote.

Marie chose a cartoon, and Y/n put it on the channel.

As her daughter settled into her lap, Y/n picked up her cell phone and sent a message to her secretary, letting her know that she would need to reschedule all of her appointments for the day and that she wouldn't be at the office in the afternoon. His response was quick, saying he would take care of everything and wishing Y/n's daughter a speedy recovery.

Y/n let out a sigh and put her phone aside, focusing on stroking her daughter's back while she watched the cartoon.

For a few minutes, everything was silent. Tranquility reigned, until the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs broke the moment.

Pietra appeared in the room, still holding her stuffed animal, and with the same sullen look as before.

"I couldn't sleep again." He grumbled.

Y/n smiled and made room beside him. "Then come here, join us."

Pietra hesitated, but ended up approaching and sitting next to her mother. As she adjusted herself on the sofa, she ended up accidentally pulling Marie's hair.

"Ouch! That hurt!" Marie complained, turning to her sister.

"Be quiet, now I want to watch." Pietra replied, crossing her arms.

Y/n sighed, already anticipating that the day would be long. One was sick, the other woke up in a bad mood.

Despite this, they managed to watch the cartoon together for about an hour. Every now and then, Pietra and Marie would exchange provocations, and Y/n would intervene with calm but firm reprimands. Until finally, Marie fell asleep.

Taking advantage of the moment, Y/n arranged her oldest daughter on the sofa and stood up, extending her hand to Pietra.

"Shall we make breakfast?"

Pietra held her mother's hand and followed her into the kitchen. Meanwhile, in the living room, Marie was sleeping soundly, snuggled under the covers, with the TV on low and the lights off.

About thirty minutes later, Marie appeared in the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. Y/n took the thermometer and checked her temperature. The fever had gone, but her daughter's sunken eyes and tired expression were still worrying.

"I want to go to school after lunch." Marie said, her voice still a little hoarse.

Y/n arched an eyebrow. "Are you sure? It's okay to miss today."

"Today we have art class... I like it."

Y/n smiled and kissed her daughter's hair. "Okay, but if the fever comes back, you stay home, understand?"

Marie nodded.

As lunchtime approached, Y/n helped the girls get ready for school. Pietra, however, seemed determined to test her sister's limits.

The little girl had already hidden Marie's notebook, complained about her sister's hairstyle, and now watched Marie tie her shoelaces with a mischievous look.

"Are you sure you can tie this by yourself?" Pietra asked, sitting next to her sister on the couch, ready to go to school. "Last time, you almost fell in the middle of the street."

Marie rolled her eyes, tugging hard on her laces. "I know how to tie them, Pietra. Unlike you, who doesn't even know how to tie a bow properly."

"Yes, I know!" Pietra retorted, offended.

Y/n, who had gone up to get Marie's backpack, was oblivious to the sisters' discussions in the living room.

"No, you don't," Marie insisted, finishing tying her shoe and standing up. "Last time, Mommy had to retie yours because you made a knot that was impossible to untie."

"At least I don't cry because of a nightmare," Pietra replied with a victorious smile.

Marie's eyes widened in indignation. "MOMMY!" she called, turning to Y/n, who had just found her way down the stairs and into the living room.

"Pietra, no teasing." Y/n warned, giving her youngest daughter a firm look.

Pietra pouted, but didn't answer. Instead, he picked up his backpack and started playing with the keychain hanging from the zipper, as if he hadn't said anything.

Thinking that peace would reign again, Y/n went back to her room to get a coat for Marie. But then Pietra found another opportunity to irritate her sister.

"Marie, you look like a zombie," he commented, tilting his head to the side as he analyzed his sister.

"What?!" Marie exclaimed, putting her hands on her face.

"Your eyes are sunken, your face looks strange... are you sure you're not sick yet?"

Marie snorted in irritation. "If I'm a zombie, then you're a goblin!"

"At least goblins are fast and smart," Pietra replied with a mischievous smile. "Zombies just walk slowly and say 'uhhhhhh'."

Y/n arrived at the exact moment Pietra had said that, almost out of patience with the two's arguments, she said loudly.

"ENOUGH, PIETRA. Do you want to go to school as punishment?"

The girl crossed her arms, sulking. "I was just kidding..."

Y/n sighed again, handing her coat to her eldest daughter and going to get her car keys, with the two of them walking behind their mother.

"Come on! Before I have to break up a real fight." She opens the car door and they both get in, settling into their safety seats.

The journey to school was, as expected, a test of patience for Y/n. The provocations between Marie and Pietra continued, without respite. Each comment from one generated an even sharper retort from the other, creating an endless cycle of small jabs.

Y/n, already tired of trying to calm the mood, realized that any attempt at intervention would be useless. Instead of wasting his energy trying to calm the girls down, he simply turned up the music in the car to a reasonably loud level.

The sound partially muffled her daughters' voices, allowing her to drive in peace—or at least as close to it as possible. She only intervened when a comment went too far, issuing a short, firm warning.

As soon as she parked at the school, Y/n led the girls inside, taking the opportunity to speak to Marie's teacher. She explained that her oldest daughter had had a fever earlier and that if she complained of any discomfort, she should call immediately. Since she was off that afternoon, she would keep an eye on the phone.

Before Pietra ran off to class, Y/n held her for a moment, warning her to behave and not irritate her sister during the break. Pietra rolled her eyes, but didn't retort, which, for Y/n, was already a small victory.

On the way home, the sound of her cell phone ringing filled the car. The display showed Lewis's name, and Y/n answered, activating the speakerphone so that her husband's voice came through the speakers.

As he drove, he told her about his chaotic morning, detailing Pietra's teasing and Marie's stubbornness in wanting to go to school even after having a fever. On the other end of the line, Lewis laughed, amused by the story.

"I'll talk to them as soon as I pick them up."

When she arrived home, she was greeted by Roscoe, who came trotting up to her, wagging his tail and barking excitedly. The dog seemed genuinely happy with the lack of noise, enjoying the rare calm of the house.

"You're enjoying the silence, aren't you?" Y/n teased, looking at the bulldog.

Roscoe barked again, as if in agreement.

With free time and an empty house, Y/n decided to put everything in order. The first step was to change the girls' bedclothes and put them in the wash, eliminating any trace of the virus that had taken down Marie.

Afterwards, a general cleaning was carried out, sanitizing the rooms and disinfecting door handles, toys and any surface that the girls frequently touched.

She knew that Pietra would probably catch the same flu within a few weeks, maybe even Lewis or herself, but as a mother and a doctor, she made sure to minimize the chances.

During this whole process, Y/n picked up her cell phone from time to time to check if she had received any messages from the teachers. No new notifications.

When he finally finished, he sat down on the couch, letting out a long sigh. He knew that this tranquility had an expiration date. As soon as his daughters returned, the chaos would return with them.

Her gaze wandered around the room, and her thoughts led her to reflect on how fast the girls were growing up. It was funny to realize how much Pietra had inherited Lewis's strong personality—his stubbornness, his determination, and the way he always wanted to have the last word. But she ended up smiling.

Time passed faster than I imagined. My phone vibrated with a message from Lewis, saying he was leaving to pick up the girls.

Y/n quickly typed a reply.

"Get ready... those two are going to give you trouble in the car."

Lewis arrived home with the girls, and as expected, they spent the entire drive home arguing. Their childish energy was intense, and the tone of their voices grew louder as they approached the door.

As soon as they entered, the fight gained momentum.

"You don't even know how to play!" Pietra teased, crossing her arms.

"And you don't even know how to lose!" Marie replied, already irritated.

From the living room, Y/n let out a deep sigh as she heard the argument. Lewis smiled slightly, already used to the chaos, and decided to intervene before the fight escalated.

"Hey, hey, calm down!" He said, holding up a hand in a pause gesture. "I think we forgot the part where we got to go home in peace? Without yelling?"

The two girls looked at him, but Pietra didn't miss the chance to tease her sister.

"Daddy, you need to know what Marie did during recess!" Pietra said, holding back her laughter. "She dropped her snack right in her lap, in front of everyone! And on top of that, she made a funny face, trying to get it back. Everyone saw it!" Pietra said, laughing out loud.

Marie's eyes widened and she blushed.

"Mommy! She's making things up again!" He protested, turning to Y/n.

"I'm not making it up, it was really funny!" Pietra insisted on lying, enjoying her sister's embarrassment.

Y/n, who had already gotten up from the couch, sighed again and gave her daughters a serious look.

"Girls, enough!" She said, crossing her arms. "Pietra, it's not nice to make fun of your sister. And Marie, stop fighting back, it only makes the argument last longer.

"But, Mom...!" They both started at the same time.

"No 'buts'." Y/n cut in firmly. "Now go upstairs and change."

Grumbling and exchanging dirty looks, the sisters climbed the stairs. The sound of their heavy footsteps echoed through the house, followed by a brief silence before they began arguing again upstairs.

Lewis still stood at the door, holding his daughters’ two colorful backpacks. He looked at his wife, who already looked exhausted, and chuckled softly before setting the backpacks down.

"I need to rescue my wife from this mess before she files for divorce." He joked, pulling Y/n into a tight hug.

She closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the comfort of his touch, and then let out a tired laugh.

"I'm asking for help, Lew." Y/n murmured against his chest.

He laughed, running his hand slowly down her back. "We'll figure it out. They're kids, but they're not impossible."

Y/n pulled back a little and looked at him with an arched eyebrow. "Hm... I don't know. I thought girls would be easier to raise."

"Yeah, and I thought my talent was only in Formula 1, but apparently, I need to become a mediator in disputes too." Lewis joked.

Y/n laughed, shaking her head, before grabbing her daughters' backpacks to put them away.

The silence lasted only a few seconds before the girls' voices began to grow louder upstairs.

Lewis sighed, already foreseeing that the peace would not last long. "I'll go try to calm them both down before one throws the other out the window."

Y/n chuckled and nodded.

"Good luck."

He gave his wife an amused look before heading upstairs, ready to deal with another round of sibling rivalry.

Soon, Marie came downstairs, now wearing a comfortable set of sweats instead of her school uniform. Her face still looked drawn, her shoulders a little slumped, and she rubbed one eye with the palm of her hand, showing tiredness.

Y/n, who was sitting on the couch, smiled softly at her daughter.

"Come here, my love. Sit with me for a while."

Marie didn't hesitate and settled down next to her mother, resting her head on the arm of the sofa.

Y/n arranged a blanket over her and then handed her a mug of warm tea.

"Take some, it will help you relax."

Marie took the cup with both hands and took a small sip, letting out a sigh afterwards. "Thank you, Mommy."

Y/n smiled and stroked her daughter's hair, and before she could settle down on the couch, Pietra came down the stairs, with Lewis right behind her.

"Mommy, why can Marie lie down and I can't?" Pietra asked, crossing her arms.

Lewis sighed and placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "How about you go play with Roscoe in the backyard? It'll be good to burn off some energy."

Pietra rolled her eyes and muttered something, clearly not satisfied.

"Oh, sure... I always get to keep the dog while Marie gets treated like a queen."

Y/n gave her daughter a warning look, but before she could respond, Lewis looked at her seriously.

"Pietra. Your sister is sick! You also lie down when you are sick!"

The girl sighed heavily and threw her shoulders back. "Okay, I'll go..."

She walked out into the yard, still upset, and Lewis approached the couch, leaning over to kiss his wife's forehead.

"I'll talk to her." He said quietly.

Y/n smiled lightly and nodded. "Thank you."

Lewis went to the backyard, taking the opportunity to have a more serious conversation with Pietra. He tried to make her understand that teasing Marie all the time was not a good thing, and that this needed to change.

Time passed, and Y/n was now in the kitchen preparing dinner. The aroma of hot food filled the room, while Marie, already showered, sat on a high stool near the counter. With a drawing book open in front of her, she colored with concentration, scattering several colored pencils around.

Outside, Pietra was still playing with Roscoe, but she soon entered the kitchen quietly, casting a quick glance at her sister. With a subtle step, she deliberately bumped into Marie's arm, causing a large line to go beyond the lines of the drawing.

"Pietra!" Marie exclaimed, gripping the pencil tighter.

"Oops, it was an accident!" Pietra replied, raising her hands as if she were innocent.

Y/n, who was almost out of patience, turned from the bench and looked directly at her youngest daughter.

"Pietra!" Her voice was firm. "You know very well that this was not unintentional. Why do you insist on provoking your sister?"

Before Pietra could respond, Lewis entered the kitchen. He noticed the tense atmosphere and frowned.

"What happened here?"

Marie was quick to tell everything, still holding the pencil tightly, as if she was holding herself back from crying in anger.

"What did we just talk about?" Lewis sighed, crouched down in front of Pietra and looked her straight in the eyes. "This isn't cool, P. You need to stop this. Marie is your sister, and it's not right to tease her all the time."

Pietra snorted, crossed her arms and rolled her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Marie," he said, but the dry tone clearly showed it wasn't a genuine request.

Y/n looked at Marie. "What about you, Marie?"

The girl blinked a few times, trying to hold back the angry tears in her eyes, but took a deep breath and replied.

"All good."

She went back to drawing, although she was still visibly frustrated.

Lewis stood up and looked at his wife, realizing how tired she was after all that arguing. Still, Y/n managed to offer him a tired but genuine smile.

He smiled back and walked over to the counter, starting to help finish up dinner while keeping an eye on the girls. For now, at least, they seemed to have stopped teasing.

When everything was ready, the family gathered at the table. The atmosphere seemed calm at first, but soon Pietra began her usual negotiations.

"Mommy... do you really need to eat so many vegetables?" She asked, poking the broccoli with her fork.

"Yes, you do, P." Y/n replied kindly, helping herself to some more rice.

Marie, even though she was still exhausted, ate without complaining. Pietra looked at her sister across the table and snorted.

"Look at Marie, she eats all her vegetables." She rolls her eyes and Lewis watches her.

Marie glared at her sister, but didn't say anything. She just continued eating in silence.

Pietra then picked up a piece of broccoli and raised her hand with a mischievous look, ready to throw it at her sister. Just as Pietra was about to throw the broccoli, Y/n was faster. She held her daughter's hand firmly before the piece of vegetable flew across the table.

"PIETRA!" Her voice sounded loud and firm, making the girl's eyes widen.

Marie, already at her emotional limit for the day, began to cry.

Y/n took a deep breath and looked directly at her youngest daughter, finally losing her patience. "ENOUGH! THIS HAS GONE WAY OVER. I've been trying to stay calm, give you two space to work things out between yourselves, but this..." She pointed to the broccoli still in Pietra's hand. "This is the height of it! You're wasting food, and even worse, trying to throw it at your sister? THIS IS NOT FUNNY! It's disrespectful, and I won't tolerate this kind of behavior anymore."

Pietra swallowed hard, her eyes slightly wide. Silence fell over the table. Even Lewis, who usually tried to lighten things up, was quiet for a moment.

"You're grounded." Y/n decreed, her voice serious and leaving no room for argument.

Only the sound of cutlery against plates filled the room after that. Pietra lowered her gaze and went back to eating, without protest. Marie, still sniffling, tried to compose herself.

Lewis wiped his mouth with his napkin, sighed, and then stood up. He walked over to Pietra's side and placed his hand on her shoulder.

"Let's go upstairs." He said seriously. "I think we need to have a serious talk, young lady."

Pietra got down from the chair without saying a word. Her gaze was fixed on the floor as she held the hand Lewis extended to her. Together, they walked up the stairs in silence.

Marie still looked startled by what had happened. She hesitated for a moment, looking at the food on her plate, before taking another bite.

Y/n, feeling like she was about to shed a few tears of exhaustion, took a deep breath and decided to clear her mind, trying to talk to her daughter.

"So, my love? How was school today, besides the trouble?"

Marie wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and thought for a moment before answering. "It was cool... I got an A on the math test."

Y/n smiled, feeling her heart soften a little. "Really? That's amazing, daughter! I knew you'd rock!"

Marie smiled shyly. "The teacher even praised me in front of the class."

"That's wonderful! Can you show me the review later?"

"Yes, I'll show you."

Dinner went a little more calmly after that, but Y/n still felt a weight on her chest. She had always been a patient, calm mother who valued her daughters expressing themselves freely and understanding their own feelings. But what Pietra had done had surpassed all the limits she tried to maintain.

And more than that, her daughter's behavior was strange. Pietra was always the girl who lit up the room, who made jokes, laughed out loud and managed to make Marie smile even on her worst days.

But lately, she just teased her sister.

That didn't look like his Pietra.

Y/n made a mental note to talk to Lewis about this once things calmed down. Something was going on, and she needed to figure out what it was.

A few minutes later, Marie finished her dinner and looked at her mother with a tired look.

"Mommy, can you put a cartoon on TV for me?"

Y/n smiled, feeling her heart soften at seeing her daughter still so fragile.

"Of course, my love. I'm going now."

She collected the dishes from the table, took them to the sink, and then headed into the living room. Marie was already lying on the couch, curled up under the blanket, waiting for the drawing.

Y/n took the remote and put on one of her daughter's favorite cartoons. Sitting on the edge of the couch, she ran her hand lovingly through her daughter's hair.

"How are you feeling now, my little one?"

Marie sighed, turning to her mother with a tired look. "I'm kind of tired... and now my head hurts."

Y/n stood up immediately.

"Wait a minute, I'll get you some medicine."

She went to the kitchen, grabbed a children’s painkiller and a glass of water, then returned to the living room. Kneeling down next to the couch, she handed the medicine to her daughter, who grimaced as she took it, but drank it without complaint.

Y/n smiled and stroked her hair. "There you go. Now try to relax, okay? If you want to sleep here, Mommy or Daddy will take you to your room later."

Marie smiled tiredly.

"Thank you, Mom."

Y/n's heart clenched with love. She kissed her daughter's forehead and whispered, "Mommy's here for anything, okay?"

Marie just closed her eyes, feeling her mother's affection.

With one last loving look at her daughter, Y/n got up and went back to the kitchen to wash the dishes. Meanwhile, Lewis was still in the room talking to Pietra.

Upstairs, he spoke calmly but seriously. Pietra sat on his lap, her small arms wrapped around her father's neck. As he spoke, Lewis stroked his daughter's curls, his words firm but gentle.

"I know you like to play, my princess, but teasing your sister all the time is no joke. She gets hurt, and mommy and daddy get sad, you don't like seeing mommy sad, do you?"

Pietra sighed and nodded, resting her head against her father's chest. Lewis knew she understood.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Y/n felt the weight of the entire day crashing down on her.

Standing, leaning against the counter, she put her hands to her face and began to cry softly. She didn't want anyone to hear. She didn't want them to worry about her, not when they already had so many unfinished business with the girls.

She felt exhausted. Overwhelmed. Guilty.

"I yelled at my daughter."

The phrase echoed in his mind, making the tears flow even more.

It was at this moment that Lewis entered the kitchen.

"Honey, I talked to Pietra. I think she understood well. I spoke calmly, but made it clear that-"

He stopped talking when he heard his wife's loud sob.

Immediately, he walked over, placing a gentle hand on her back. "Hey... What happened?" His voice was now worried, filled with affection.

Y/n lifted her face, revealing red eyes and cheeks wet with tears.

Lewis didn't think twice before wrapping her in a tight hug. She clung to him, hiding her face in his chest, and began to pour out her heart through her tears.

"I... I feel like a terrible mother, Lew." Her voice was shaking. "I yelled at Pietra. I lost my temper. I should have handled it differently... But I was so tired, so frustrated. Now I feel horrible."

Lewis held her tightly, running his hand gently down her back.

"Hey, look at me." He pulled back a little and cupped his wife's face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away her tears. "It's okay. You're human, love. Your patience is at an all-time high because you have limits, too. That doesn't make you a bad mother."

Y/n sniffed, looking away. "But I feel so guilty..."

Lewis smiled fondly. "You are facing the challenges of motherhood, and I know you always do your best. You are an amazing mother. Pietra loves you. Marie loves you. And I love you."

She sighed and, without the strength to argue, rested her head on her husband's shoulder again.

Lewis continued to stroke her back, murmuring sweet nothings. "You're the best mother these girls could ever have, Y/n. They know it. I know it."

And with that, Y/n allowed a few more tears to fall, but now they weren't just from exhaustion. They were of relief, of comfort.

Y/n was still in Lewis's arms when she saw Pietra entering the kitchen. The little girl had her head down, her fingers nervously playing with the hem of her blouse. She stopped in front of her mother and gently tugged on the coat Y/n was wearing.

"Mommy, I want to apologize to you."

Lewis smiled at the scene and, without saying anything, walked away, leaving them alone. He went to the living room, where Marie was still lying on the sofa.

Y/n knelt in front of her daughter, placing one hand on her shoulder and the other running through her soft, dark curls.

"I'm listening, my love."

Pietra took a deep breath before beginning.

"I... I know I was mean to Marie today. I thought I was just joking, but I guess I overreacted." She hesitated, biting her lip. "And I was mean to you and Daddy, too. I didn't mean to make you sad."

Y/n smiled tenderly, feeling her heart warm.

"Thank you for apologizing, my love. It means a lot."

Pietra nodded and then frowned. "But, Mom... You're sad too, aren't you?"

Y/n sighed, stroking her daughter's hair.

"I was a little, yes. But more than that, I was worried. I don't want to see you two fighting, I want you to love and protect each other."

Pietra looked her in the eyes. "I'm sorry I made you sad... And also about the broccoli."

Y/n let out a soft laugh and held her daughter's little face affectionately.

"And I want to apologize too, Pietra. I shouldn't have yelled at you at dinner. I was tired and lost my temper, but still, it wasn't right."

Pietra smiled a little and, with her eyes shining, said something that made Y/n hold her breath: "It's okay, mommy. It's good to express what we feel sometimes."

It was one of the phrases Y/n always said to her daughters. Hearing this coming from the little girl made her eyes water again, but this time, not from exhaustion, but from love.

Unable to hold it in, he pulled Pietra into a tight hug, whispering in her ear: "I love you so much, my princess. And Marie and daddy love you too."

Pietra smiled against her mother's shoulder before pulling away a little. Then, with his small hands, he gently wiped the tears from Y/n's face.

"Sorry, Mom."

Y/n held her daughter's hands and kissed her forehead. "I forgive you, my love."

Pietra yawned and rubbed her brown eyes. "I think I'll go to sleep. I'm tired."

Y/n nodded. "Then come on, I'll put you to bed, love."

Hand in hand, mother and daughter walked out of the kitchen and across the living room.

There, Lewis lay on the couch, with Marie half asleep on his chest. He tilted his head back and met his wife's gaze.

He smiled lovingly.

Y/n responded with an equally tender look before heading upstairs with Pietra, finally feeling a little lighter.

After helping Pietra take a shower and put on her pajamas, Y/n lovingly tucked her into bed. The little girl held her favorite stuffed animal tightly and, without asking for a bedtime story as usual, just closed her eyes.

Y/n smiled at the scene, adjusted the blankets over her daughter and turned off the light in the room before leaving, closing the door carefully.

As she passed Marie's room, she heard Lewis's voice narrating a princess story. He used different tones for each character, while Marie, already almost asleep, sighed softly.

The scene made Y/n smile. She went downstairs and walked to the living room sofa, throwing herself onto the cushions and closing her eyes. She sighed, throwing an arm above her head, trying to relax.

That day was finally over.

Shortly after, she felt the side of the couch dip and a warm arm wrap around her waist. Without opening her eyes, she smiled, knowing exactly who it was.

"Now I don't know if I want to have another one." He muttered, in a playful tone.

Lewis laughed out loud, pulling her a little closer. "You know what's worse? I was thinking the same thing!" He joked.

Y/n laughed along, resting her head on his chest, while Lewis lightly caressed her back.

"Do you want to watch something?" He asked.

She just shook her head and sighed.

"No... I just want to stay here, relaxing in your arms. I'm tired both physically from cleaning today, and emotionally."

Lewis kissed her forehead tenderly. "Then stay here with me. Now you can relax. It's okay."

Y/n smiled, snuggling deeper into her husband's embrace.

Days like that were difficult, exhausting. Patience was running out, emotions were building up. But in the end, they always found a way. They always found a balance. Because, at the end of the day, they were a family. And nothing would be greater than the love they had for each other.

#fanfiction #y/n #romance #imagines #one shot #formula 1 #formula one #marriage #fem reader #lewis hamilton x y/n #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton #dad and daughter

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moni-logues · 1 day ago

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Pairing: Wooyoung x reader (afab, she/her)

Genre: (childhood best) friends with benefits-to-lovers

Summary: When you had to return home to care for your terminally-ill arsehole of a father, your lifelong best friend was there for you. He wanted more and, when all the dust had settled, you realised you did, too, but were you already too late?

Word count: 19.8k

Content: wooyoung is bi (and in love with reader), terminal illness and death (reader's dad), a scene where they joke about suicide, a scene where they briefly touch on child abuse (vague, nothing specific, no actual abuse happens), difficult relationship with reader's father (he is rude in one scene but it's said outright that he was a bad dad and reader and her sister (and their mum) have difficult feelings after his death, including gladness and relief), multiple orgasms, oral sex (f. receiving), piv sex (protection unspecified), cameo roles for hwa and joong, yunho is a stand-up guy, some emotional constipation,

A/N: this is for @eoieopda; there is no one with whom i would rather share a wife (wooyoung is our wife 🔪) i feel like i must surely have missed some content warnings but i can't think what so pls lmk if you spot something. unbeta'd

Like That

You walked, head down, hands in pockets, less because the weather was cold (though it was) and more because you wanted to disappear into yourself, make yourself small and compact, as if it could keep your jangling collection of nerves and memories from pulling you apart. You wanted to squish everything down, compress it, make it solid and tangible, so maybe then you could pick it apart at your own pace; right now, it felt like everything was simultaneously running towards and away from you.

“Hey! HEY!”

He, though, he was definitely running towards you. Wooyoung jogged across the road and didn’t give you time to release your hands before he was enveloping you, crushing you, in a tight hug. Then he was pushing you backwards, a stern look on his face.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming back!”

You shrugged. You had actually, very deliberately, not told anyone. Denial, perhaps. Stupidity, you realised now.

“Surprise!”

“What brought you back? Miss me too much?”

You looked down, bit your lip, braced yourself like just before a piercing—knowing the pain would be so brief, dreading it anyway.

“Well... my dad... Y’know.”

His face softened, hands squeezing your shoulders before dropping, catching your hands and squeezing there, too.

“Yeah, I heard about that. I’m sorry, princess.”

You shrugged again, not really capable of more.

“We’re on our way for drinks; wanna come?”

The very last thing you wanted was a welcome committee plied with booze. You shook your head.

“Not really in the mood.”

“Ok, do you want to come over later?”

You weren’t a hundred percent sure that you hadn’t been heading to Wooyoung’s specifically for his and your tried and tested brand of casual sex, but having the option presented to you made you think twice. The release might have been nice but all the stripping and intimacy that came before it made you shrink further into your coat.

“Can I come over if I just want to cuddle?”

Wooyoung feigned offence.

“Are you trying to call me some kind of slut? Who only lets his friends over if they agree to fuck him? How very dare you, darling.”

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close again, pressed a kiss into your hair.

“Of course, you can come over,” he continued, voice softer now. “You can let yourself in whenever and I’ll let you know when I'm on my way home?”

You withdrew from his embrace and nodded.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Wooyoung offered. “Missed you.”

“Missed you, too.”

“Oi! WOOYOUNG! HURRY THE FUCK UP!”

Wooyoung flicked the Vs behind him and grinned at you.

“That’s my cue. I’ll see you later, ok?”

He hugged you a third time, kissed the corner of your mouth and jogged back the way he came, throwing a ‘love you!’ over his shoulder.

Casual sex with Wooyoung was—well, to call it expected felt wrong somehow, but it was just what you did. Whenever you made it back to your hometown, there he was. He had been your best friend, light of your life, for decades and though he was far from your only hometown friend, he was the only one you did this with.

It had begun, as these things often do, with a break-up and a lot of alcohol, some years ago now. You didn’t remember whose idea it was, who kissed whom first; none of those things mattered because you were, as you always had been, on the same page. You knew him like the back of your hand; knew every secret, every embarrassing tale, every dream, every nightmare, every food preference, every favourite everything and he knew you the same. There was no one on earth you trusted more than him; there was no one else whose bad moods and bad smells and annoying noises and fidgety sleeping you would tolerate. It was easy and familiar and comforting. It was also good.

You had never thought to ask him but, for you, it was the best you’d ever had. You assumed that was because Wooyoung was inside you long before he was ever inside you. You had grown up together. Your roots were twisted together. Your souls made of the same stuff, that kind of thing. He could read you better than any boyfriend because he had the advantage of experience, years and years of it stretching back to before you could even remember. He was around before you could form memories, before you could string a proper sentence together, before you could walk.

You hoped it was the same for him. Tried to decide if you wanted to pull at that thread, ask him about it. Wondered how upset you’d be if he answered differently—perhaps not at all because it was Wooyoung and he could just tell you how to be better and it wouldn’t be embarrassing because it was Wooyoung. In fact, even if you weren’t the best, you knew you did a decent job because he would certainly have told you otherwise. The man was not backwards about coming forwards. That was a comfort.

You did not think about the ways in which it just so happened that every time you came back here, you were single. It wasn’t deliberate. Genuinely. You didn’t buy a plane ticket home and then cancel all your dates. Didn’t end a burgeoning relationship because there was some other guy, 12-hour plane ride away, whom you got to see maybe once year, that you wanted to sleep with instead. It wasn’t like that. You just happened to be unattached when you came home.

The same was true of Wooyoung. In fact, to your knowledge, he had only ever brought one girlfriend home. When you were at separate universities, but home for the summer, he had brought her to stay; a drama student from Busan who was nice enough if a little uninspiring. The change to your dynamic set things off-kilter at first. You and Wooyoung were peas in a pod, attached at the hip, Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum (as you were not-so-affectionately known); throwing a third person into the mix made things awkward. You tried not to reference every shared childhood memory, every private joke, not wanting to leave her out; you were physically distant, knowing that if you stood within two feet of Wooyoung, you’d be touching each other in some kind of way; you were slightly disturbed watching him walk home with her, prioritise her, search for her face first when he laughed.

He stayed with her throughout the rest of his degree and they broke up upon graduation with her returning to Busan and Wooyoung, home. That was the last you’d ever seen of any of Wooyoung’s partners or even dates because they didn’t often make it past that designation.

You, after graduation, moved a little farther than Busan: London. A graduate scheme that you’d applied to on the off-chance, that you never expected to get. You had worried, not so much about missing Wooyoung while you were away, but that it would change things when you were together. That the distance and the time-zones and the distinct lack of shared experiences between you would ruin what had taken twenty years to build. Your worries were unfounded and coming home to Wooyoung felt like slipping into the most perfectly worn-in shoes that had moulded to the exact size and shape of your feet, that you could wear for hours and not even notice, that only got more comfortable the more you wore them.

Sex hadn’t changed that, either. It could have. You had certainly seen it take down lesser friendships but you and Wooyoung weren’t like that. Physical intimacy didn’t feel weird or awkward, not even the first time. It was the last boundary between you and passing it was as easy and effortless as slipping into sleep.

You let yourself into his apartment and breathed your first sigh of relief. It was as familiar to you as your own home—even more so now that your parents’ living room housed a hospital bed and machines that would soon beep around the clock, had strangers coming in and out of it all day, would soon have another living it: your dad whom you could not believe was really your dad, the same man who had always towered over you, larger than life, now small and frail and yellowed. You had visited him in the hospital earlier and tomorrow he would be coming home, would receive all his care from the comfort of his own house. You didn’t read into that. Tried not to anyway.

You sank into the sofa and turned on the TV, content to let your brain rot for the rest of the evening, needing nothingness and emptiness and quiet.

When your eyelids drooped, you took a spare toothbrush from the bathroom cupboard and brushed your teeth, took a T-shirt from a drawer and climbed into bed. It smelt like Wooyoung—his shampoo across the pillows, laundry detergent and perfume on the sheets. You conjured up the warmth of his body, too, remembered the weight of his limbs across yours, his breath washing across your chest, hair tickling your chin. You checked your phone, wondering when he would be coming home. Not soon enough.

You stared up at the ceiling. The room was no longer dark because your eyes had adjusted and you could see it all: the clothes he had left draped over the chair at the dressing table; the wardrobe door slightly ajar; the jewellery chosen and then abandoned at the last minute, glinting in the sliver of moonlight that came through the curtains. It made you ache with missing him, missing life here. The nights out you weren’t on, the nights in without you, the new clothes and donated old ones, the arguments trying to convince him to pick just one thing with some colour to go in his bedroom. Your bones felt hollow.

You checked your phone.

[01:18] wee🚨woo🚨: omw 😘😘😘

So he would be home soon. You rose from the bed, turned on a lamp and squinted against its brightness. Walked out into the living room and turned on a lamp there, too. Decided to take an interest in his bookshelves—not full of books, never: thingamabobs, tchotchkes, albums, a candle you sniffed at and regretted (it had never been lit and you wondered why he even had it). More signs of life. Signs of him. Things he’d moved from his parents’ house way back when, things you hadn’t seen before that nevertheless seamlessly slotted into your picture of him.

When he came in, he slipped his arms around your waist, rested his chin on your shoulder, smelt faintly of booze and second-hand smoke.

“Admiring all my books?” he asked and you could see his grin without having to actually see it.

“I’m stunned, truly. I had no idea you’d learnt to read.”

He laughed, swayed you to one side and back again.

“I am extremely smart and well-read, you know.”

“Neither of those things is remotely true.”

He bit down on your shoulder with a growl.

“My princess is so mean to me even when I love her soooooo much.”

“That’s right, donkey.”

A nickname you hadn’t used for a long time, but the lingering scent of his night out wasn’t not reminiscent of a barn animal. He whined.

“You know, if I’m donkey, doesn’t that actually make you the dragon?”

You shrugged, jostling his head and earning another whine.

“I mean, I guess, but I think I’m pretty cool with being the dragon... And you know, if I’m the princess, doesn’t that make you an ogre?”

His teeth closed against your ear with another growl.

“Always so mean to me. Why did you come back here again?”

“No real reason, just my dad is kind of dying.”

His teeth turned to lips, pressed into your hair, down your neck.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. God, no- not, no I don’t. I don’t even want to think about it.”

He held you a while longer, his weight heavy against your back but warm and welcome. Then he kissed you once more and removed himself.

“Ok, I’m going to wash up.”

You returned to his bed, happier this time, knowing he was just minutes from joining you. They passed quickly and he was hurriedly pulling you closer, refusing to sleep in clothes no matter how cold it was, leaching the heat from your body. He would turn over soon, preferring his right side, and you would have your space back, but, for now, this was nice. This was familiar. This was the sort of feeling you should have felt when returning home but which was pointedly absent in your own house.

“Good night kiss, please,” he mumbled, sounding half-asleep already.

You kissed him and he turned, his back to you.

“Night, princess. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

But you still couldn’t sleep. You could feel Wooyoung beside you, his warmth, his weight on the mattress, and you still missed him. You prodded a finger into his back and he groaned.

“Woo... Wooyoung... Hey!”

You shook his shoulder and he rolled onto his back with another groan.

“What?” he asked, barely more than a grunt.

“Do you want to make out a little?"

His chuckle was dark as he turned towards you, placed his lips against yours.

“Knew it,” he said. “I’m irresistible.”

You pushed him away.

“Not irresistible, actually. I still don’t want to have sex.”

He kissed you again and you could feel him fighting his grin.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.”

The problem was that he may have had a point. With his tongue in your mouth, you still missed him. Your bodies pressed together, heat warming from the inside, it wasn’t quite enough. Wooyoung was hard, trapped between you, and it made you want it, him, made you crave the stretch of him inside you, made your walls flutter, and your stomach swoop.

“Woo,” you began, pulling back a little, shifting your hips slightly, unconsciously fidgeting.

His hips shot backwards in a flash.

“Sorry,” he said, slightly breathless, reaching down between you to adjust himself. “I know we’re not having sex, but y’know, sometimes the body doesn’t get the message-”

You laughed.

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

You pulled his hips forward again, hooked your leg over him. Kissed him, because you couldn’t resist, before speaking again.

“I actually do want to have sex, please.”

He pulled you closer, slotted his lips against yours, slid his hand into your underwear to grasp at your backside, rutting his hips into you.

“Fucking knew it,” he mumbled, mouth moving on yours. “Told you I’m irresistible.”

You sighed, performative.

“If you tell me you’re irresistible one more time, I’m going to change my mind.”

“Well, if you tell me I’m not one more time, maybe I’ll change my mind.”

You didn’t think he would, because he was always bluffing and you always called him on it, but this time, it wasn’t worth the risk. You were impatient now, had flown too close to the sun.

“How about we just change the subject?” you suggested.

He laughed again, low and wicked, then pushed you onto your back, hands already pulling at your underwear, shuffling down the bed to take it all the way off, to discard it on somewhere on the floor with his own. Then his body covered yours again and his fingers were dipping in at your entrance, tracing through your folds. You stopped him.

“Don’t waste time,” you told him. “Just fuck me, please.”

He closed his eyes, folded his lips into his mouth, and you knew he wanted to say it, could feel it on the tip of his tongue—almost irresistible—but he nodded and swallowed it down, pressing his forehead against yours for a second, to recover from the effort of not being a little shit for one whole second.

The jokes were all forgotten when he slid inside you, home for the first time in a long time. You couldn’t believe you had considered not doing this. That you had thought you would be content to lie beside him and forego the opportunity to feel him move inside you, to taste him, to touch him, this man who was the cool side of the pillow, and the warm patch of sunlight on the ground, your other half.

Now more than ever, you needed this. The certainty and security of it. The way it never changed, not even though you did or he did, not even when you moved thousands of miles away, not even when you returned.

You left early the next morning, amidst sleepy protestations. You hadn’t even unpacked and that was the least of your tasks. You shouldn’t have stayed out all night. Regretted having done so as you braved the bright, brisk morning, leaving a body-warmed bed behind, a body-warmed bed which still housed your favourite person in the world, your favourite person whining that he didn’t want you leave. It made it all the harder to go home, to contend with sights and smells and sounds that didn’t belong there.

You oscillated between hope and despair. One moment, you were sure your dad would die, would go before you’d hung up your clothes, and make this all a waste of time. Flying thousands of miles, abandoning the life you had set up elsewhere, to care for someone to whom the care would mean nothing, do nothing, stop nothing. The next moment, you felt confident, sure that you were in the right place, that everything was going to work out just fine and you’d be able to go back to London soon (ignoring the practicalities of doing it, the bureaucratic rigmarole that almost took you out the first time). He would get better. Everything would go back to normal.

Your sister had come, too. Only as far away as Seoul, she had nevertheless returned with you. You wondered what you would do for money if this dragged on—if your dad’s life dragged on. Ugly thoughts. You couldn’t shake them.

“Enjoy your sleepover?” Jia asked as you shut the door behind you.

Snippy, annoyed already.

“Yes, thank you,” you answered mildly, tired already.

Months of this stretching out before you.

“Where’s Mum?”

“Making porridge in the kitchen. Asking where the hell you are.”

“Sorry.”

Your mother was fretting over the rice cooker. There was a pile of paper next to her—instructions, guidance, warnings, information, more than any average person could be expected to understand and digest.

“Oh, good, you’re here. Has Jia shown you how the bed works? Where everything’s being kept? I’m so sorry, love, I know you’ve barely touched down but your father will be back soon and we need to make sure everything is ready.”

You nodded and touched a hand to her arm. This would be worse for her than anyone; she was already running herself into the ground. Truthfully, you came back to help her more than your dad. This had been her life for over a year, watching her husband get sicker and weaker and less like the man she knew. It hurt your heart to think about.

It was a rough day. Really rough. Finally over. You sat heavily on your childhood bed, your suitcases open and rifled through before you. Of all the ways you imagined returning to Ilsan, this was not one. It was horrible to have to care for your father. It felt unnatural for him to be so weak, to require so much help. He was still stubborn and you were grateful for his attitude, his impatience, for so many of the things that had made your relationship tricky until now. Now, they were welcome signs that he was in there somewhere, still. That not everything had changed. The days began to stretch out in front of you: this, this house, these people, all day, every day, until your dad got better or died.

You scrubbed at your face and fell onto your side, not bothering to change, not bothering to brush your teeth. You felt tired all the way through your bones.

It had been another long day. They were all long. It didn’t get easier—not even after you got used to the routine, got better and faster at every new thing you had to do, not even with your sister’s help and your mother’s. It got harder. The personality you had initially been relieved to see still alive and well in your father made it harder; his impatience and anger had cause now and you couldn’t snap, couldn’t shout, couldn’t slam your bedroom door, couldn’t storm out of the house. It didn’t matter how hard it was for you, not really, because he was the one in pain, in discomfort, battling the shame and embarrassment of his weak body and his inability to care for it himself.

All of your days, you felt irrelevant and small, all the while feeling the immense pressure and burden of just how important you supposedly were. Needed but not wanted. Until you crawled onto Wooyoung’s sofa or into his bed. The relief and comfort you felt in his company was palpable. It was the only thing that got you through the day.

You stood at the sink, rinsed the final dish, and handed it to Jia, who was drying. You dried your hands and picked up your phone, your mind already at Wooyoung’s and your body soon to be, too.

“You’re not seriously leaving again, are you?” Jia asked, in a hissed whisper as your father slept in the next room.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re not seriously leaving again? When was the last time you actually slept here, in your house?”

“It’s not my hou-”

“You know what I mean. You can’t keep going to Wooyoung’s.”

“Why not? He doesn’t mind-”

“I mind!” her voice too loud, mouth snapping shut before she opened it again, back to a whisper. “You’re not the only one who gave up your life to come back here, you know, but we don’t all have a Wooyoung to run off to. What if something happened overnight? It would be all on me. Have you considered that for even a second?”

Your face burnt with shame. No, you hadn’t considered that. You had been so desperate to get out, that you hadn’t considered anyone else. You had thought your duty done: dad asleep for the night, monitors beeping, everything stable, safe.

“Well, nothing has happened, has it?”

You were in the wrong, aware of it, but desperate not to have to give Wooyoung up when he was the only thing keeping you afloat.

“As if that’s the point!”

Jia huffed and flicked her hand at you in dismissal.

“Do whatever you want.”

She walked past you and up the stairs, leaving you in the dark kitchen alone.

[21:57] You: can you come here instead tonight?

[22:01] wee🚨woo🚨: is that ok?

[22:01] You: you don’t have to if you’d rather not

[22:02] wee🚨woo🚨: that’s not what i mean. with your dad and everything

[22:02] You: he’s already sleeping. you won’t disturb him

You could feel his reluctance through the phone, wanted to let him off the hook, couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

[22:04] wee🚨woo🚨: i can come. i'll be there soon

You sat on the stairs, looking at the door, like a pathetic dog waiting for its owner. When he arrived, you ushered him quickly upstairs to your bedroom.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been in this room,” he said, looking around at the decor, entirely unchanged from when you were a teen. “Still got the hots for Lee Minho?”

“Duh.”

“How come the change of venue?” he asked, sitting on your bed.

“Sorry,” you replied, joining him. “I’m sorry I’ve been coming over all the time and-”

“You don’t have to apologise for that. I told you: mi casa es su casa, mi principesa. And I don’t mind coming here, either. Just wondered if something had happened.”

“Jia made the point that I’m absconding from my responsibilities by always being out overnight, but I... I was already expecting to see you and I couldn’t just... not see you. I’m cheating the system.”

He chuckled and wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

“Well, I can come over more if you want, if that works better. Jia is also welcome to stay at mine if she wants, too.”

You did not like the sound of that.

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to start fucking my sister.”

Unable to verbalise his outrage at the volume he desired, he expressed it physically, rising from the bed with his arms outstretched, his mouth wide.

“Why would I do that?!”

“I’m saying you’re not allowed to offer her the same deal I get.”

He snorted, tried not to laugh, rolled his eyes.

“No one gets the deal you get. You’re special.”

“Good.”

It was a tight fit in your childhood bed and, even pressed up against the wall, Wooyoung was on top of you.

“I can’t help but feel like you’re going to hate this,” he whispered to you in the dark, his limbs lying across your body.

Ordinarily, you would; ordinarily, you wanted space when you slept. You liked to be able to sleep as if there was no one else in the bed with you. Recently, however, you’d been craving closeness. Found that you preferred lying with Wooyoung’s weight against you, the warmth of his body, even the moments of wakefulness when he fidgeted, when he found a different position from which he could still touch you.

You shook your head.

“No, I like it,” you replied, clutching his arm with your hands, turning your head not to kiss his hair exactly, just press your mouth against it, smell his shampoo.

“Remember that anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of friendship law.”

“Noted.”

You woke late, silently cursed yourself for forgetting to set the alarm, and snuck out of the room without waking Wooyoung.

Downstairs, your mum and sister were already up; your dad had already eaten breakfast and had his first round of medication. You took a deep breath before you entered the room—you were already not pulling your weight and this felt particularly egregious.

“Morning!” you greeted, trying to seem positive, normal.

“Where’s Wooyoung?” your dad asked immediately and you stopped short, not sure how he knew he was here.

“Uh, still sleeping.”

Your dad rolled his eyes and tutted.

“You fucking young people are so lazy. Sleeps in my house and he’s not even going to get up and greet me?”

“I’ll go and get him.”

Your feet were leaden as you went back up the stairs. Your father was not in a good mood and that was bad enough under normal circumstances. You dreaded what he would say to Wooyoung’s face. You wondered if there was any way you could sneak him out, save him from whatever accusations your dad would throw his way. He wasn’t usually as bad with men, but Wooyoung had always been the exception to that rule; you had sometimes wondered if his friendship with you had tainted him somehow, made him less than other men because he was important to you. You paused outside your bedroom door and whispered up a quick prayer in case anyone was listening.

Wooyoung was stirring as you entered and he twisted to look at you with hair askew and squinted eyes.

“Morning,” you greeted, soft this time, kneeling beside the bed and brushing the hair from his face. “I have bad news.”

He groaned, let his face fall back on the pillow.

“Already? I've only just woken up!”

“My dad wants to see you.”

You felt his pause, the tension settling in his body, then he pushed himself upright and rubbed his face.

“Ok, can I wash up first?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll put coffee on?”

“Yes, please.”

Time slowed as you returned to the kitchen, flicked on the coffee machine, found a mug, all the while listening carefully to hear the creak of the stairs. You were used to your dad—even now, with the strangeness of once again living under his roof—but you weren’t sure if Wooyoung remembered. If he knew what to expect. If he was dreading this as much as you were.

As soon as you heard his feet on the stairs, you abandoned the coffee brewing on the counter and joined the group in the living room as Wooyoung dipped into a bow.

“-nice to see you again, sir.”

Unfailingly polite.

“Nice to see me like this, is it? Nice to see a dying man?”

Wooyoung had more poise and grace than you had ever managed. You had asked him before how he did it but he’d never been able to give you an answer that helped.

“No, of course not; that’s not what I meant. I was very sorry when I heard.”

Still polite, deferential; you wondered if this was how he sounded at work, trying to convince children to behave, to deal with strops and tantrums and disgruntled parents.

“And are you two still messing about with each other?”

Everyone in the room froze momentarily as if time had stopped. Everyone knew to what your dad was referring and no one could believe it. Wooyoung’s mouth opened and nothing came out. Jia had her face turned away—even money that she was horrified that her sister’s sex life was being discussed or that she was trying not to laugh. Your mum was pretending to be busy, looking through care sheets and double-checking medication.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, trying to buy time to think of an actual response.

“I’m talking about you throwing yourself at the closest man who’ll take advantage of your lack of self-respect,” he answered. “In my day, you got married first and women were still worth respecting; you just slut yourself around. He’ll never marry you if you keep giving it away-”

“Dad.”

Your skin was crawling, an embarrassed heat burning through your blood, making it rise to the surface, making sweat prick in your scalp. No one ever discussed you and Wooyoung. At least not with either of you around. No one. Not even the two of you. It became and then it just was and that was that. No questions asked. No investigations opened. No prodding, no poking. You hadn’t really ever thought about that, and now was so not the time. Not for so many reasons, not least of which was just how much you needed him—needed him in exactly the capacity you had him: your best friend and the best sex you’d ever had.

If your dad brought this house tumbling down, it would be another thing to never forgive him for and it was too early for those sorts of thoughts.

“Not that you want to marry him anyway. A schoolteacher is a woman’s job, son. How do you expect to provide for a family with a job like that? No self-respect, either of you-”

“Ok, Dad, that’s enough.”

And you were momentarily grateful for his ill health; relieved that you could walk out and he couldn’t follow. You took Wooyoung’s hand and led him out of the room, face aflame with shame, embarrassment, guilt. You went back into your bedroom and stood facing away, head in your hands.

“Sorry,” you said, muffled. “Sorry, sorry, I did not know he was going to start shit like that.”

And it was so much worse than you’d expected: the embarrassment digging into you, eating through your flesh, burrowing into your bones. You’d forgotten this. It was one thing in front of your mum and sister, who were also on the receiving end of it, who were used to it, who knew who your dad was and the things he said. It was different in front of someone else, even someone as much like family to you as Wooyoung. You’d forgotten the deep, heavy cringe of shame that was doubling you over.

“It’s ok,” he replied and you could feel the pause drawing out of him, the words trailing it. “Uh, he was...” Wooyoung’s pause was lengthy and you dreaded the end of his sentence. “A lot like I remember.”

You nodded.

“Yeah, he really...”

You were at a loss for words because you didn’t know how you could describe your dying dad as an ‘arsehole’ (or worse). You didn’t know how you could criticise him when you’d probably be angry, too, if your life was being cut short, if you were wasting away in front of your family. You didn’t know, now, anymore, how to hate him as much as you used to.

“He’s lost a lot of stuff and one of those things was his inhibitions—which I actually did not realise he had in the first place. Never hesitates to say what before he would’ve saved for an argument.”

Wooyoung wrapped his arms around you—tight and long enough for you to start to relax again.

“I’m sorry for what he said,” you began and then continued, even though you could feel Wooyoung shake his head. “I didn’t know-... I didn’t even know he knew we slept together? And I certainly would never have expected him to give a shit about it. I don’t-. I’m not-... I don’t think we should get married.”

Wooyoung’s laughter took you by surprise—and him, too, judging by the force and volume of it.

“My god, princess, you break my heart. Here I was, about to get on one knee.”

“I just me-”

“I know, I know. Your dad talks shit—I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that it’s like this.” His voice was soft and calm and licked carefully at your wounds. “I know what we are and we’re both happy, right?”

“Right.”

“Then it’s ok.”

You twisted so you could hug him back, once again desperate for proximity, for the pressure and weight and heat of your favourite person, your security blanket.

“You don’t have to come over again,” you said quietly after a minute.

“That’s up to you. I’ll be wherever you need me.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so needy recently.”

“You know you’re my friend, right? I’m here to be needed. I quite like to be needed by you, in fact.”

“Oh, that’s right,” you said, peeling back a little to look at him, never happier than when an opportunity to tease arose, “you are the needy one.”

His eyes flattened and he playfully shoved you away. Equilibrium returned and you prayed you would not have to be confronted by your father about Wooyoung again.

In the afternoon, you walked to the bakery nearby and bought your sister a coffee and a croissant. You presented these to her in the kitchen.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry. I... I don’t really have an excuse; this has just been so shit that I kind of forgot that you also gave up your whole life to be here, too. By the time we get to the end of the day, I’d honestly rather pull my own skin off than stay here, but you’re right. I shouldn’t go all the time; it’s not fair to you.”

Jia shrugged and pulled at the pastry, picking a piece off to pop in her mouth.

“I get it. It’s not as if London is on the subway; I can at least go and visit for a day or something if I want.”

She ate more croissant, took a sip of coffee. You waited, knowing there was a more. She sighed.

“To be honest, I don’t care if you go and stay at Woo’s; I just... like you said, this is shit and I don’t have somewhere I can escape to like that. All of my friends moved to Seoul. It’s been... it’s been fucking lonely, actually. I missed you.”

A lump formed in your throat. She had been barely 18 when you left the country, left your baby sister behind. Guilt grabbed you by the neck.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice a mere whisper. “I’ve missed you, too. We... We should be in this together and I’m not holding up my end of the bargain. I’ll do better.”

“I get it... But thank you.”

“Woo did say you are welcome to stay at his, if you want.”

“And risk overhearing my sister have sex? I don’t fucking think so, thank you.”

You laughed, shocked by the relief, and snatched the croissant from her hand. You took a messy bite and spoke through it.

“Don’t think for even a second that that would ever happen. I solemnly promise that we would never, ever do that if you were also in the apartment.”

Jia leant across and took the croissant back.

“Well, tell him thanks. I might take him up on it.”

“And I swear, I won’t go over there so much,” you promised though it was only partly for Jia. You felt it too much: your reliance on him, the way his absence held you throughout the day, exploiting cracks, hollowing you out. He had said he liked to be needed; he had said his house was your house; he had done and said all the right things but you knew what it was like to have your whole life taken over by someone else; you didn’t want to do that to him, to set up a minor chain reaction that felt fragile, volatile, that might change things between you.

“Fuck!”

Your hips bucked, lifted from the bed, as your toes curled, Wooyoung sending you hurtling into another orgasm with his face between your thighs. When he didn’t stop, because it was always a personal challenge to him to see how far he could push you, how many times he could make you come before you pleaded with him not to, you clamped your legs around his head, twisted until he toppled over sideways, laughing with a wet, sticky mouth. He pressed this against your hip, leaving shining kisses over your torso, crawling back up to your mouth.

“Turn over, princess.”

You did your best—limbs lead-heavy, breathing still gasped, bones feeling weak—to roll onto your front, hips high and head low. Wooyoung bit down on your ample flesh, teeth sinking in hard, sure to leave a mark, which he almost always did, as if signing his artwork, a rough circle of jagged indentations to say ‘Wooyoung was here’, though no one else would ever see it.

With the tip of his cock poised at your entrance, your stomach swooped, suspended over the lip of a lift hill, waiting for the drop. You remembered, as he pushed his hips forward, slowly, a wordless moan humming in his throat, that he was the best you ever got it. That no one could make your legs shake as quickly as he could; no one else had ever made you come from penetration alone (a thing you hadn’t thought possible); no one else’s body had ever felt as in sync with yours as his. He responded to your body as if it were his own, with no delay, no mistakes, with an intuition harvested from years of knowing you, years now of doing this, honing it into an artform.

You had to know. Was it the same for him?

“Woo, I have a question...” you called weakly, head swimming as he reached underneath you, fingers pressing against your clit until you mewled.

You clutched the bedsheets with tight fists and your cunt clutched at him, too, fluttering, spasming, until he was holding his breath, fucking you through another high with gritted teeth. Your brain scrambled for a moment but when it returned, it settled back on the same question.

“I have a question,” you repeated, throwing a hand behind you, searching for him, pulling him closer.

“Are you ok?”

He slipped out of you, let you drop your hips to the mattress. Leaning on his elbows, he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, held you gently at the waist.

“Yeah, I’m good. I just... What’s the best sex you’ve ever had? I mean, who? Who is the best?”

Buying time, he kissed your temple and your cheek.

“Is this a test?” he asked.

“No. It’s just a question.”

He sat back on his heels and you twisted to look at him: his eyes were narrowed, looking at you with playful but, you thought, unwarranted suspicion.

“It’s just because,” you explained, still panting, heart still hammering in your chest, “for me, it’s you. You’re the best I’ve ever had and... I don’t know. I just wondered.”

You registered the surprise on his face and then he was flipping you over, onto your back, pushing apart your thighs before pushing into you. Then he was leaning close, kissing you, and in the milliseconds your brain snatched to think something coherent, you took this as his answer: it’s not you but I don’t want to tell you.

“It’s you,” he said, as you were nose-to-nose, before kissing you again. “For me, too, it’s you.”

An unexpected relief flooded you. You lifted your legs and wrapped them around his waist as he continued to fuck you, your sweat-slicked bodies pressed against each other. It was as you had hoped but did not expect—though you could have, really, because it was Wooyoung and if you felt it, he felt it. If you knew something, he knew it, too.

“I love you,” he gasped, hips moving faster now, body strained with effort as you squeezed, tightening yourself around him until his rhythm faltered, until he came with his teeth deep in the flesh of your neck, stifling his groan.

“Love you, too.”

You had just barely sunk beneath the surface of consciousness, could still just about see the sun breaking on the water above you, when Wooyoung called your name. You answered with a sound, somewhere between a moan and a hum. He called again.

You were breaking the surface of wakefulness yourself now, awake in mind but your body not quite able to lift the muscles required to speak. You hummed again.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” Wooyoung asked.

You blinked, head above the water, body below.

“What?”

“Did you mean what you said? About me being the best you’ve had?”

“What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t I have meant it?”

He shrugged.

“I don’t know. Sometimes, in the moment, people say things they don’t necessarily mean.”

“Is this you trying to admit that you didn’t mean it?”

“No.” His answer coming so quickly, you had barely finished the question. “I meant it.”

“I meant it, too.”

His sigh of relief brushed over your shoulder.

“Ok, good.”

“Congrats to us,” you said, hunting for his hand in the dark to give it a congratulatory pat, “on the great sex.”

“On the best sex,” he corrected.

“On the best sex and the best friendship.”

You could have asked for nothing more.

Wooyoung did not reply and you thought nothing of it.

You let yourself into Wooyoung’s apartment; he was carrying a plate to the kitchen counter when you appeared in his hallway.

“Hey, can we have sex?” you asked as you shrugged out of your coat, shoes already kicked off.

“Uh, hello to you, too. Do you want dinner? There’s plenty left.”

“No, I want to have sex. Like, right now.”

“Right right now?”

“Right now!”

And you continued undressing, coat hung up on a peg, cardigan discarded on the sideboard, fingers at your jeans, unbuttoning, moving all the while towards his bedroom.

“I guess I won’t be having seconds, then.”

It had been almost a week since you had seen him for reasons you did not want to discuss. What you wanted was the all-consuming physical experience of being railed to within an inch of your life. Over and over and over again. You wanted Wooyoung’s cock to stuff you full, so full that you couldn’t feel things like sadness, or anger, or grief; you wanted to be taken over, taken outside of yourself, outside of life, just for a little while.

You were naked and waiting by the time he entered the room and you leant forward to pull him to you, undressing him because he wasn’t doing it quickly enough himself. When he was finally naked, too, halfway to kneeling on the bed with you, he grabbed your wrists, held them still and looked at you. He was searching your face for answers to questions he wouldn’t ask—because he knew you wouldn’t tell him—and you didn’t know what he saw or what he felt about what he saw but he dropped your arms and cupped your face, kissing you softly.

“Not like that,” you reprimanded. “I need you to fuck me like crazy, ok?”

Wooyoung was good at following instructions. He liked to push you to the edge, but liked to be pushed, too, and you needed that tonight. You weren’t interested in the pleasure of it; you just wanted the distraction, so you didn’t let him make you come, didn’t let him fawn over you, didn’t let him stop. You just needed him as fast and hard as he could go, as many times as he could manage. The first time you had asked him about his refractory period, he had asked ‘what refractory period?’ and you’d thought it was a genuine question until he grinned, pinned you down on his bed, and shown you just how rhetorical it was. His stamina was leagues beyond anyone else you’d ever been with and you were counting on it to show up tonight.

It was, however, after only the second that he collapsed onto the bed beside you and didn’t let you push him onto his back for more.

“Hey,” he said, on a puffed exhale. “What exactly are we doing here?”

“Well, right now we are not having sex if that’s what you mean.”

“You know what I mean. This isn’t doing anything for you and it’s not fun for me if it’s not fun for you.”

“Not fun at all?”

He grinned, still breathing heavily.

“Ok, it’s a little fun, but seriously. You’re not letting me touch you.”

As if to illustrate his point, he slid his hand across your stomach, squeezed at your waist.

“Come on,” he continued, “let me make you feel better.”

You considered it for a second, until you felt the swell of everything you were trying to keep at bay.

“No.”

And he let you turn him then, let him seat yourself on his cock, let you fuck yourself on it as he whined beneath you. When he was this sensitive, it went one of two ways: he came quickly, shaking, trembling, and was out for the count; or he pushed past it—the hypersensitivity, the overstimulation—he rallied and he wouldn’t need you bouncing on top of him; he would flip you over and bend you in half, hold you up as your own body flailed with pleasure. He would go for multiple rounds more, until he could barely walk the next morning, until you couldn’t either. You needed that kind of obliteration.

But luck was not on your side. His thighs shook. His face screwed up tight, teeth deep in his bottom lip. He was gasping for breath, tiny mewling noises sounding in his throat as you rested your palms heavily on his chest, dug your nails into his soft skin, slammed your hips down onto his, the effort burning in your thighs, sweat dripping from your brow. You could see it, Wooyoung’s effort, that he was trying to fight it; could see it in the strain of every muscle, feel it in his chest and abs, in his thighs, in the pressure of his hands as they grabbed at your legs. You wanted to tell him it was ok, to just let go, but you needed this. You needed more. You needed this to last forever.

It didn’t.

He came with a hoarse groan, a low, deep rumble that left him spent. His hands released you, shaking as he pushed his hair from his face. You fell sideways, rolling onto your back, staring at the ceiling, wondering what you were going to do now, how you were going to stop the feelings that were already bubbling to the surface again.

Wooyoung pressed a kiss to your shoulder, turned into your side, an arm wrapping around you.

“Please,” he whispered.

“Please what?”

“Please let me give you what you need.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You need it.”

You looked at him, his eyes sparkling in the dim twilight. He always knew what you needed. He always took care of you. You didn’t want it; didn’t want the release of everything that was bottled up inside you, didn’t want relief. You just wanted it all to disappear. Wooyoung could do that. He could do that for you, even if it lasted only a second.

You nodded, whispered an almost silent ‘ok’.

He kissed you, softer even than his first kiss that evening, and drew that softness all over your skin. His fingers, too, were gentle at first, tracing over you, featherlight, dipping into the mess he’d made inside you before retreating, returning, retreating. This was part of his stamina, too: that he was spent but still had the patience to work you over slowly, to keep you from burning up or boiling over. He made you hot, blood shimmering under your skin until it shivered with goosebumps. He made your guts churn with, first, anticipation and, then, pleasure, the soft, wet pressure of his mouth against you. He made your body twitch, little tremors shaking from head to toe. He brought it all to the surface—all the things you didn’t want. Everything you had choked down, had stuffed down inside you, had tried in vain to fuck out of yourself, it was rising like steam: the air was wet with it, so wet you struggled to breathe. Your heart kicked in your chest, your orgasm close but panic closer, tears threatening on your waterline. He was right, it was what you needed, but you wanted to run from it. Wanted to kick your legs and outrun it all but, instead, they were held wide, Wooyoung’s arms tight around them. You couldn’t run from it, couldn’t stop it, couldn’t hide from the white-hot rush of your climax as it crashed over you, knocking you out of your brain for a moment.

For just a moment.

Then you were crying, sobbing really, gasping in the air that still felt too thick, too wet to breathe. Wooyoung held you, hushing gently, cooing reassurances or platitudes that you couldn’t hear but it didn’t help. You couldn’t stop.

You cried for so long that night had fallen by the time your breathing evened out. Your bodies cooled, Wooyoung had pulled the bed covers up around your shoulders but you still shivered.

“Can you tell me what’s happened?” he asked, for the first time requesting some explanation.

“My dad is dead,” you croaked.

You felt his kiss in your hair, his arms tighten around you, the tension in his following breath.

“I’m sorry, princess.”

You shook your head.

“I’m not.”

And you took a deep breath in that shuddered, your stability wavering already. You lay on your back and covered your face, realising again that Wooyoung was right. You needed to release this.

“I just don’t see the point,” you confessed, your voice tight with more tears. “I came all this fucking way; me and Jia dropping our whole lives and- and this whole time I thought-... I really thought like, he was fucking dying, right? He was dying! Who’s going to be a cunt when they’re dying? But he is! Of course he fucking is! And why did I bother? Why did I do all of this if he was just going to fucking die anyway! And why did I bother when I don't even care? I’m not sad; I’m fucking angry! And I can’t take any of it back! I can’t do anything now because he’s fucking dead and it’s too fucking late to tell him he’s a piece of shit.”

And more. Every unpleasant thought you’d had over the past two months, every feeling that made you evil and unkind came tumbling out. The things you wished you had said to him, the things you wanted to scream at him now, the things you wanted to scream at yourself. All the anger that you had stored away while you lived in London hadn’t shrunk—it had grown; it towered over you now and you lay, helpless, at its feet. Anger and so much guilt.

Wooyoung let you talk—rant, vent, ramble, and cry—until you, too, were spent. Your chest heaving, eyes wet, mouth dry. He took your hand in his and brought it to his lips.

“Want to know something stupid?” he asked.

Another distraction technique. You nodded. He turned onto his side and looked at you as he spoke.

“Ok, so there’s this guy. He’s had this best friend for-, well, for his whole life, actually. They met before they could even form memories; been friends forever. That kind of deal. You know what I mean.”

A quiet, ominous note sounded in the back of your head.

“The last few years,” Wooyoung continued, “they’ve been sleeping together. Very casual, nothing serious, on and off, no big deal... Except for the fact that he’s totally, completely, out of his depth in love with her.”

Your insides turned cold. You knew you should say something but couldn’t find a word to say. Wooyoung looked at you, a sweet, apologetic smile on his face. But he couldn’t be. It couldn’t be him.

“You-,” you started but couldn’t finish.

He nodded.

“I-,” you tried again.

Floundering because it was like dancing on a knife edge. Because your head was already a mess and this had knocked you sideways.

“It’s ok,” he said. “I know it’s not like that for you. I’m fine with how things are. I’m happy with it; I don’t want anything to change between us. I’m just... telling you.”

“I-”

“I mean it.”

You shook your head. Took your hand from out of his and scrubbed both across your face. It would have been easy to freak out. Part of you wanted to. The problem would’ve been that the person you went to when you freaked out was Wooyoung and he was already there, saying all the right things. Sure, dropping a bombshell like ‘I’m in love with you’ but also, ‘I’m happy with this; I don’t want things to change’. You didn’t want things to change. You could not cope with more change. Especially not when it came to him. He was your still point in the ever-turning world.

“Woo,” you breathed, voice shaking. “I do love you...”

“I know. I know you do. And I know it’s not like that. It’s ok.”

“Is it?”

He placed a hand against your cheek, brushed his thumb across it. You closed your eyes.

“I’m in love with you,” he continued, “but I also just love you. I love being your friend. I love getting to be with you.”

“I love you, too,” you answered, truthfully, in the way you always had.

“I know.”

“You really don’t want things to change?”

And your hand was over his, holding it there, terrified that all of this would be taken away from you.

“I really don’t.”

“Ok.”

You lapsed into silence and you knew that you were both dirty, in need of a shower, in need of a little space, but you didn’t dare move. Your feet still felt the sharp, thin blade of the knife-edge they were dancing on.

“Why did you tell me?” you asked a few minutes later.

Wooyoung shrugged gently.

“Felt like the right moment. Wanted to steal your dad’s thunder, y’know?”

And it was a blessed relief that he could still make you laugh, that you could still laugh, that he could laugh at this, too.

“You’re living back here now and I figured the cat would get out of the bag somehow, so I should probably be the one to tell you but, with everything that’s been going on, I didn’t want to burden you with it.”

“So you chose now, the worst possible time?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “But you’re not crying anymore.”

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound firm but your voice still wavered, “don’t think I don’t have more in me. I can cry if I want to.”

He erased the space between you, once again taking you in his arms, holding you tight.

“Of course you can,” he whispered with his mouth pressed into your hair. “You can cry all you want; I’m not going anywhere.”

He took you home the next morning and you held his hand the entire way, unable to let go.

“Do you need me to come inside?” he asked when you stood outside your front door, though you both knew that he couldn’t, that he had to go to work.

Knew, also, that this was something you had to do with your mum and your sister, the three of you. You shook your head.

“No, go to work. It’s fine.”

He watched you carefully and you averted your eyes, didn’t want to see him seeing through you. He gave your hands a squeeze.

“Ok. Let me know if you need anything?”

You nodded and he opened his arms to pull you into a hug. You held him tight for a few seconds too long and, without being able to say why, kissed him on the mouth as you drew back. Ordinarily, anything that went beyond the platonic was kept to the bedroom, neatly contained within sex. It wasn’t something you had ever explicitly discussed; it just happened that way and it made sense to you, made it cleaner, easier. But that morning you couldn’t stop yourself; you needed a little more of him to get you through the day—you knew there was nothing clean or easy waiting for you on the other side of the door. It was just a reflex, you told yourself. Comfort-seeking. Totally normal.

Wooyoung did not react as if you’d done anything out of the ordinary. He told you he loved you before he left as he always did, waving a hand behind him in acknowledgement when you returned it. He turned back as he was about to disappear around the corner. He waved again and you waved, too, waiting for him to leave. He stood, waiting for you to go inside. You shooed at each other. Neither moved. He held up three fingers and gestured between the two of you. He counted down and when his fingers made a fist, you opened the door. The corner swallowed him up.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. It was still early but usually there would be activity, noise—the beeping of your dad’s monitors a sound you hadn’t realised you’d got so used to, but the silence they left now was suffocating. Jia was sitting at the kitchen table with her hands wrapped around a cup of tea, still steaming. She was staring into space.

“Where’s Mum?” you asked as you sat down opposite her. Then you immediately stood again to make yourself a drink, to keep moving, to make some noise in this mausoleum of a house.

“Upstairs.”

“Asleep?”

“I assume so.”

You finished making tea, took your seat opposite her again, and you looked past each other—her at the wall, you at the sky out the kitchen window. You didn’t know what you were supposed to be doing. How you were supposed to be feeling. You had never done this before.

You assumed that your mum would wake up and take charge. That she would know what to do, since her parents and your dad’s parents had all died already—she'd done this sort of thing before. There was guilt needling you for this assumption, for being so ready and willing to let her take the burden when it was her husband who had died, the partner she’d had for more than thirty years. Even if he was a dick, she had loved him, hadn’t she? You thought about how you might feel in her shoes. Thought about how you would feel if Wooyoung died. You decided you would let your mum stay in her bedroom as long as she wanted and you would ask nothing of her.

It didn’t matter either way because your mother did not appear. Not into late morning and not after lunch. Jia checked on her, offered her food (which she rejected) and a drink (which she drank). She did not say anything, Jia reported. You checked on her later in the afternoon and found the same.

“What are we supposed to do?” you asked as you re-entered the kitchen, your mum’s empty glass in your hand. “I thought... I thought she would know what to do.”

“So did I. How are we supposed to know? It’s not like we’ve done this before.”

You fell into your chair opposite her and pulled out your phone. You typed ‘what to do when someone dies’ into the search bar and asked Jia to find a pen and paper. The resulting to do list was long and overwhelming and full of question marks. But you had no choice. No one else would do this if you didn’t.

There was a knock at the door sometime shortly before the sky had darkened completely. You frowned at Jia who frowned back at you and shrugged. A wellwisher? Had news got out already? You braced yourself behind the front door and the deep breath you’d taken in came whooshing out in relief when you saw who stood on the other side.

Wooyoung.

“I brought food,” he said, stepping in and kicking off his shoes, heavy bags drooping in his hands. “I didn’t think it would be high on the priority list.”

It hadn’t been and, hearing it mentioned, you realised that you were, in fact, hungry.

“Thanks.”

You followed him into the kitchen, got out plates and cutlery.

“Wooyoung, how many people did you think were here?”

With four plates heaving, there were still bags untouched. He smiled.

“It’ll keep; I wanted to make sure you had enough for tomorrow, too.”

You flushed, suddenly hot, tears pricking in your eyes.

“Thanks,” you said again, but whispered this time, caught in your throat.

Jia left her plate on the table and took one upstairs for your mother. You looked at Wooyoung, feeling suddenly helpless. He opened his arms to you and you went to him gratefully.

“Bad day?” he asked, knowing the answer but knowing also that you needed prompting.

“I don’t know how to do this.”

“I can help.”

“Please.”

Your mother didn’t eat but the rest of you did. With business hours over, there was nothing else you could achieve, nothing that could be crossed off your to do list (still full, no check marks). You sat at the kitchen table, hand in Wooyoung’s, plates stacked by the sink. Wooyoung rose first.

“I’ll do the washing up; you guys go and sit down.”

You and Jia were both halfway out of your seats, mouths open to protest his doing the chore but you both halted, looking at each other. Wooyoung had meant go and sit in the living room, where the chairs were comfortable, where you could relax. You hadn’t been into the room since your dad had been taken to hospital four days prior. Neither of you had so much as opened the door to it. He hadn’t died in there but it still felt haunted. You had left a message with someone, somewhere in some hospital department, about getting all the equipment taken away but, for now, it was all still there. The bed with sheets still on it, crumpled and probably stained. The monitors, black and silent now, when they had for so long been constantly bright and beeping. The little things, too: charts, paperwork, pads, pill dispensers. The entire room was littered with your father, filled with him, keeping you out.

Wooyoung turned, already at the sink, elbows-deep in suds, and looked between the two of you.

“Ok, you guys make the tea,” he suggested. “And one of you come and dry.”

When it was finished, you and Jia took your places at the table, hands instinctively seeking heat, cupping your mugs of tea.

“Is it ok if I go in there?” Wooyoung asked and you didn’t have to ask for clarification.

You both nodded and he left the room.

He came back with sofa cushions, all of them. He placed them on the floor next to the kitchen radiator and sat down, gesturing to you both to join him.

“Not ideal, but it’s a little softer and warmer down here, right?”

You sat as close to him as you could without placing yourself directly in his lap, curled yourself into him, closed your eyes for a brief moment of comfort when his arm came around your shoulders and held you tightly there.

It had been quiet all evening – quiet all day, actually – but, on the floor of the kitchen, Wooyoung talked. He was never out of things to say and he worked with small children so he was an endless font of silliness, of sweetness, of funny stories about infuriating parents and their monstrous/angelic children. The three of you managed to laugh and then Jia talked and you talked and it was all almost normal. By the time Jia rose to go and get ready for bed, you felt light.

“Thank you,” you whispered, resting your head on Wooyoung’s shoulder and closing your eyes, savouring this feeling, bright and warm but with darkness at the edges, encroaching.

“Of course,” he replied, kissing your forehead, rubbing your back. “Do you want me to stay?”

Yes, obviously, you wanted him to stay but, at that very moment, you remembered that he was in love with you. Thought that maybe he shouldn’t stay. Maybe you should try to do this part—the sleeping, the unconsciousness at least—on your own. You shook your head.

“No, it’s ok. I’m going to stay but you don’t have to. Get a good night’s sleep; you must be tired.”

He grinned.

“You kicking me out?”

You grinned back.

“Yeah.”

“Alright then.”

And he moved to stand, offered you a hand to help you up, moved around the kitchen to tidy as if it were his own, familiar, comfortable. You tugged on his shirt to stop him.

“You’re fussing,” you accused. “I can do that.”

He hesitated with a tea cup in his hand, then he placed it back on the side he’d picked it up from, admitting defeat with two hands lightly raised. You walked him to the door and hugged him for minutes.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“Mhmm,” you replied, sound muffled with your face buried in his neck.

“Ok, well I’ll be back tomorrow, yeah?”

“Mhm.”

And you did it again, kissed him goodbye. Hadn’t planned to. Hadn’t expected to. Again, he reacted as if it were normal.

“Love you,” he whispered with his hand on the door handle.

“Love you, too.”

As you climbed the silent stairs in your silent house, you replayed the scene a thousand times and, every single time, you changed your mind and asked him to stay. He had said he didn’t want anything to change, hadn’t he? So you should have just asked, just taken whatever he was willing to give. Especially if he was going to let you kiss him like that. That was new; sleepovers were not.

You slipped into your empty bed with tears in your eyes.

Tomorrow, you would ask him to stay.

Jia was on the phone to the bank, trying to explain that your father was dead and the accounts needed to be—well, neither of you knew, that was the point of the call. Your dad was dead and that certainly should have meant something to the bank but no one was willing to help. They wouldn’t even confirm they had accounts in your dad’s name, because Jia wasn’t the account holder. She tried to explain that the account holder was dead but they were stuck in a loop. They’d release no information and take no action based on the information Jia gave them because they weren’t allowed to. She was in tears, desperately asking for guidance, asking not to be transferred to someone else, to have to go through the entire conversation again. You took the phone from her and hung up when she could no longer speak.

“I just-” she began, some minutes later, still crying.

She looked at you, her eyes red, wide, and watery.

“Would he have bothered doing this for us?” she asked.

“What?”

“If we had died, would he have fucking bothered? Or would he have just made Mum deal with it all? The fucki-”

Her voice broke and you let her recompose herself.

“The fucking shit that we have to deal with. Our whole f-fucking lives. Sometimes...”

She crumbled again and shook her head, ducking it between her arms on the table.

“Sometimes, what?”

But she shook her head.

“I can’t say it.”

“You can say anything to me... Or, look at this way, if you can’t say it to me, who can you say it to?”

She raised her head and looked at you again; you saw your own desperation reflected back.

“Sometimes I wish... sometimes I wish he was actually abusive,” she whispered, voice barely audible.

You crumpled, dissolving into tears yourself, nodding, reaching for her.

“Me, too,” you admitted with a rush of relief. “Like-”

“He was such a dick, but yo-”

“-whenever you say that to people, they ask why-”

“-and you try to think of examples! You try to show th-”

“-em but it all seems so stupid an-”

“-d trivial! And people don’t get it. They-”

“-act like you’re being unreasonable. Maybe we are unreasonable-”

“-but if he had hit us, like, even one time-”

“-no one would say anything! They would understand then!”

“And I don’t- obviously I don’t wish that-”

“I’m grateful he wasn’t, obviously-”

“And I feel so guilty-”

“My god, guilty for fucking everything!”

“Maybe it was easier for you, because you were far away, but I... Mum used to ask me to come for dinner so often and I just made excuses and didn’t go because I didn’t want to see him-”

“Every time I came home, I thought it might be better. I had this stupid belief that he would be better-”

“And now, especially? Not now, I mean this time. This time we gave up our whole lives to come back here for him and he was-”

“WORSE. He was so horrible-”

“-Such a fucking bastard-”

“-and now we have to do all of this and I’m so... I’m so-”

“Angry.”

“Angry. And then I feel guilty for being so angry with him because-”

“-because maybe it wasn’t really that bad-”

“-but it was bad, right?”

You rose from the table and hugged her tight. Never had you been more grateful to have a sister. Someone who got it. You wished she didn’t, wished that she could be the confident, care-free 18-year-old that you left behind but-... But she probably hadn’t been that even then.

You had never really talked about your dad. You’d bitched a little together. Occasionally waded in in defence when one was arguing with him. But you’d never really talked about what it was like to have him for a father and what you felt about it and him and your childhood and the ways it had affected your lives afterward. More guilt crept in: guilt for leaving, abandoning her when she was just starting out in adulthood. Maybe if you’d stayed, you would have had these conversations already. Maybe if you’d talked, this would be easier.

Maybe now it could be.

“Woo?”

He wasn’t asleep, was still tracing his fingers in light patterns on your side.

“What?”

“When we die, I want to go first, ok?”

“What?”

“When we die, I want to die first.”

He lifted his head then shifted to lean on his elbow, looking down at you.

“So I have to be the one to go through all the pain and suffering of losing you?”

“Yes.”

“No deal.”

“Well, I’ve already decided. You’re not allowed to die first.”

“There’s only one thing for it then: double suicide.”

“It’s not double if one of us dies and then the other one kills themselves.”

“Yes, but then that’s someone dying first, isn’t it? If we have to go at the same time, there is only one solution.”

“Double suicide.”

“Shit. How do we pull that off?”

“It’s going to be tricky because we want to live very long, happy lives first.”

“So we’re going to be infirm is what you’re saying?”

“Yes, but if we’re really old and ailing, maybe we’ll have all sorts of pills we can take.”

“Just all down the hatch at once?”

“And then cross our fingers.”

“Deal.”

At the weekend, almost a week since your father had died, you and Jia were discussing what to do about your mother. She ate minimally—only when either of you insisted, forcefully, that she at least take a bite—and still hadn’t left her bedroom. Beyond having her sectioned (which seemed extreme and unnecessary), you had no ideas.

“Can I try?” Wooyoung asked when you relayed the problem to him.

You and Jia shrugged at one another. Couldn’t hurt. Wooyoung took up a plate of food and a drink. He did not return for some time; when he did, the plate was almost empty.

“You didn’t,” Jia gasped, spotting him first as he walked through to the kitchen.

He nodded.

“She ate that?”

“Yep.”

“My god, you’re a mother whisperer.”

“Is she... ok? I mean-”

“Yeah, what do we do? Does she nee-”

“Can we help?”

Wooyoung took his place next to you at the kitchen table, slipped his fingers between yours.

“She feels guilty,” he said. “To the point that she’s been paralysed by it. She said she feels worse every day because she knows that the two of you are trying so hard and she’s being so difficult-”

“-It’s not difficul-”

“-Her husband died; it’s understandable.”

“It’s not just this part,” he continued. “She realised, when your dad died, that it would just be the three of you and she’d finally have to face you.”

“Face us? What does that mean?”

“She knows your dad was not a good dad and, often, not a good person, either. It’s one thing when you make a decision for yourself, but it’s another to have brought the two of you into the world and made you grow up with him-”

“It’s not her fault, though.”

“Would she rather we were never born?”

“No, not that at all. But she has had so many years of being distracted and sweeping it under the rug and having other things to worry about: raising you, and then you both moved out so it didn’t seem as much of an issue, and then taking care of him. Now she doesn’t have any of that and she has to sit with the decisions she made in her life and decisions she didn’t make and that includes having children with him and not leaving him and, in her mind, not doing all the things a good mother should have.”

“But she was a good mum,” Jia argued, voice quiet with thick emotion.

You nodded, tears burning in your eyes, stomach churning. She had two kids to raise and never quite enough money or support to do it; she did her best. You might have blamed her when you were younger, wondered (screamed viciously in your head about) why she never left, why you couldn’t all have just left him, why she chose to have children with someone who so clearly did not want them. You were younger then, though, and things seemed simpler. Now that you were older, you understood. It wasn’t her fault.

It was also strangely comforting. A little schadenfreude knowing that she was aware of it, what he was like, that she knew, that she would understand how you felt, feel it too. You had assumed that she was grieving in the normal way, the one where you missed the person and couldn’t imagine the rest of your life without them and felt the enormous hole they left in your life like a wound that would never heal. It hadn’t occurred to you that maybe she was having difficult feelings about it, too. Was part of her relieved, too?

You felt a strong wave of sympathy for her and another of anger for your dad. That he had maybe ruined so much of her life. You and Jia were young and had so much time to live without him; your mum had spent the majority of her life with him. How miserable had he made her? You didn’t know. How happy had she ever been? You didn’t know.

You realised then, as you had with Jia just days prior, that you should have all talked about this more. If you’d all been more open about your feelings, maybe things would’ve been better. Maybe, even, possibly, over time, if you’d all communicated better about what a prick your dad had been, your mum would have left him. Maybe you could’ve banded together instead of isolating yourselves into little pockets of misery.

You put your head in your hands fighting the sob stuck in your throat.

“So fucking stupid,” you whispered, referring to all of it, all of you. Everything.

“She said she’s going to try tomorrow,” Wooyoung said. “She’ll come and try to help. She wants to try; she’s afraid you’ll be angry, disappointed in her.”

“We won’t,” Jia answered. “We won’t.”

Your mum did appear and you talked and you cried and no paperwork of any kind was done, but you felt closer to her. The three of you around the kitchen table felt more like a family than you ever had. You felt more capable of dealing with everything with your mum behind you. You even began to feel tentatively positive again.

The process of dying can be short or long. The process of grieving is always long. There were so many things to pay for that you dad had not saved for; there were debts in his name that your mum was now responsible for; there were so many people coming by to say how sorry they were, not knowing that they were probably sorrier than you were.

The funeral was the worst of it. Publicly mourning for a man you could hardly stand to think about. A man who, if he stood in front of you, you wouldn’t have hesitated to hit. The part of you that was relieved he was gone was in revolt—livid that he continued to take up so much time, effort, and space, that there was no relief. Not yet.

It would end, eventually, you knew it would. Things always ended. You just weren’t confident about your ability to make it that far.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” you said, lying in Wooyoung’s bed, fighting with every ounce of yourself to just get up and start the day.

Wooyoung came back and lay beside you, already dressed, almost leaving for work. He kissed your cheek and you turned your head, wanting his lips on yours.

“It’ll get better.”

“Will it?”

“Promise.”

And he sealed it with another kiss.

“We’re going to have fun tonight, right? That’ll be better.”

“Maybe.”

“And if you want to stay in bed until then, that’s fine.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” he said with a shrug before moving to get off the bed.

You clung to him.

“No, please!”

“I have to go to work!”

“Five more minutes.”

“Ok, five more minutes.”

The pub was packed and you were grateful that your friends had snagged a table because a night spent standing with a pint in your hands was not what you wanted. You’d been back in Ilsan for months but this was the first you’d seen of most of them. Your fault, of course, and Wooyoung had had to drag you here, but now you were grateful that he had. You had missed them. Missed them growing up into actual men and women, not the youthful-cheeked babies you had left behind. You supposed the same applied to you, too.

You had been reluctant to go because you had the stench of death on you. You’d get all that pity and sympathy; the sad smiles with the sloping brows; the awkwardness whenever anyone mentioned their own parents, or London, or illness, or anything that might in any way remind you of the thing you couldn’t forget if you tried.

You had underestimated your friends. They weren’t the next-door neighbour or the ladies from the WI your mum attended. They were your friends and they knew you and loved you and loved to give you just as much shit as they ever had. You were overwhelmed by the relief you felt in their company and the alcohol buzzed in your blood, bubbly and warm.

Even when Wooyoung left early (because it was a school night), you stayed. You walked him out to the street and, as you always did now, kissed him goodbye. Neither of you had mentioned it. You hadn’t meant to start anything when it happened the first time. Hadn’t meant to make it a habit, but it had easily become one and you didn’t want it to stop.

You returned to the table (the crowd thinner now because Wooyoung wasn’t the only one who had to work the next morning) and immediately sensed tension.

“Ok what was that?” Hongjoong asked as you were still sliding back into your seat.

“What was what?”

He gestured to the door as if it were obvious.

“What?”

“What was that?” he asked again, slowly, as if you were stupid.

“What was what?!”

“Ok, I don’t think this is going anywhere,” Seonghwa interrupted. “We wanted to ask you what’s going on with Wooyoung.”

“Oh, is something going on with him?”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes and pursed his lips; you knew he was biting his tongue.

“With you and Wooyoung.”

“Nothing’s going on with me and Wooyoung-”

It was instant, your denial, the same way it had been when Jia had inquired about the ‘change’ in your relationship earlier in the week.

“You need to stop it with the stupid act or I’m going to lose it.”

“It kind of seems like you already have, Hongjoong. What have I done?”

All that bubbly pleasure you’d just been feeling was turning flat, souring in your sinking stomach.

“You know he’s in love with you, right?” he demanded, eyes boring into you.

“Yes... Kind of a risky move for you to say that if you thought I didn’t know.”

“I know you know; it seems like maybe you could do with the reminder though.”

“What does that mean?”

“You know that he’s in love with you and you know you’re not in love with him but you’re perfectly happy to play pretend, is that it? Happy to play house with him, hold his hand, act like his girlfriend as long as you don’t actually have to be his girlfriend?”

You wished you had stopped one or even two drinks ago. Your surprise left you unarmed and your brain was not at its sharpest. You had done your best not to think about it—Wooyoung, his feelings, your relationsh- friendship. You had been leaning on him particularly hard recently, that you knew but, well, there were reasons for that.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” you insisted. “I swear I don’t understand. He’s just been there for me; there’s kind of been a lot going on.”

And it was supposed to be your defence, but Hongjoong’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah, right, there has, but it’s kind of funny that none of us know about it, huh? Why is this the first time we’re seeing you since you came back months ago? Aren’t we your friends? Did you even think about giving any one of us the opportunity to ‘be there for you’? I’m guessing no. Because we aren’t the one who fuck you, right? We aren’t the ones in love with you, who’d do anything for you, wh-”

“Hongjoong...” Seonghwa’s voice was soft but carried a warning note.

Hongjoong ignored it.

“You don’t have us wrapped around your little finger so we’re of no use to you, is that it?”

“No.”

You wanted to say more but you didn’t want to cry in the pub in front of everyone. You were mortified, not least because you knew at least part of what he was saying was right.

“I get it,” Hongjoong continued. “Woo’s a great guy and you’re fucking lucky to have him, but if you aren’t in love with him or you don’t have feelings for him, you need to fucking stop because it’s not fucking fair. You are taking advantage-”

“I do love hi-”

“Fuck off! If I say I love you, you know I’m not telling you I’m in love with you. It’s different. Wooyoung told you how he feels and he never expected anything from you—he has never asked for anything from you—but here you are, playing with his feelin-”

“I’m not playing with his feelings!”

“Aren’t you? Because you’re doing a really good job of behaving like you’re his girlfriend and if you don’t have any intention of actually being his girlfriend, then what you’re actually being is a cunt.”

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa cut in, placing a hand on Hongjoong’s arm. “Go and get a drink.”

But Hongjoong was already out of his seat, stalking off, leaving you stunned, a little sick.

“Sorry about that,” Seonghwa started. “He’s a little worked up.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have any feelings for Wooyoung?”

You had loads... but you weren’t sure if any of them were the kind he felt for you.

“I don’t... know.”

“It’s ok. It’s been a bad time since you got back, I know. We’re just...”

“Concerned,” San chipped in.

“We have obviously known for a long time about his feelings for you and, while you were living in London, it didn’t really matter because there wasn’t any way you could be together even if you did want that, too, but, now that you’re back, we... Well, we’ve always kind of assumed you would get together at some point and we just want to... check if that’s what’s happening.”

“Has Woo said anything to you?”

Seonghwa shook his head.

“No, this isn’t coming from him. We've asked after you, obviously, because we wanted to know how you were doing—we missed you—but he hasn’t said anything about your relationship or his feelings or anything like that and we haven’t seen you so we don’t really know what’s going on.”

Seonghwa was being leagues nicer than Hongjoong had been but it was making you feel worse. It was one thing when it was just Jia; she was your little sister and it was her job to be annoying and you could dismiss her questioning as just that. It was a lot harder to dismiss coming from your mutual friends. If, in one evening, they had noticed things had changed between you, could you deny it any longer? Would you actually have to face up to the things you’d been hiding from?

“Nothing’s going on,” you repeated, weakly, quietly. “I’m not... I’m not trying to hurt him.”

“We know. We kn-”

“Hongjoong doesn’t seem to.”

Seonghwa shot a glance over to the bar where Hongjoong was standing, shredding a beer mat.

“He’s just being protective and he’s a little hurt.”

“Hurt?”

“I don’t agree with his delivery or timing but we have missed you and you’ve... pretty much ignored all our attempts to reach out to you.”

You hung your head in shame. He wasn’t wrong. You just hadn’t wanted to answer any questions, to be visible to anyone else—to have all your problems made visible to others. It was the same thing that meant you didn’t tell anyone you were moving back in the first place. You didn’t want all of your deepest-seated problems rising to the surface of other people’s awareness.

Hongjoong returned with two shot glasses. He waved one under your nose.

“I love you, ok?” he said. “Just stop being so fucking stupid.”

You nodded, fingers tentative on the shot before you. Hongjoong pouted.

“You aren’t going to say you love me back?”

You didn't really feel like giving into the fun, but you knew he had a point and you also knew that he would apologise properly in the morning. It would be churlish to reject this attempt to smooth things over.

“I love you, too,” you duly replied, exaggerating your exasperation, faking a smile, taking the shot.

When you crawled into Wooyoung’s bed later that night, he rolled over, searching for you in his sleep. You were wide awake, even with two more shots sloshing amongst the beer inside you. He loved you. He loved you but things between you felt the same as they ever had been. Your feelings hadn’t changed since the last time or the time before that or the time before that.

Maybe you were in love with him. Maybe this was what it felt like to be in love. You’d had relationships; you thought you’d been in love before. Maybe you hadn’t been. Maybe this was love. You considered your options: separate yourself from Wooyoung (to what extent you didn’t know) or commit to him. There was only ever going to be one answer to that question.

You were sticky and sated, sitting in Wooyoung’s lap, feeling his heartbeat slow under your palm.

“Woo?”

“Yeah?”

Your own heartbeat skipped, picked up the pace because you had thought about this conversation a lot (the conversation and what might come after it) but it hadn’t made you less nervous.

“I want to be with you.”

His chuckle was a puff of air.

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean... I want to be with you.”

You sat up straight, looked him in the eye, so you could track his reaction as you continued.

“Like, actually be with you. Be us... Be your girlfriend.”

You expected surprise, hesitation.

He closed his eyes, teeth biting his lip from the inside, and nodded. You waited for him to speak. He sighed.

“I don’t... I don’t think you do,” he said.

He was looking at you, straight through you. You might have been naked already but now you felt exposed.

“Yes, I do. I do. I wan-”

But he was shaking his head again and you stopped.

“I love you,” and it hurt, somehow, to hear it this time. “And you know I... You know I would want that. To be with you. Properly. But...”

He didn’t usually hesitate this much when he spoke. Wasn’t usually this reluctant to tell you how he felt—to tell anyone how he felt. His fingers were fidgeting on your thighs, dancing and tapping. He looked at you and looked away and then back at you.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. This wasn’t supposed to hurt. Him. Or you.

“Wooy-”

“No... I get it. I know why you... I know you don’t want me. You want security and stability and I can be that for you; I am that for you and I’m glad to be. But you don’t want me like that, princess. You’re not in love me with me, are you?”

How you were the one with tears in your eyes and not him was beyond you. You had told yourself that yes, you were. You were in love with him. If everyone was accusing you of acting like his girlfriend already, and you already loved him, already slept with him, already spent most nights in his bed, then weren’t you in love with him?

You opened your mouth to say it, to insist that you were, that you wanted more, more of him, but he was looking at you, through you, like he always did. Eyes so soft and warm and dark. Arms solid and secure and wrapped around you now, keeping you safe. His heart, enormous, sensitive, yours. There was a growing sense of panic in you now, that this was going sideways, might ruin everything. That maybe this could cost you him. That he would pull away. That you would lose him. And then you would lose your mind altogether.

“It’s ok,” he whispered. “It’s ok.”

And he was the one comforting you as you leant forward into him, tears spilling, streaking down his chest. He was the one rubbing your back and pressing kisses into your hair. Because you couldn’t say it. Couldn’t tell him that you were in love with him because you didn’t know if you were. Didn’t know if love really was this desperate and panicked and needy and selfish. Didn’t know if you could bring yourself to drag him down with you.

When Wooyoung got up the next morning and got ready for work, he let you pretend to be asleep. Left the lightest of kisses on your cheek and shut the door as quietly as he could. You waited a minute or two to be sure he was out of the building and then you scrambled to leave yourself. You were mortified, still. So embarrassed but also ashamed. You felt foolish and cruel. All the things Hongjoong had accused you of. Your cringe was physical when you thought about Wooyoung telling them what had happened, what you had said.

You didn’t hear from him for hours. Hours in which you worried that it was over, in which you convinced yourself that you would never hear from him again, that just like that your friendship was over. You were supposed to be applying for jobs, now that your dad was dead and buried, but you stared at your laptop screen, unseeing. You could only think about Wooyoung. You checked your phone every thirty seconds, just in case. You opened your message thread, in case he sent one but you didn’t receive a notification. You tapped your thumbs on the screen, waiting for the magic words to come to you. The words that would take everything back, make it right again.

It was agony. It was terror. It was too much to keep to yourself, despite your shame. You told Jia everything and, by the time you had finished, you were on the verge of tears, on the edge of panic.

“What if I’ve fucked it all up?” you asked, choking on your words.

“Woo’s not like that. He hasn’t messaged you because he’s at work. Politely, dear sister, get a grip. Besides, I feel like you’re missing the point. You told him you wanted to be with him and he told you you aren’t in love with him. Which one of you is actually right?”

“I don’t know... Both, maybe, in a way... I don’t know.”

“Sounds like maybe he’s right then. You should probably know if you’re in love with someone, especially someone you’ve known since you were like, one, and have been sleeping with for years. If you don’t know, then you don’t.”

“But I-”

But you were terrified of losing him. He had been your life raft throughout it all. He had kept you afloat. Without him, you would have gone insane. Without him, the last few months would have been unbearable. Without him, you would never stay, but if he was here, you’d already decided you would never leave again. You needed him. Even now, when life was approaching some kind of normality. When the consequences of your dad’s life and death were still being felt but you could at least use the living room again. Things were getting better but they weren’t good. Wooyoung was. He was the best thing you had.

Your panic subsided when Wooyoung showed up after work, as usual. He acted as if nothing had happened, except he didn’t kiss you to say hello, and didn’t hold your hand, and only gave you a kiss on the cheek to say goodnight—even though you’d been kissing goodnight on the mouth for years.

As the days wore on, things settled. Your anxiety about the situation melted in his warmth, which was the same as it had ever been. You wondered what was going on in his brain, in his heart, how he could allow this, how he could stand it. You lay, naked in his bed, listening to his deep, slow breathing, thinking: if I were him—if I were in love with my best friend—there's no way I could stand this proximity for so long.

The thought cut you like a knife and you sat up, sharply. Fuck. You sank down again carefully, hoping you hadn’t woken him. If. If. You weren’t. You really weren’t in love with him. And he knew it before you did.

For as long as you lived, even as a friend, you would never deserve Wooyoung.

When morning came—the weekend, a lie-in—you got up first, left the apartment and returned with overpriced coffee and pastries.

“Woo,” you called softly, kneeling on the floor beside him as you placed his coffee and his croissant on the bedside cabinet.

“I smell coffee.”

“I bought coffee.”

He winked one eye open, looked at you, and swivelled it to his treats. A grin spread across his face as he stretched and rolled over.

“Oh, treating me like a princess! It’s about time.”

You stood and he grabbed you by the waist, pulling you onto the bed. He kept one arm around you as he reached for his drink.

“What have I done to deserve this?” he asked, humming in satisfaction after his first sip.

“Nothing. Just being you.”

“Are you ill?”

You punched his arm—carefully, so he wouldn’t spill.

“Can’t I do something nice for you for once?”

“You can. In fact, I encourage you to do it often. Every day, if you want. I’d be fine with that.”

You rolled your eyes and settled down, tucked under his arm.

“I wanted to say something.”

Wooyoung was good at not letting his tension show, but you couldn’t miss the second’s pause in his body, the still moment before he let it go again.

“You were right,” you said.

“About?”

It was, again, to your shame that you couldn’t quite meet his eye when you said it.

“I’m not in love with you.”

“Ah.”

You told yourself you didn’t feel the kick of his heartbeat under your palm.

“I... I love you more than anyone. So much. I feel like... I feel like I love you like my life depends on it.”

He nodded.

“That’s not the same thing,” you continued.

He smiled, exhaling a puff of laughter through his nose.

“No,” he agreed. “It’s not the same.”

“I’m sorry.”

He kissed the top of your head.

“You don’t have to be sorry, darling. It’s ok. I told you: it’s ok.”

- Six Months Later -

Normality had found you. Routine. A settled feeling rooted in you now that you were back where those roots first found soil. An apartment of your own. A job. New friends as well as all the ones you had left behind. Counselling because you decided you needed it. It had helped a lot with unearthing things long buried in you.

Like your love for Wooyoung. Like your being in love with him. The fissure that opened in you when you first mentioned his name in a session—long after you’d started. You had been so determined to keep things about your father and your childhood and determined to keep Wooyoung out of it. You had done so much of the work tiptoeing around him, until your counsellor, Suzie, called you on it. Told you that she knew there was something you were holding back. You spoke his name and burst into tears.

Because you had been so sure that you weren’t in love with him. You told her all of it—the entire, wretched, embarrassing account of how you’d kicked him while he was down—and reached the sure conclusion that it wasn’t love. Not like that. But the further down you dug, the deeper into your life she probed, the more wrong that felt.

It had always been Wooyoung. You had just never allowed yourself to admit that. Because he knew too much. He was too good to you. He indulged you like a spoilt child but—and it had surprised you so much when Suzie said it that you had stopped crying—you didn’t believe he really was in love with you. He couldn’t be because you didn’t deserve it, not someone like you with someone like him. You couldn’t explain the belief in light of his behaviour (nor his behaviour in light of your belief), but for you it was true and you were left with remnants of something that might have been everything you’d ever wanted: your love for him, your belief that you could never be good enough for him, and his friendship.

He was already seeing someone else by then. That wasn’t a surprise. You had said you weren’t in love with him and he wasn’t going to just sit around and mope about it. He had needs. Desires. A life. Now a boyfriend... Maybe boyfriend—you weren’t sure if they’d had that conversation yet. Whatever Yunho was, he was the person that kept you out of Wooyoung’s bed. You did nothing about it because you had no right to. Suzie did not agree with you on this but could not (would never) force you to do anything you didn’t want to, so you agreed to disagree.

“You know if you’re in love with him, you just have to tell him,” Hongjoong said, sitting himself down across from you.

No hello. No hi. No greeting of any kind.

“What?”

“Wooyoung. If you’re in love with him, you should tell him.”

You spluttered. Tried to find some plausible denial. Tried to not be overwhelmed with embarrassment that he knew—you didn’t think anyone knew outside the walls of your counselling sessions. You thought you had been doing a good job at keeping your feelings to yourself.

“We all know,” Hongjoong said, casually confirming your worst fears.

“Wooyoung?”

“No, not him! Wouldn’t believe it if we told him any-”

“You cannot tell him!” you hissed.

“We’re not going to! I’m just saying.”

“Oh my god, Hongjoong. You’re not just saying anything; you are exposing me in public right now! And he’s right there!”

You jabbed a hand in the direction of the bar where Wooyoung was waiting to buy drinks with, yes, Yunho—who was lovely and tall and polite and made Wooyoung laugh and whom you could not hate even if you wanted to.

“He can’t hear us.”

You put your head in your hands and then flapped them open like window shutters to look at Hongjoong.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because you’re being all moony-eyed and obvious about it and, if you don’t do something soon, he’s going to get serious with that guy.”

“That guy has a name.”

Hongjoong shrugged.

“Yeah, but he’ll be out of the picture pretty soon, won’t he?”

“Will he?”

“Yeah, once you tell Woo how you fee-”

“SHUT UP! I’m not going to do that!”

“Or consider this: you do it.”

“No.”

“How about doing it?”

“No.”

“Ok but, what if... you did it?”

“No!”

“Or you could do it.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“NO.”

“YES.”

“Yes what?”

Your head snapped up, eyes wide as saucers, as Yunho took a seat next to Hongjoong and Wooyoung beside him.

“Yes what?” Wooyoung repeated.

“Yes, she’s an idiot,” Hongjoong said, looking at you, challenging.

Wooyoung laughed.

“Sounds about right.”

“Hey!”

He blew you a kiss and you pouted, digging into your performance and kicking Hongjoong under the table.

It wasn’t as if you hadn’t thought about telling him. You had (at Suzie’s encouragement) and, every time, it brought you out in hives. It wasn’t even the fear of rejection (not exclusively anyway). It was the foolishness of it all. Having hurt him only to come crawling back, on your knees, to say that you were wrong. You couldn’t beg forgiveness. You couldn’t ask him to take you back. Not before he met Yunho and certainly not now. He deserved something better even before Yunho had appeared.

You were standing at the bar later that evening when two arms slipped around your waist and a head rested on your shoulder.

“Hello, you,” you said as Wooyoung moved sideways next to you, his hand resting on your back for just a second before falling.

“Hello. Buy me a drink, please.”

You scoffed.

“Since you asked so nicely...”

“I said please and everything!”

“Does Yunho want one?”

Wooyoung shook his head.

“Nah, he’s good.”

“Is he now?”

He bumped his hip into yours, lips tight to try to contain his smile.

“I approve by the way,” you told him.

“You approve?”

“Yes, of Yunho. I approve. You guys seem... good.”

“I’ll let him know he’s finally passed, shall I?”

“Yeah, would you? That’d be great. I can have the certificate sent out to him tomorrow.”

Another hip check, an unconcealed smile.

“And what about you?” he asked.

“What about me?”

“Dating? I know they won’t be The Best You’ve Ever Had but worth a shot, right?”

He was waiting for the blow—a smack on the arm or a shove—but you grinned back.

“And does Yunho know he’s not the best you’ve ever had?” You clutched your heart in dramatic performance but your stomach genuinely sank. “Or have I been dethroned?”

Wooyoung raised his nose, ignoring you, pretending he hadn’t heard, tongue working the inside of his mouth.

“Great! I’ll go and let him know!”

He grabbed your arm.

“Do not tell him that-”

“Woo, what kind of idiot do you think I am?!”

“Exactly the kind of idiot you are, princess.”

Your retort was interrupted by the arrival of your drinks, which Wooyoung paid for, picked up, and carried back to the table.

That was the thing. Being friends with Wooyoung was joyful, the greatest joy of your life, and you couldn’t risk that. You’d rather be his friend than nothing at all. Especially since he was happy now, had someone who made him happy now. Even if it wasn’t you.

yunou._.u: hi! I hope it’s ok to be messaging; I was hoping we could meet. I'd like to talk to you about something.

You looked at the instagram notification once, twice, then opened it to be sure you were seeing things right. You clicked on his profile and regretted it instantly because the very first photo was Yunho with Wooyoung. They looked sickeningly happy.

You: sure. When do you want to meet?

yunou._.u: is today ok? After work? I finish at 6

So there you were, approaching a cafe with your stomach in knots, about to meet Wooyoung’s not-quite-boyfriend for who knew what reason. Your only guess was something birthday-related; November wasn’t exactly soon but maybe Yunho was an extravagant kind of guy who wanted to whisk Wooyoung to some tropical paradise (during term time?) or have something custom-made. You hoped it was that, because that would be easy.

You spotted Yunho as you entered—he stood and raised a hand, a little shyly.

“Have you ordered?” you asked.

“No, I was waiting-”

“Sorry, I got a li-”

“No, no, it’s alright. We can order now.”

You stood at the counter in silence, staring at the drinks board unseeing. Yunho insisted on paying for yours, too, and your heart ached because he really was such a nice guy.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me,” he said as soon as you had sat down again. “This conversation might be a little awkward but I really want to make sure that everything is cleared-up.”

You raised your eyebrows, surprised.

“I’m sorry for my directness but do you have feelings for Wooyoung?”

Your eyebrows would’ve shot right off the top of your head if they could have.

“I-... I-”

“He told me that he used to have feelings for you-”

‘Used to’. Ouch.

“-and I am choosing to believe him when he uses the past tense, but if you have feelings for him... I know I can’t compete with you and I don’t want to.”

You were stunned into silence. You didn’t know whether or not to be honest. Would honesty ruin what Wooyoung had with Yunho? You didn’t want that, you really didn’t. You wanted him to be happy and you had firmly convinced yourself that being happy with you was not an option. He had moved on. The proof of that was sitting right in front of you.

So you couldn’t say yes.

Nor could you bring yourself to lie.

“We’re just friends,” you replied.

Yunho smiled.

“I know and if that is your answer then I will accept it. I really like Wooyoung; I’m serious about this relationship and I’d like to ask him if he is, too, but if there’s any part of you that cares for him as more than a friend, I would really appreciate the heads-up. You and he have known each other a very long time and, like I said, I know I can’t compete.”

You were curling inwards with shame, knowing that you had the answer but not able to say it out loud. You couldn’t admit it to him, couldn’t break his heart and maybe Wooyoung’s, too, just for the sake of your feelings—feelings that were too little, too late.

“I’m sorry,” Yunho said when you still did not respond. “I didn’t mean to ambush you with this and, really, your feelings aren’t my business as such; you don’t have to tell me-”

“-I...”

It was there, in your chest, rising in your throat, this pressure, to say it, admit it, but there was pressure to hide it, too, to not expose yourself to ridicule, to despair. Yunho looked on, patiently waiting, sipping his coffee, as you stared back with pleading eyes.

Yunho smiled—kind. Sad. He nodded.

“I understand. Thank you... and thank you for meeting with me. I really appreciate it.”

He rose from the table.

“I’ll see you around,” he said in parting, taking his half-empty mug to the return station and leaving you with yours, shell-shocked and sick, at the table.

“... I felt like I was going to vomit,” you whined from your seat on the floor, grabbing onto Hongjoong’s leg like a life raft. “What am I supposed to do?”

He laughed from above you on the sofa.

“Man, Yunho has class. That was a fucking classy move.”

“Yeah, I get it: he’s great! How is that helping?”

“I’m just saying. If he and Woo do break-up, he’s gonna need a rebound... Might just have to make myself available to him-”

“Hongjoong! You’re fucking gross! You can’t go around scavenging your friends’ exes!”

“Why not? Motherfucker is tall and, rumour has it, well hung.”

You twisted and gave him a vicious slap to the thigh.

“HONGJOONG! As if I needed to hear that! You are disgusting! You cannot sleep with him!”

“If he’s up for it, I can do whatever I want! Woo will be too busy up in your guts to notice-”

“Oh my god, I am leaving. I hate you so much. This is why I avoided you for months.”

But Hongjoong grabbed your wrist as you tried to leave and pulled you down onto the sofa with him.

“I don’t know what you want me to say that I haven't already fucking said. I think you should tell Wooyoung how you feel; Yunho knows and he’s made it pretty clear that he’s gonna bow out for you so, if you don’t tell Woo, he’s just gonna be heartbroken for no reason, isn’t he?”

You leant into Hongjoong, who was right even if you didn’t want him to be.

“Please don’t tell him,” you begged for what might have been the hundredth time.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, you fucking loser.”

“Don’t be mean to me.”

“You deserve it.”

You slapped him on the chest.

“See what I mean?”

You flopped onto your sofa, intent on vegetating for the rest of the evening. It was Friday so all the chores you had left could wait. There was nothing between you and your umpteenth rewatch of Parks and Rec.

Until Wooyoung strolled through your door.

“Who let you in?” you asked.

“I did, princess. That kind of thing can happen when you give someone the keys to your house.”

He fell onto the sofa on top of you and pressed a kiss to your cheek before sitting upright and pulling you that way, too.

“What do you want?”

“I can’t just want to spend time with my favourite person?”

You didn’t argue with that because you hadn’t seen him all week and, it might have been a slip of the tongue, but it felt too good to be referred to as his favourite.

“I broke up with Yunho.”

Your jaw dropped and your stomach fell with it. He broke up with Yunho?

“No!”

“Yep.”

“Woo...”

You cupped his face and his hands circled your wrists, gently pulling them down, slipping his hands into yours.

“Why?” you asked, with some trepidation.

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth; his lips pursed to stop it.

“I spoke to Hongjoong...”

Your mouth dried, heart sped. Hongjoong was like Fort fucking Knox—if he wanted to be, if he thought the secret worth keeping—but he was also a fucking meddler and you should have known better. Of course he spilled the beans when it was your feelings at hand, but he hadn’t done the same when it was Wooyoung’s—hadn’t given you any warning of that bombshell. You would’ve liked to have been angrier but your anxiety drowned it out. Wooyoung knew. He knew.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Wooyoung asked, no reproach, no accusation in his tone.

“How?” you choked. “How could I tell you?”

“Well, there are plenty of options. You could have started like this: ‘Hey, Wooyoung, guess what? I’m in love with you!’; or ‘Listen, donkey, I know you have a boyfriend and this is hilariously shit timing and everything, but I have feelings for you’; or, an absolute classic that everyone loves, a boombox outside my window and you shout ‘Wooyoung! I love you! Be my boyfriend!’... Take your pick.”

Curling in on yourself again, embarrassed and ashamed, raw with vulnerability; you could not meet his eye.

“Hey,” he called, so softly, with a gentle tug on your hand when you did not respond. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

His face, downturned, hurt but trying to look like he wasn’t. You hated that you were the reason for that face. You couldn’t stop the tremor in your voice as you spoke.

“Because I wanted you to be happy.”

“Did you not stop to think that you make me happy? You know this.”

“Yunho...-”

“Is not you.”

“Hongjoong wants to fuck him, by the way.”

A swerve but you didn’t know what else to say. You and Wooyoung had crossed all sorts of line together, but you could not get yourself across this one.

Wooyoung sagged, sighed.

“Yes,” he said wearily, with an eye roll, “he made that disturbingly clear.”

“Do you think he will?”

Wooyoung shrugged.

“As long as I don’t have to hear about it, they can do what they like... You’ve changed the subject. Did you not want me to know?”

“I didn’t want to get in the way of you and Yunho.”

“Do you not want to be with me?”

When you pressed a hand to your chest this time, it had nothing to do with dramatics. It hurt, that he doubted, that you had made him doubt, that you were still, sitting and talking as you were, making him doubt.

“I do... Fuck, I do. I just...”

If there were ever a time for putting on your big-girl pants and being honest, this was it. Still not able to look him in the eye, you looked somewhere just over his left shoulder.

“I’ve already let you down before. I don’t want to do it again. I’m-... If... if this doesn’t work out, I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

“Who says it won’t work out?”

“I don’t know, statistics?”

Wooyoung almost laughed.

“Only three types of lie in the world, princess: lies, damned lies, and statistics. I’m not going to force you, th-”

“Please do! Please force me!”

And it was you holding him by the wrists this time, up on your knees, exclaiming, because you couldn’t push yourself over the line, needed him—as you always needed him—to help. He laughed.

“You’re truly pathetic, you know that?”

“Yes, I know... Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please kiss me.”

He did just that. He tasted sweeter than your months of remembering, lips softer than the landing your heart descended into. Yours, again, only yours. As you thought he never would be, could be.

“I love you.”

Like you had said so many times before, but also not like it because it was finally like that. Like you were safe and held as you always had been, but also wanted, longed for, dreamt of. You were so happy at that moment that you even forgot to be angry with Hongjoong.

You would remember later, but for now, it was all Wooyoung.

#ateez x reader #wooyoung x reader #ateez fanfic #wooyoung fanfic #ateez smut #wooyoung smut #wooyoung fanfiction #ateez fanfiction #jung wooyoung x reader #atz fanfic #atz x reader #atz smut

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aayakashii · 17 hours ago

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For seven days, I'll be posting Valentine's Day themed headcanons for each House in Tokyo Debunker!

All prompts come from this post here ♡

And dividers are from @saradika-graphics 🫶

So, for starters, we got:

Valentine’s Day in Frostheim

Jin

how does he show affection?

Quietly. His touches come without a warning, and he shoves gifts on your arms without ceremony. Words aren't his forte, no matter how many times he tried to put his feelings into words. So he'll show you his affection through his actions as much as possible, until there's no room left for doubt.

does he like hugs? what are his hugs like?

Likes to give them (especially when it's early morning and he's sleeping, and he just wants to cuddle with you), but loves even more to receive them from you. He holds you like you're his lifeline, as if you could escape from his hands at any given moment. Buries his face in the crook of your neck and stays there for as long as he wants.

is he good at flirting? how does he flirt?

Jin is terrible with words. So he tries to flirt with his actions: maybe he'll suddenly corner you somewhere only to give you a kiss and walk away with a smirk; or he'll circle his arm around your waist and pull you closer to him. It never fails to fluster you and leave you sputtering his name breathlessly, so that is a success in his book.

is he good at gift - giving or does he struggle to get it right?

He probably can give you anything you ask for, but you have to ask if you're thinking about something specific. If he tries to decide on your gift on his own, you'll probably get an enormous amount of all the Valentine classics: a gigantic bouquet, with an enormous teddy bear and the finest chocolate in the world. He's not very creative, but he tries to make up for it with quality and quantity.

is he quick or slow to give his heart?

Terribly slow. He will fight the feeling for as long as he can lie to himself; for as long as he can convince himself that he's not in love with you. Once he can't escape his own emotions, however, he is quick to shove his heart into your hands; and you better keep it safe and sound. It's your responsibility now.

does he find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

It's extremely hard to say it out loud for the first time, but once that hurdle is crossed, those are the only three words he doesn't hesitate to say to you. He says it solemnly, looking into your eyes, with a fastened resolve to make sure that you know how he feels.

does he get jealous in a relationship?

Oh, honey. He's probably jealousy personified if we're being honest. But it's not you he doesn't trust – it's other men. He doesn't want other men's slimy, gross hands touching you, and just thinking of it makes him see red.

what is his ideal date?

His ideal date is simply having complete privacy when he's alone with you. He would love to just stay in his room, without even the slimmest possibility of being interrupted, and cuddle with you, drifting in and out of sleep. He already has all the food and beverages you two may need within his reach, so why leave and be at the mercy of irritating, prying eyes? He just wants his date to be about you and him alone.

would he ask the big question or expect their partner to?

He would ask it, without a doubt. He thinks it's his duty as your partner and the heir of an empire. He has to ask it, even if he stumbles on the words. Not to say he wouldn't be elated if you asked him first when you two are just appreciating each other's company in the quiet of a random morning. But he would make sure to ask again, with all the formality you deserve.

how does he feel about valentine’s day?

It never crossed his mind before he met you. Now, he's overthinking (and overpreparing) in order to give you the Valentine's Day anyone could only dream of. He'll still act like it isn't a big deal to him, but you know it definitely is as soon as you see a whole helicopter decorated with rose petals. And chocolate. So much chocolate.

does he get protective easily?

If he could carry you in his pocket in order to keep you safe, he probably would. Cigarettes be damned – you'd be tucked away in his vest, right over his heart. That's something he daydreams about often, but would never admit to it.

does he believe in true love?

After so much inner conflict, after fighting against his feelings for you, he begrudgingly accepted that there's no other way to describe what he feels for you in other words. So yes, now he does believe in it.

Tohma

how does he show affection?

Subtly. He's not one for huge nor public displays of affection, but he expresses his feelings through small gestures: a handwritten note; a fleeting kiss on your forehead; texts asking you how you're feeling throughout the day; but especially: dragging you with him whenever he takes a walk late at night, seizing the opportunity to finally enjoy his time with you.

does he like hugs? what are his hugs like?

He seldom gives them, but he can't deny he absolutely loves when you hug him – especially when it's by surprise. It gives him a boost of energy he desperately needed and didn't even realize. His hugs are, more than anything, grounding. You feel the solid wall of his toned body envelop you like a weighted blanket and you close your eyes. You feel safe.

is he good at flirting? how does he flirt?

Frustratingly good. He always knows what to say to make you blush, and he's fully aware of it. Doesn't hesitate to take advantage of this knowledge either. One of his favorite things to do is to whisper sweet nothings into your ear all throughout the day until you're a flustered and frustrated mess by the end of it.

is he good at gift - giving or does he struggle to get it right?

He's great at it, especially at finding small, simple but meaningful gifts. He probably has a whole file with your name in his mind palace, with all your personal information and specific tastes. He knows what you'll like, and he makes sure he'll give you something unique.

is he quick or slow to give his heart?

He goes at a normal pace, mostly. But as soon as he realizes he has been nurturing feelings for you, he will IMMEDIATELY give you his heart whether you like it or not. And you will like it. He'll make sure it.

does he find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

It doesn't really come naturally to him. He probably can't even remember the last time he felt anything akin to love. The word "love" sounds foreign in his tongue. He would rather show you his love through his actions, but he might try to tell you he loves you if he notices that you need that confirmation. Just go easy on him.

does he get jealous in a relationship?

Not really. He pretty much trusts you, your relationship with him and himself. He knows all too well that you wouldn't leave him for someone else, and that you wouldn’t try to play the jealousy game with him. He wouldn’t be dating you if you did. He can only laugh at the sad attempts of other students to woo you because he knows you'll go back to him every single time.

what is his ideal date?

A picnic in a clearing, some hidden, beautiful place he found while he was out on his walks. He wants privacy, of course, but he also wants to share with you the very few secret places he likes to call his own.

would he ask the big question or expect their partner to?

He would love to be the one to ask first, but if you end up beating him to it, he won't complain either. The order of factors doesn't affect the result – he already knows he will say yes, and so will you.

how does he feel about valentine’s day?

Honestly, Tohma didn't care about it, but ever since he realized it was important to you, he made a conscious effort to be as present and loving as you wanted him to be. He still thinks it's kind of a silly date... but he'll indulge you, gladly.

does he get protective easily?

Yes, but he also trusts your strength. He'll always be ready to shield you whenever you need, but he knows you're not some pushover. He loves to watch you stick up for yourself, filled with pride and satisfaction. However, if you look at him for support, he'll be breaking anyone's bones in the blink of an eye.

does he believe in true love?

With you as his partner? Undoubtedly.

Kaito

how does he show affection?

Kaito yells about his feelings for you at anyone who can hear. He's unabashedly loud, parading you as his partner wherever he goes. Sometimes you have to nudge him and tell him to calm down just a little bit so no one will feel too bothered by his noisy declarations of love.

does he like hugs? what are his hugs like?

Loves hugs and loves to throw himself into your arms. He will spontaneously combust if you do the same to him and tearfully thank all the heavens above for your existence. His hugs are soft but tight, as if a part of him is still trying to make sure you're real and not a cruel joke someone's playing on him.

is he good at flirting? how does he flirt?

He's awful, but he tries so hard. His voice drops down a few octaves, and he tries to be as suave as possible, but he just ends up with his tongue tied and a blush on his cheek. And you don't say a thing, because you still find his embarrassment endearing, no matter how long you two have been together

is he good at gift - giving or does he struggle to get it right?

He's actually great at giving gifts! He knows everything that's trending, and if there's anything he thinks you might like, he gets it for you. He has literally all of your likes and dislikes on the tip of his tongue, so that's easy for him. Sometimes you have to stop him from spending too much money, though.

is he quick or slow to give his heart?

Very quick. It actually took some time for you to believe his feelings, what with how fast he confessed to you. He's intense. As soon as he saw you, he had to make sure no one would steal you away from him.

does he find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

Easy! He would tell you he loves you every single second if he could.

does he get jealous in a relationship?

Very much so, but his jealousy comes from a place of insecurity. He's afraid you might find someone better, no matter how much you try to reassure him. Sometimes it's tiring, but he's doing his best to try to prove to you that he trusts you. It's just... old habits die hard.

what is his ideal date?

Any cliche, movie-esque date is perfect for him, but his first thought goes to an amusement park date. He wants to win a plushie for you at the carnival; he wants to share a huge cotton candy; and, more than anything, he wants to ride on the ferris wheel during the sunset and watch the city lights with you by his side.

would he ask the big question or expect their partner to?

He would love to ask first, but having you beat him to it would make him even happier – it would be like a confirmation of your feelings for him: the ultimate reassurance that you don't plan on leaving him at all.

how does he feel about valentine’s day?

Oh, he loves it. Since middle school, he has waited and waited to receive chocolates from his crush. The fact that he finally has a partner with whom he can celebrate the date is a dream come true. And he WILL drop some very obvious hints that he really wants to make homemade chocolate you during Valentine's Day. Wink wonk.

does he get protective easily?

Yes, and he dreams of being your knight in shining armor, always ready to protect you no matter the occasion. His legs may still tremble a little bit, but he will fight his fears so he can keep you safe.

does he believe in true love?

YES. Sometimes he would doubt it would ever come to him, but now that he has you, his belief has never been stronger.

Luca

how does he show affection?

Luca genuinely treats you like royalty. It feels like he has come straight out of a book sometimes – some fairytale about a chivalrous knight. He holds your hand everywhere and looks into your eyes as if you have personally placed each star in his sky.

does he like hugs? what are his hugs like?

He likes hugs but doesn't give them that much. He's always concerned about disrespecting you or crossing your boundaries. But he loves it when you catch him by surprise and engulf him in a hug (even if he feels embarrassed when you do it in public). His hugs feel like the safety and comfort of a bed. The scent of fabric softener of his clothes lulling you even deeper into a calm state of mind.

is he good at flirting? how does he flirt?

Luca doesn't have the slightest clue in regards to what flirting entails, but he usually, unintentionally, says lovely comments about you that leave you completely dumbfounded. And he doesn't even know what he did.

is he good at gift - giving or does he struggle to get it right?

He tries his best but, in his mind, gifts are only truly good when they're practical. So he might give you new books to help you study or stationery. If you want different gifts during Valentine's Day, you have to explicitly tell him. He might not understand what's the big deal, but he'll do his best. Be patient with him he's autistic

is he quick or slow to give his heart?

He goes at a natural pace and genuinely will only realize he wants to give you his heart when you already have it in your hands.

does he find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

Once he realizes he loves you, he says it quite easily. It might even be a bit jarring, how casual he is with it. You two could be at the canteen, waiting to buy lunch, and he'll straight up tell you he loves you as matter of factly as possible. Whenever he has the itch to reassure you of his feelings, he will say it right away.

does he get jealous in a relationship?

Honestly, not really. He doesn't believe you could ever do something bad, like cheating on him. He put you in a little bit of a pedestal, but he's also pretty sure he's the only one that can reach it.

what is his ideal date?

Again, he likes practicality, so he would love a study date in which he's able to help you with absolutely everything you might need. Maybe it's not the most romantic thing, but to Luca, there's nothing more important than being helpful to you – it's his way of proving himself to you.

would he ask the big question or expect their partner to?

He wants to ask because he feels like it's a way to make an oath to you, akin to a knight serving his majesty. He might pout and sulk if you end up asking first, because he wants to propose with all the solemnity of a paladin bending his knee.

how does he feel about valentine’s day?

Never really thought about and still doesn't care much, but he will do his best if it means it'll make you happy. You might need to give him a nudge and tell him that the date is coming around.

does he get protective easily?

He's always extremely protective. Your safety is, quite literally, his biggest concern. While he might not be jealous, he's overprotective to a fault. Anyone can be a threat to your well being until proven otherwise. Sometimes you have to tell him to calm down before he tries slashing some random student that approached you a bit too rudely.

does he believe in true love?

He never truly thought about it, too absorbed in his personal tasks. But when making you happy became one of his most important goals in life, he realized that it couldn't be anything else but true love.

#tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker headcanons #jin kamurai #tohma ishibashi #kaito fuji #lucas errant #tokyo debunker x reader

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midnightshindig · 2 days ago

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rex or cecil (or both, separately) discovering that the reader is a viltrumite who actually wants to conquer earth and never actually cared about them 🙏 the angstier the better :)

Cecil and Rex (seperately) X Viltrumite!Reader

(someone on here just declared me the savior of Cecil fans and I’m riding that high so fair warning)

(also I might try and make these prettier like w/ images and stuff once I start using my laptop and not my phone for these…. Would you guys like that?)

anyways, fic below the cut!

Rex Splode

It’s the end of season one, and your uncle and supervisor, Nola Grayson aka Omniman, has just smashed your cousins face into a mountain.

You’re only a few feet away, having declared your allegiance to the Viltrumite Empire when Mark wouldn’t see the way of things

back at Guardian Hq, Rex is like crashing out hard

Like. Black Samson is hugging him to keep him from breaking shit.

that bad.

back with mark and Uncle Nolan

”What about you Y/n?! What about Rex? Did you ever even love him?!!!” Mark screams accusatorially, his body beaten into the contours of the hard rock crater, and it takes all his strength to spit out his question

You pause for a minute, finger curled and rested below your lower lip as you processed and considered.

”I mean, of course I like him. But Mark-“ your tone is soft and gentle, like a schoolteacher “but he’s careless and stupid, he’ll die before he ever does anything of consequence.” You smiled wantonly, closing your eyes ^^

Rex can’t believe what he’s hearing, you’d been dating since you were fourteen- you’d became Teen Team members together and joined the Guardians at the same time.

You were the one who convinced him to get his GED

You were the one who patched him up by hand when he’d get into fights as a teen

He lost his virginity to you- and stayed faithful the entire five year relationship- do you KNOW how difficult that is for canon serial-cheater Rex?!!

He looked at the screen and tried to figure it out

You must be being controlled or blackmailed or something.

but Black Samson decides enough is enough and cuts the power, convincing Rex to focus on the mission at hand: helping those trapped in the wreckage of Omniman and Invincibles fight.

So off he goes, exploding rubble and pulling people out of the wreckage

And suddenly there you are

You don’t know he knows

He finds You when you pull a giant boulder off a group of preteens stuck in a broken mall

”Hey babe! I’m glad you guys started without me- sorry I’m late, I had to help Mark.”

He’s sick to his stomach just looking at you

You float down after safely depositing the boulder.

”Haiiiii :3” you lean over and give him a quick kiss, prying your hands into his

He remembers just this morning promising to pick you up and twirl you the next time he saw you, but that was when you were rushing off to support Mark

Now he’s just some dumb pet you’ve been keeping on the side.

why?

His body is frozen stiff and there’s not much chance of him moving anytime soon

you tilt your head and furrow your brow

hes acting weird

”What’s wro-“

”Fuck you!”

the gaggle of preteens from a minute ago are eating this shit up

“Rex- what? What are you-“

the look in his eyes confirms your worst nightmare. he knows.

the way the light and warmth fade from your eyes confirms Rex’s worst nightmare. You know he knows.

fuck.

well here it goes

”Fuck you- I’m not some fucking pet, I’m not your little puppet man I don’t do a fucking puppet dance!” His palms are glowing red by his side, clenched into tight fists.

“how dare you! Howwwww fu-cking DARE YOU!” He’s just yelling, and Monster Girl comes over to remove him, not wanting him to get his fucking head taken off by the newly evil Viltrumite person she thought was her teammate

“Ahahhahahahaaaaa don’t mind him, he had a dream about you cheating! Haha!!!” She’s covering his mouth with him tucked under her arm, fucking hightailing it as fast as she can

But not fast enough. The jig is up, you can feel it. Might as well tie up loose ends.

Theres nobody around to witness you punch Monster Girls heart through her chest, clenching her first and popping it like a water balloon all over you and Rex.

Youre standing over him now, he’s on the ground looking up at you

”Did it mean anything? Did I even matter to you?!” He demands, shaking his head viciously

”Oh… oh Rex…” your schoolteacher voice is back as you crouch down, pushing a piece of his hair behind his ear

“Of course it did, I loved you.” You paused a beat “But it was more like how you love a pet.” You cooed, continuing to push his hair around, like you were petting him

he smacked your hand away, and you caught it by the wrist, snapping it

“But I think this little blip has run its course.”

he watched helplessly as you stepped on his chest with one foot, bringing yourself to your feet and hovering the other over his face

“Im breaking up with you”

crunch.

his brains spilled over the pavement, mixing with the blood from Amanda’s heart.

you grimaced at the sight of your first love splayed out on the city sidewalk in front of you, mushy under your boot.

Youd miss him, you thought to yourself. But you could always find another one.

Cecil Stedman (much smaller bc I’m weak)

After the events of season one and Shapesmith , Cecil can’t help but need verification on the identity on every Guardian of the Globe.

which means blood tests for everyone

you secretly swap yours with human blood

but Cecil takes your blood while you sleep, nice try.

It’s not that he suspects you, but because he need to be sure

he doesn’t have a job where he can just fuck around.

and the test results come back Viltrumite, like Mark and Nolan’s blood yours is uniquely shaped

hes surprised he didn’t notice it before when doing standard labs on you.

and now he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place.

The next few months are him pretending not to know while desperately trying to find a way to shut you down…. All while praying you’re here for good reasons.

Mark is the only one who’s been told about you, but god… he’s just a teenager, and he wants information you ought to have.

and he learns some stuff.

”Mark, ask them about their origin, get them to admit why they came to earth!”

Mark inquires as to what led you to earth, and you take a moment to be vulnerable.

”Yknow, I know you don’t agree with your dad, but I’m also a Viltrumite sent to colonize earth- although I’m just here as backup for when Nolan gets back.” You shrugged, a sanguine smile like always

”what about the guardians? What about Cecil?”

you raised an eyebrow “oh come on, Nick. Cecil’s ancient and I’m going to live for thousands of years. He’ll be dead before I begin to wrinkle. I was only with him to give Nolan an eye on the inside.”

Cecil is slackjawed at this, and scrambling to find some sort of way to- kill you?

could Cecil even do that?

heartless gilf he is, he loves you

he loved you

and he thought you loved him

He married you for christs sake- he swore to god and the government and every superhero on earth that he’d protect you and stay by your side until he died.

but this…. Fuck….

were you even the person he married?

Donald had to take over while Cecil spiraled, coordinating every bomb to stay trained on your location, and instructing Mark to get you somewhere remote.

“maaaark, why are we in the dessert?”

Mark didn’t have a good answer

”Oh, yknow. It’s scenic.”

you raised an eyebrow

weird but wtv, mark was a weird dude you guessed

Then Mark gets all panicky

”oh uh I forgot my camera! I’ll be right back stay here!”

and he’s gone

and the fucking BOMBS START DEPLOYING WHAT THE FUCK-

You call Cecil over your earpiece, trying to get a grip on what’s even happening

When he picks up his voice is stoic and cold

”I know what you are, surrender or die.”

oh shit.

ohhhhhh shit

Mark you little weasel.

You fly straight for HQ, crashing into the building in front of Cecil

It’s a classic showdown, you looking down at him and him looking up at you

in better circumstances you would’ve kissed him

instead he narrows his eyes and furrows his brow further, taking a step forward, your noses pressed together

”You heard me. Surrender or die.”

you cocked your head “And what if I kill you and everyone here?”

He falters, a glimpse of fear and sadness in his eyes

“Then you better do it before my men have you dead on the ground.”

you stare right back at him, waiting to see who breaks.

His scarred mouth twitches, a muscle memory from when he would’ve kissed you for being this close

not anymore.

You knit your brows together, pain coloring your expression

“I… I can’t do it.”

before Cecil can respond, much like Nolan, you fly off into space, leaving Cecil a wreck

He flings his wedding band at the big monitor, cracking it with the force of the unbeatable metal

unbreakable like your vows

like hell.

Donald watches as he grits his teeth and gets to work minimizing damages

Never again.

#invincible #invincible show #rex sloan #invincible rex splode #invincible season 3 #invincible fanfic #invincible spoilers #invincible x reader #rex splode #rex splode x reader #cecil stedman #invincible cecil #mark grayson invincible #mark grayson #nolan grayson #omni man

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seokmn · 1 day ago

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DAMN TRIP .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･

pairing: junhui x fem!reader wc: 0.8k words warning: pet names, jun as girl dad (yes, its a warning for my delusional besties out there.)

“let me be over there again”

Junhui dropped his bags on the floor and wrapped his arms around your waist, tightening his grip as if he would never see you again. He let out a defeated sigh. “I can't believe I have to go… what if I tell my boss I got sick? I can tell him I have dengue fever, and he’ll let me stay at home!” You laughed at your husband's comment and shook your head while caressing his hair. “We don't live in a tropical or subtropical country, you can't have dengue fever.”

“You have no idea how good I can be at acting,” he smiled and hid his face in the crook of your neck. “I don't want to leave you and D/N by yourselves. Seven days is too much time away from you."

You placed your hands on his shoulder and pulled him away just enough to make him look at your face. You smiled in a comforting way and kissed his temple. “Junnie, we’ll be fine, and we’ll be always facetiming each other. These seven days will pass in a blink of an eye, okay?”

Junhui still looked upset, but he nodded and gave you a peck on your lips before looking in the direction of your daughter's room, “D/N? Dad is leaving soon, won't you give me a hug?”

In a matter of seconds, you saw your daughter running to him with a frown on her face, arms raised, and one of her hands holding a folded paper. “Daddy, don't go!”

Junhui picked her up and gave her a sweet kiss on her forehead. “I wish I could stay, but I have to go… It's only for seven days, though,” he tried to comfort her, but his heart was absolutely broken. Since you gave birth to your daughter, Junhui and D/N became inseparable. “And I'll facetime you every time to tell a story before you sleep. I promise you.”

He caressed her puffy cheeks as her frown was deepening. D/N used her free hand to rub her eye while giving him the folded paper that was on her other hand, Junhui smiled and looked at her with the kindest expression ever. “Is it for me? Can I open it now?” she nodded, and he shifted her in his arms so he would be able to open the folded paper with his two hands. Once he opened it, he saw a drawing of you, him, and the little girl with a bunch of hearts around the three of you. He couldn't help but tear up as he showed the drawing to you, making you a little bit emotional as well.

“Sweetie… That's so beautiful, I'll take this drawing with me all the time. Thank you for giving it to me,” he kissed her forehead once again and searched for something in his pocket. “I have something for you as well.”

Her eyes lit up in curiosity as he took out two bracelets out of his pocket and showed them to her. "I asked uncle Joshua to help me to make them for us, the pink and yellow one is yours, and the pink and blue one is mine. It has our initials, look!” The little girl grabbed the pink and yellow bracelet and took a look at it, seeing the stars and three letters, being them the initials of your names. She smiled widely, wrapped her little arms around his neck, and kissed his cheek.

“Daddy, I loved it!” Junhui chuckled and rubbed her back. “I'm glad you loved it. I hope to see you wearing it!” He turned his gaze to you. “Yours is on my side of the bed. It's pink and white, your favorite colors,” you smiled and wiped your tears away. “Gosh, you're acting like you’re leaving for a whole year,” you placed your arm around his waist, and Junhui took this opportunity to give you and your daughter a family hug.

“I love my girls so much,” he sighed before continuing. “I promise to come back quickly and bring you gifts.”

The three of you stayed like that for a while before you broke the hug. Junhui pampered his daughter with sweet kisses all over her face before putting her back on the ground, then he looked at you, gave you a sad, yet lovely smile, and pecked your lips. “I'll text you when I get to the airport, before the flight, after the flight, and when I get to the hotel,” you chuckled and nodded. “Have a safe trip, love. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he turned to your daughter and crouched down to be on her level. He booped her nose and smiled, “I love you as well, got it?”

“I love you too, daddy! Have a safe trip!”

Junhui sighed before standing up once again and grabbing his bags to leave. He looked at you and D/N and smiled before leaving the house, leaving you and your loved daughter alone for the next seven days with his heart broken in pieces, absolutely hating the thought of not having you around.

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straows · 11 hours ago

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𝘏𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘴𝘧 𝘳𝘯…

Hear me out— random ass gojo headcannons cause it’s Wednesday 😏

“Babe— strawberry or vanilla? Or should we do blueberry?” Looking up at your blue eyed bimbo (lovingly), you gesture towards the freezer section with ice cream.

“Uhhh… all of it.” Gojo grinned, and pulled out his card, only for him to pause when he feels your hands pulling him in by the belt.

“Oh my god I’m literally in love with you.” You grinned and kissed his jaw, nails lightly grazing his v-line through his shirt.

“You are an easy woman to please.” Gojo snorted, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

I feel like he would deadass be the type to like rest his hand in the pocket between your tits and where the bra like peaks out a little. And we all know this man got some long fingers and a big hand too. I FEEL IN MY BONES that he would trace the curve of your tit, from like the center of your boobs to the other side. And he would not give a damn.

You and Gojo are at a benefit dinner he was invited to, so of course by extension— you. You were dressed to the nines, looking fine as hell with a wine red dress on. It hugged your curves perfectly, tits pressed together looking amazing in that deep v-neck.

Gojo had an arm around you maybe the whole night. Especially when you got a little tipsy from all the sips you’d been stealing from his glass all night. He had your back pressed against his chest, arms wrapped around your waist keeping you flush against him. His lips near your ear, whispering things that ranged from cute to downright despicable. His hands fit perfectly on your waist, and they’d slowly slide up and down your sides. His lips giving gentle kisses to your neck, even going as far to bite down on your jewelry just to tease you.

But when the dinner dispersed into a little bit of a party, the dj definitely on some of that white powder iykwim. Rhianna cut on and your song started playing, hips swaying against him, freshly done up nails gently raking against his forearm.

And oh Gojo knew he was getting some when you tilted your head back against his shoulder and stared at him with those pretty little eyes. Batting your lashes and giving him that mega watt horny smile.

And to think, you two looked so wholesome and cute to the outside world. Little did they knew Gojo was rocking a full bone and pressing it into your ass.

“You are so beautiful,” Gojo murmured against your neck, grinning when he could feel your pulse pick up. “But you already knew that didn’t you, pretty girl?”

“Mhmm,” nodding, eyes closed with a satisfied little smile, you leaned into him completely. “Take me home and fuck against the counter?”

“Absolutely.”

You and Gojo were that crazy couple that were down to do anything. Party all night? You got it. Smoke weed? You got it. Get black out plastered? You got it. Piss off some tweakers? You got it. Flirt with random people to get a discount? Hell yeah!

Istg Gojo would be so turned on knowing that other men find you hot, knowing that they could never have you and only he could. Like he loves to make guys jealous. Hell, even women. Something about seeing that envy in their beady little eyes had his balls heavy and his tip leaking.

Someone embarrassed you? Man or woman, Gojo is petty but so are you. So when someone wants YOUR, yes YOUR man, Gojo is all with it when you wanna flaunt your relationship. This man is dressing in a suit and taking you out for cocktails and shrimp. And you two are taking all the pictures, even feeding each other and being so lovey dovey it makes a lonely bitch SICK.

But when a man wants you? Gojo’s girl? Oh hell. Gojo is buying you new clothes just for you to wear around when you pick him up from work. (Only did it so he could be passenger princess and brag about his girl.) And when he sees that look of jealousy in those men’s eyes- he laughs. Sometimes he’ll whip out his phone and take a picture.

This mf ain’t letting shit go neither. You talk shit about his girl? Fish are in your vents. How? No one knows. You think it might be Gojo- but you got no proof.

You try and pull up on his girl? Gojo is videoing his gf whooping your ass. And he will be posting that shit.

Y’all I am actually so fucking high rn I’m about to green out I can feel in my lady halls ( . )( . )

#jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jjk #imagine #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #high asf

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slimmyluvsnagi · 2 days ago

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Important notes: This is something funny that it occurred to me to do, in reality I just put some characters! (Soft content, blk x yn)

With: Seishiro Nagi, Reo Mikage, Michael Kaiser, Chigiri Hyoma, Itoshi Rin, Itoshi Sae, Yukimiya Kenyu, Bachira Meguru.

꒰ 🎮 𝙋𝙡𝙤𝙩: "How would they sleep with you"

Seishiro Nagi 𖦹 ࣪ ۪

Sleeping with Nagi is like sleeping with a big teddy bear.

Normally Nagi really likes long naps, while you give him cuddles on his hair, it relaxes him a lot.

His favorite position is sleeping against your chest, after a long workout and a gaming session on his phone he needs a break, then he always goes to your arms, while he surrounds your torso with his hands and positions himself on you.

Don't expect to go to the bathroom, because he won't move at all, if you try to leave before he wakes up he will be in a bad mood all day, or he will let out some sighs between dreams of annoyance, everything is a nuisance for him.

Reo Mikage 𖦹 ࣪ ۪

Sleeping with Reo is like sleeping in paradise.

His big king side bed is like being in heaven. He has tons of pillows since he's constantly on the move, his favorite position is spooning, where he's obviously the big spoon, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning your back against his firm chest.

He usually lets you pet his hair before bed, he likes it when you run your fingers through his long hair, or when you make little pigtails for him.

After training, he usually wants to rest by your side, too bad if you have work to do, he'd be able to get your boss to give you the day off thanks to his contacts.

Chigiri Hyoma 𖦹 ࣪ ۪

Chigiri really likes sleeping with you, especially when he has hard days, a game or a stressful moment.

Sleeping next to him is very nice, they always have a skincare session together while watching something, he always tries to make room for you even if he is tired from his soccer practices.

He likes you to do hairstyles in his reddish hair, you are the only person he lets him touch his hair. His favorite position is for you to be against his chest, he likes to see you calm while you sleep, this gives him security and peace at the same time, since you are his priority.

He will always treat you like a queen, since he was raised by his older sister and mother, he knows that he must be delicate at bedtime, preparing the bed minutes before you come to sleep next to him, organizing everything as you like and finally being comfortable.

Itoshi Rin 𖦹 ࣪ ۪

Even though Rin seems serious, he always shows his sensitive and loving side with you.

Rin doesn't beat around the bush when it's time to sleep, he just wants you to be close to him while you give him cuddles and some kisses. He's not too much of a fan of romance but with you it's different, sometimes he doesn't say anything and just hugs you from behind possessively, while placing one of his hands on your lower back, completely relaxing.

He likes to spend the weekend with you in bed, since he hardly has too much time to spend with you due to his heavy training, you're the only thing his brother Sae can't have, so constantly in his dreams he takes you possessively and holds you to his chest.

Itoshi Sae 𖦹 ࣪ ۪

Sleeping with Sae means: Waking up without him.

Sae is very strict with his schedules, always getting up at a specific time every day, he is too disciplined with his career as a soccer player.

You were already used to waking up without him, although there were days of exceptions. You understood that there were times when his mind was only on the games, so you always woke up without him by your side.

His favorite position is for you to lie on him, placing your head on his bare chest, since he usually doesn't wear a shirt at bedtime.

He is the type of boy who probably consumes asmr content to relax. He is always stressed out and needs some stimulation for that, which is why he is too picky about all that.

Sae, despite everything, prepares you breakfast and leaves you a note on the fridge, saying that he was leaving, but he does leave you thousands of messages on your phone when he leaves the house. Poor you if you don't answer him right away.

Yukimiya Kenyu 𖦹 ࣪ ۪

Yukimiya is very loving when it comes to sleeping with you.

He is a person who always tries to prepare everything for you before sleeping, since he knows that you like to sleep with everything arranged.

Before sleeping they have a conversation about everything they have done in their day, he likes to listen to you talk too much and smiles every time you say something about it.

He doesn't have a specific position that he likes, since he is constantly moving and they can have thousands of sleeping positions in one night. When he wakes up to go to his training he gives you a light kiss on your forehead and lets you know that he is already on the court.

Bachira Meguru 𖦹 ࣪ ۪

Sleeping with him is like sleeping with a little boy..

Bachira is the type of boy who before going to sleep tells you a thousand things he did in practice, such as "Do you know what I did with Isagi today? The goal I scored today was amazing!" and thousands of other things before going to sleep.

His favorite position is spooning, where you are the big spoon. Since Bachira is given to moving all night while sleeping, he even talks in his sleep when he is very tired. It is something tender and funny at the same time, so you make sure he is in the same position all night.

Although there are days when he wants to be the big spoon, he does not like it very much when you treat him like a little boy, maybe he is a little, but he always wants to change roles even if he wakes up on the floor afterwards.

His room is surrounded by pillows and stuffed animals, both of you are fans of having them all over the room, so don't be surprised if he hugs a stuffed animal or pillow instead of you. He has a hard time waking up early, so you have to be his alarm all the time.

#bllk #blue lock #oneshot #x yn #nagi seishiro #itoshi sae #reo mikage #yukimiya kenyu #bachira meguru #rin itoshi x reader #fanfic #romance #fem reader

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ivoyzzz · 2 days ago

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heyy i was wondering if you Could do Sae byeok x reader Where Sae byeok is super clingy to reader. Like this Girl is CLINGY. So like she is hugging her sooo much whether it is hugging her at the neck, waist, hip, lifting her off the Ground and grabbing her ass 🫢, back hugging her, you name it and she is already in the position with you, Sae byeok is pulling her into her lap every second she gets, Sae byeoks kissing her non stop whether its on the lips, cheek, nose, jaw, neck or even readers top chest and back, and TRUST me this Girl loves to be behind reader and spoon her While she is watching some crap TV show (the two of you Fall asleep with the TV show playing in the back) but there is just one problem, gi hun is your older brother and he is not Happy seeing sae byeok All over you. Trust me he likes the fact that you two love each other but he is also over protective of you and doesnt want you to get hurt. And Sae byeok knows this but continues. And i am tell you that gi hun is not Happy seeing Sae byeok have her hands on your chest and ass meanwhile you are doing your makeup (you are standing infront of Sae byeok because the mirror is right behind her While she is sitting on a chair and has you in between her legs While her head and one of her hands are resting on your chest While her other Hand is resting on your ass.)

Thank you and have a Good Day or Night and you Can change anything if you would like!!

a/n: this is adorable stop. saebyeok is the clingiest girlfriend ever, you cannot change my mind.

warnings: just fluffy

clingy sae who follows right behind you (like walking on your heels) and her trying to act like she’s “just seeing what your doing”

walking in the cold, she just grabs your hand shoving it in her pocket. couldn’t have her girl freeze to death, could she?

eating dinner with her and gi-hun and him just watching the two of you with a careful glare. (maybe he’s a tiny bit jealous that your love life is better then is, so what).

saebyeok sitting on the couch with you between her legs, sprinkling soft kisses on your soft hair. her murmuring that you were gone so long. and all you did was go to get coffee.

always making excuses to be touchy without seeming clingy, “your hair was all over you face, i was fixing it.” “your necklace isn’t showing.” and her careful fingertips linger on your skin.

even though her face seems as if she’s doing the most boring thing ever, it’s just her being in denial. she actually likes being around you, and even if there is no talking she likes your presence and that scares her.

waking up next to her and sae just buries her face in your neck, lips dancing across you. one of her hand’s is lazily behind you and the other is thrown across your waist. whispering a small “i like you.” she has a hard time saying what she feels but she’s good at showing it. even though these words may seem small, they mean everything.

watching you try a new food or drink and watching for your reaction. “good?” she mumbles so quietly. when you nod your head, she gives you one of those small uncertain smiles. then tucking a loose strand of hair behind your head, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead.

when your on the phone with a friend, saebyeok's just sat beside you hand on your waist rubbing small circles in your hip. can’t really focus anymore, ending the call to put your head on her shoulder. which of course she pretends to be indifferent to, but she’s in just as much bliss as you.

when your upset her wiping your tears with the pad of her thumb. whispering, “just breathe baby.” “i got you.” her face softening, she hates seeing you upset.

when she’s reading a book and you put your head in her lap, her rolling her eyes. she’s not annoyed, sae would choose this over some stupid book any-day.

you sitting in her lap while you do your makeup, hand sprawled on your thigh. even if the two of you aren’t doing anything she just loves being with you. watches you with those sharp eyes while you do your makeup.

when you come to sit on the couch and leave room between the two of you, not thinking anything of it, she thinks about it. are you mad at her? did she do something? when you finally look over at her (it’s been 3 minutes) she looks like a sad kicked puppy. but she’s fine after she pulls you into her arms. “i’m not clingy” she mutters kissing along your neck. “seem pretty clingy to me sae.” you tease back.

gives the best hugs. her arms around your waist while yours are around her linked around her neck.

when walking in public, her arm around your waist fingers in your belt-loop. the world is a dangerous place, it’s just to keep you safe. totally not because she just likes holding you.

she just wants to hold you, that’s not clingy, right?

#kang sae byeok x reader #kang sae byeok x fem!reader #kang sae byeok #fanfic #squid game #sae byeok x reader #squid game x reader #wuh luh wuh #wlw

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haologram · 5 hours ago

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hanging by a moment 🍻 j.ww [m]

synopsis: it's been a few years since you've been home for your birthday, and wonwoo can't wait to see you...right? genre: estranged childhood friends to lovers au. fluff, angst, suggestive themes. pairing: photographer!jeon wonwoo x fem!baker!reader | side pairing: kim mingyu x chou tzuyu word count: 15.8k rating: 18+. minors please do not interact. warnings: swearing, alcohol. food mentions. mentions of jealousy, breakups. wonwoo is a little bitter. pet names (sweetheart, honey, etc.) kissing. what to listen to: here is gone - the goo goo dolls ; over you - daughtry ; broken - lifehouse ; hanging by a moment - lifehouse ; long way home - 5 seconds of summer ; say yes - seventeen author's note: happiest birthday to my baby @wqnwoos ♡ i hope your birthday was full of wonderful memories and you had lots of good food, please continue staying healthy and i love you. [star dividers by @/cafekitsune here on tumblr!]

– LAST YEAR: GOYANGI SWEETS, HARLEM, NEW YORK.

"Since when do you celebrate Valentine's Day, Y/N?" Jeon Wonwoo's voice was staticky on the other end, and you rolled your eyes as you kept swiping icing on the red velvet cupcakes you'd been agonizing over for six days. Trying and dumping mixes, failed taste tests, a few burnt practice rounds all led up to this: you, up at two in the morning on FaceTime with Wonwoo, who was just now starting to finish up his work day.

You hadn't meant to move so far away, truly – or at least, not for this long. Your best friends were all back home, and the drastic time difference did work for some of them – but you rarely managed to catch Wonwoo. He would usually spend his time holed away in his bedroom or out with Kim Mingyu. However, since Mingyu moved in with his fiancée, Chou Tzuyu, three years ago – Wonwoo had the apartment to himself and you were his only company.

"Since when don't you, Jeon? No hot date for Desperation Day?"

"You watch too many movies, there's no such thing. Anyway, shouldn't you be sleeping? You open in, like, two hours." He was right, you did open in two hours.

There was just something comforting about hearing Wonwoo's voice so late in the night. It makes you feel warm, less alone.

And it's not like Wonwoo knew about your recent fight with your boyfriend.

It wasn't anything serious – just you telling him to get a fucking job, and him insisting that his job was rubbing your feet after a long day at work. It annoyed you so bad that you asked him to leave the apartment for the weekend. It's not that Wonwoo doesn't like Euijoo, but he certainly isn't his number one fan. You argue that you can't dislike someone you don't even know, but Wonwoo has made it clear that Euijoo is simply never going to be a part of his life if you're not present to make it happen. It's always been that way with Wonwoo, though. He quietly disapproved of most of the men you dated, even when you were back home – but he never made you feel bad about his perspective. He simply shared when you asked, and he didn't sugar coat it.

Before Euijoo, there was his clubmate, Hansol Chwe. Before Hansol, there was his teammate, Choi Seungcheol. Before Seungcheol, there was Mingyu.

And every single one got a side-eyed glance, even his best friend.

Slowly, you stopped talking to Wonwoo about guys, because he always seemed to be right about you deserving more. To be frank, you weren’t too keen on not doing what you wanted to do, much less who.

You and Wonwoo never breached that friendship line, and while you found solace in his irrevocable appreciation for you as a friend, you found it odd that around the time you began preparing for your relocation across the world, he floated away.

So much so that he hadn't even gone to the airport to say goodbye, or give you a hug. You hadn't seen Wonwoo in the weeks leading up to it after you told him you'd be leaving, and he always had an excuse as to why he couldn't call or hang out. You tried time and time again, only for him to eventually say he just didn't have time.

He did. You knew he did, because you saw him all over Mingyu and Tzuyu's Instagram stories. You saw him playing chess with Yoon Jeonghan. You saw him at the art museum with Xu Minghao.

You saw him soft launch a girl on his Instagram story the moment you boarded your plane. His story had been posted twenty minutes before, while you were getting your heart ripped out. You’d gone to New York with eyes full of tears, and not just because you were leaving behind everything you knew.

Wonwoo was home, and you wouldn’t have him with you.

Nevertheless, Wonwoo was never…directly the reason behind your breakups – at least, to your understanding. You never toed the line of flirting with him and vice versa, you never made your friendship out to be something it wasn't.

You and Mingyu broke up because of school but stayed extremely close. You met his then-girlfriend,Tzuyu, six months into freshman year, and you were the first person Mingyu ever told that he wanted to marry her. You even helped Mingyu build a Pinterest wedding board when he would visit you and Wonwoo.

The others? Seungcheol made the mature decision and broke up with you because of jealousy issues on his part. Hansol broke up with you with an apology and nothing more, and you tried your best to take it in stride. However, taking things in stride is not your forte – which is how you ended up with Euijoo.

Hansol broke up with you at the airport the day you left for New York, the guilt taking over his features as your eyes widened and filled with tears. You had muttered that you understood, that it was fine – but the fourteen-hour flight from Seoul to New York was full of tears and sniffling. You're sure the woman next to you had been wondering if you were okay, but you're also almost positive that the fourteen-hour loop of 5SOS' Close As Strangers through your headphones spoke for itself.

You had met Euijoo at a bar a week after you landed in New York. Your apartment had long been ready and furnished, waiting for your arrival. You sullied it that same night by bringing him home, the aura of the apartment darkening the longer he stayed. And stayed, he did. It's like he had nowhere else to go, and you were far too nice about it, too.

Hence, how he became your 'boyfriend' and how he 'moved in with you.'

Bullshit; he went home to his mother's one-bedroom condo and picked up a dusty Playstation and a pillow he liked – that was his 'moving in.'

As for why Wonwoo doesn't like him, it's obvious – Euijoo is a loser. He has no goals, no sense of urgency, no whimsical nature – nothing like you. At least, that was what Wonwoo told you the first time you called him from New York…which was over six months since you left Seoul.

You wanted to believe there was a twinge of jealousy in Wonwoo’s voice when you told him about Euijoo. His brows furrowed, he sucked his teeth more times than you could count, and he refused to meet him when you offered to have him say hello.

You couldn't lie to yourself, you knew your relationship with Wonwoo was dwindling. Your calls were growing sparse, he didn’t tell you anything about his personal life, and you still hadn’t gone back home. To him, to your friends, to your parents. The two of you had grown up together, just slightly out of each other's circles. There were two or three people who were your 'friends of friends' that connected you, before Mingyu was the first official bridge between the two of you in the seventh grade. You went on to date Mingyu for three years during high school, before you wound up going to a different university than he did – but attended with Wonwoo, instead. You hated to admit it, but you knew that you clung to Wonwoo like gum did a shoe. You hid behind his broadening frame at fraternity parties, you would ask him over to your dorm (and later, your apartment) for game nights. You eventually started baking for him – cookies, cupcakes, the like. And then you met Seungcheol, on your way to Wonwoo's apartment. You slammed into him, painting his white t-shirt and shorts in pink icing – and you remembered stuttering over your words as you watched his brows furrow while he wiped icing off his stomach. He ended up clicking his tongue, nodding his head and shrugging.

"I guess you can call it avant garde, right?"

The two of you exchanged numbers, and you wound up being late to Wonwoo's place – but at that time, it didn't matter. Not when you scored a date with an older boy that had pouty lips and the thickest thighs you'd ever had the pleasure of seeing. Wonwoo had noticed you were giggly that night, but chose to brush it off when he walked behind you and saw you typing away to an unsaved number.

You and Seungcheol ended up dating for about a year, but the jealousy issues began before your relationship even started. He knew Wonwoo, and they were on the same soccer team – but something about the way Wonwoo spoke about you seemed to tick him off. No matter how often your lips were on his, your hands on his body, your body in his bed – Seungcheol's eyes always narrowed at the sight of Wonwoo floating around you for whatever reason, even if you initiated contact.

You cheered at all his games, but Wonwoo was also there even if you wore one of Seungcheol's jerseys. You invited him to your bake sales, yet Wonwoo was always the one taste testing your recipes. You invited Seungcheol to your birthday dinner, and Wonwoo was naturally there.

Wonwoo recounting memories of you as a kid at dinner was what made Seungcheol make the decision to break up with you the following week. He paced around his apartment while you sat on his couch, rattling off all the ways that Wonwoo spoke about you that meant so much more than just a platonic love.

And you didn't comfort Seungcheol, or refute his thoughts.

In fact, you denied them. You said there was no way Wonwoo saw you as anything more than his friend, you insisted that Wonwoo seeing you in the worst moments of your life was enough to make him feel icky about dating you.

It wasn't until Seungcheol crouched in front of you, holding your hands in his that you understood that he wasn't kidding. He told you that part of growing old together and being in love is seeing each other in those situations and still choosing to care and stay. He told you that Wonwoo holding your hair back as you threw up, Wonwoo knowing all your siblings' names and their favorite things, Wonwoo seeing you riddled with the flu and gross stomach bugs…

Wonwoo cared about you far more than he let on.

You left Seungcheol's apartment that night with a heavy heart and holding the stained white shirt from the first day you met him in your hand. It was still soaked in his cologne, and you remember crying yourself to sleep for two weeks straight.

Wonwoo had been there, and when you told him everything Seungcheol had said – he'd apologized.

He didn't deny anything. He didn't refute any of Seungcheol's feelings.

He apologized, for both making Seungcheol feel that way as well as being the straw that broke the camel's back. You hadn't known what to say, so you just offered to let him stay over and bake cookies with you.

He did, and the two of you gorged yourselves on white chocolate chip cookies while watching White Chicks. You cried again while he was there, and he wiped your tears and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. He held you close as you pouted into his shirt, the soft scent of patchouli from his cologne settling into your skin as a blanket of comfort.

You also remember peering up at him through teary eyes, and his lips instinctively pressing to your hairline. His mumbled words never left your mind, either.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay.”

You didn't date again for a bit after that, and Wonwoo made it a point to introduce you as his friend any time the two of you hung out. It made you feel odd, the way he forced the agenda that you were his friend and nothing more when you had no issue just going with the flow. You understood he didn't want a repeat of your relationship with Seungcheol, but it felt like he was forcing something more than just the label of your friendship.

People often asked if something had happened between the two of you — of which you always denied casually. If they asked Wonwoo, he would scoff, as if he were offended anyone would ever think you were more than just his friend. As if it was gross, or repulsive, to see you as a woman and not just the girl he grew up with. You met Hansol the next school year, a cheeky cinematography freshman that frequented your bake sales. Wonwoo met him there as well, and was the reason you and Hansol met formally. Apparently, Wonwoo and Hansol were both in the AV Club, where Wonwoo also met his first girlfriend: Lee Jaehee.

Lee Jaehee...

She had also been quite the frequenter of your bake sales. She enjoyed your slutty brownies and the strawberry blondies you made, and the two of you had been so close to becoming friends when Wonwoo asked her out. He'd even asked you to bake something for her and you did it happily, free of charge. However, Wonwoo asking her out meant her finding out that you and him went back over two decades, and the same look that settled in Seungcheol's brows, settled in hers. It was painful, to see how she would tense at your presence at Wonwoo's soccer games, ones you'd always attended. It hurt your feelings to see her give you a quick smile before passing by your booths at the bake sales, not bothering to stop by for a nibble or a chat.

It pained you to know that Wonwoo missed your birthday dinner that year to spend the weekend with her, instead. You wound up going over to Seungcheol's apartment that night, and he comforted you as best as he could – by offering a drink and inviting his friends Jeonghan and Joshua over to entertain you. Despite it all, Seungcheol never really held any resentment towards you – but he did have zero problem telling you how blind you were.

You ignored it, too.

You didn’t like the odd feeling you got in your chest thinking about Wonwoo in any way that wasn’t platonic. You weren't stupid – Wonwoo was incredibly profound with a hint of goofy humor. He was smart, and tall…and handsome…God, he was so handsome, it made you want to bite your fist.

So the idea of his hands on you? His lips on yours, his bed being more than just a drunken sanctuary…

It was too much for you to handle.

You started dating Hansol during the first semester of your senior year of college. He'd just become a sophomore, and everyone around him had been incredibly surprised that the senior sweetheart at the bake sales stopped making her incredibly soft peanut butter cookies. The reason? Hansol, and his allergy to peanuts.

No one said shit after that, only cooing at your boyfriend's blushy cheeks from your attention.

Your relationship with Hansol also came as a surprise to Wonwoo, and he found out in the strangest way – by walking into your apartment using his spare key and seeing the two of you getting frisky in the kitchen and covered in flour. You hadn't heard him come in, and didn't seem to sense his presence in the threshold of your kitchen. You don't know it, but Wonwoo has the image of you burned in his mind. The slope of your neck as Hansol kissed down it, the way your shirt was pushed up to reveal flour-covered handprints on your bare chest, the way your thighs were flexing around your boyfriend's waist… The sound of your whimper into Hansol's mouth.

He then made his presence known by coughing exaggeratedly, and you and Hansol almost slipped. Wonwoo rolled his eyes as Hansol yanked your shirt back into place, clearing his throat and greeting Wonwoo.

"How long have you been there?"

"Long enough to know that there is no way eating flour out of each other's mouths is sexy." Wonwoo had come over to tell you that he and Jaehee broke up, and he did tell you – but on his way out of your apartment. You could barely hear him as the door closed, but you were also trying to finish what you and your boyfriend started in the kitchen — so you filed it to the back of your mind as you invited Hansol to join you in the shower.

It wasn't until after graduation that you decided to open a pastry shop. However, you were unsure that your at-home learning was enough to satisfy a gaggle of clientele – and decided to start applying to pastry schools. You’d already obtained a business degree, which made the idea only cement further in your head. Hansol had been incredibly supportive, even going as far as sending you applications and fee waivers while he was in class and you were driving around Seoul with Wonwoo looking for work for the time being.

Then you got a letter back from a pastry school in New York City, and Hansol was ecstatic. He paid for your flight and even took a week off school to go visit it with you. He wound up setting up meetings with realtors so you could get an apartment, and the two of you even went as far as looking at empty lease spaces where you could open a business.

You accepted the offer, and the school covered your flight back to Seoul and then back to New York City. Your parents covered your first year of rent at an apartment in SoHo, after you sent back videos of you spinning in the SeaGlass Carousel and having dinner at Shuka.

However, something changed when you went back to Seoul to pack your things. You also realized you had done all of this without even mentioning it to Wonwoo, who seemed slightly distant when you finally met him for dinner at his place after packing up your apartment. Mingyu and Tzuyu had also been there. Hansol also seemed distant for a few days, not bothering to answer your messages or calls. You showed up at his apartment, only for Seungkwan to answer the door with a knowing look and tell you he wasn't home. You remember scowling, and pushing past Seungkwan to see Hansol asleep in his bedroom, tucked away with a Star Wars blanket you'd bought him for his birthday.

You picked a fight, and Hansol wasn’t having it — said he wasn’t in the right headspace to have this conversation, and asked to rain check it for a better time. You argued there was no better time than the present, and his swollen face (whether from tears or sleep, you were unsure) was enough to make you back off for the time being. He quietly asked you to join him in his bed, and you reluctantly kicked your shoes off and did just that.

He promised he still cared, and promised he still loved you, but it felt different, the way he held you. Like a last hurrah, like a ‘goodbye’ and not a ‘see you later.’ Like things were going to end and there was nothing you could do to change his mind.

You couldn't say you were surprised that Hansol broke up with you a month later, but you were certainly hurt. Wonwoo was also nowhere to be reached at this point, your calls going straight to voicemail and your texts going unread. You assumed he'd finally landed a gig, but it was still unlike him to not respond to you, of all people.

At least, you thought that was what had happened, until you saw his Instagram story.

You stopped wondering where he'd been after that.

It had been four years since then. You hadn't gone back to Seoul once, not even for Christmas or when your parents begged you back. You called for birthdays, you sent gifts out two months in advance. You sent photos of your shop, of your apartment, of you and Euijoo.

Your parents didn't really care about the ones Euijoo was in.

You finally opened your pastry shop in the middle of Harlem – two years after arriving in New York, tweaking your recipes to cater to the local clientele. Your shop was always full of customers and you loved what you did – but most of all, the people loved you. They loved seeing how easily you won people over, how you celebrated your accomplishments by putting even more effort into your business, how your employees cared about you and your shop.

You truly became an essential part of some people's lives – Ms. Julianna who came in every morning for a chocolate éclair; Mr. Cortéz came in every Saturday morning for a box of mixed empanadas and one butterscotch cupcake for his granddaughter, Elisa; Mrs. Stegenga sliding in every Tuesday for a strawberry tart and a cup of unsweetened whipped cream for her dog, Harley.

Euijoo came in everyday as well, but not for a pastry – but to bug you. You'd kicked him out a few times, shoving a warm cinnamon twist into his mouth or an iced matcha with cheese foam into his hand – but he always floated back.

Which was odd, since he didn't have a car and it took thirty minutes to get from your apartment in SoHo to your shop in Harlem. Where he was getting the money for the taxi, or to load his Metrocard was beyond you – the son of a bitch didn't lift a finger.

Now, you're here. You're still at your shop, while Euijoo is likely sprawled out on your king-sized bed, with his outside clothes still on. You're grimacing to yourself as you smooth icing out on one of the cupcakes, your brow furrowed as you hear Wonwoo sigh.

"I miss you." And just as fast as it was said, he moved on.

"Since you're not going to sleep, how was your birthday? I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to call, I've been slammed with projects. Tzuyu booked me for engagement photos, isn't that crazy?" Much like your friends missed out on your life, you missed out on theirs. Mingyu and Tzuyu opened a restaurant in the middle of Seoul, and you missed it. Mingyu and Tzuyu had their first daughter, and you missed it. Mingyu and Tzuyu got engaged, and you missed it. You wouldn't be surprised if you missed their wedding, too.

Wonwoo? He opened a photography studio. He did weddings, all sorts of parties, maternity shoots. He did boudoir shoots for a bit, before handing them over to his business partner, Saerom. She had been introduced to Wonwoo through a few contacts at your old university, and he took her on as an apprentice. She now accompanies him to many shoots and gigs, usually taking the reins if Wonwoo loses his patience or gets too overwhelmed.

You'd seen his photos displayed at a few galleries after you left for New York. Your mother went and took pictures of his exhibits, his shy smile hidden behind flutes of champagne. You congratulated him via text, only to receive a thumbs up in response and nothing more.

"Yeah, that's crazy. Listen, Woo, I'm gonna try and focus on this. I'll call you later, yeah?" You sighed, frustration evident in your voice. You watched as Wonwoo struggled not to roll his eyes as he tongued his cheek, before nodding.

"Sure thing. Get some rest."

He hung up before you could respond, and you looked at the FaceTime log. Eight missed calls from Wonwoo over the last few days, three missed calls from Tzuyu and two from Mingyu.

Your friends missed you, across the world. You were missing every precious moment of theirs.

And instead, you were here. Frosting cupcakes at almost three in the morning, while your do-nothing boyfriend enjoyed the warmth of your apartment. Frosting cupcakes, while your parents begged you to come home for a few days at the very least.

The money here was good. It always had been, and you'd built such a good connection with your clientele and you couldn't imagine abandoning it all because you were homesick.

But you missed home. You missed your mother's hearty soups, you missed your father serving you dinner instead of you serving Euijoo after a long day of doing that for strangers. You missed Tzuyu's light laughter, Mingyu's warm embraces…

Wonwoo. God, you missed Wonwoo.

You remember sending him a photo of your storefront as the sign was finalized, the baby blue calling to the eyes amongst the red brick.

Msg To: Jeon Wonwoo ♡ [11/09] look at it! goyangi sweets is officially in business! (read: 1:09PM)

Msg From: Jeon Wonwoo ♡ [11/09] goyangi?

Msg To: Jeon Wonwoo ♡ [11/09] what the fuck are you doing awake? it's 3am in seoul [11/09] yeah, goyangi. i miss you (read: 1:10PM)

He hadn't answered after that.

Sighing, you clicked your tongue and leaned against your stainless steel counter. You grabbed a cupcake off the cooling rack, prying the warm dessert in half and smearing a bit of frosting on the inside, shoving it into your mouth. You closed your eyes as you chewed, letting your shoulders sag at the sweet treat that made all the stress worth it.

It was worth it, right? The money and the love from the locals, the feeling of physical success…it was enough. It was worth the lonely nights you yearned for

You wiped your hands, moving to the front of the shop and dragging the metal divider down to block the view of outsiders. You weren't opening the shop today, no. You're going to go home, and kick Euijoo out of your bed and sleep.

That's all you need. Some sleep.

– SOPHOMORE YEAR: SEOUL HAWKS VS YONSEI EAGLES, SEMIFINALS.

"We have No. 08, Choi Seungcheol approaching the goal area for the freekick. Choi is the team captain for the SNU Hawks, and the only PreMed student on the team. He has also scored fifty-six percent of all game-winning goals this season, and we're hoping this kick gets them into the Championship bracket."

You were on the edge of your seat, your frame being swallowed by one of Seungcheol's jerseys. You were alone in the stands for the first time – Mingyu and Tzuyu were stuck at the concessions stand. Unfortunately, you were also the only person on this side of the field wearing an SNU jersey, and trying not to tweak out as you listened to Jeon Jungkook and Park Jimin talk about your boyfriend over the PA.

"Oh, oh, looks like Choi is not taking the freekick after all?" Jimin's voice was clear, and the crowd collectively sighed as Seungcheol analyzed the players and shook his head.

You were barely able to sit down as you watched him jog over to his referee, making motions with his hands and arms when you saw Wonwoo crossing the field in a sprint. He slid next to Seungcheol, who pulled him closer into the circle and kept talking. Wonwoo's brows were furrowed as he nodded, breathing heavily before wiping his forehead with the bottom of his shirt. "It seems Choi has nominated No.17, Jeon Wonwoo, to take the freekick instead. Jeon is the second in command, dedicating two years of his college career to this team. He's scored sixteen percent of the game-winning goals this season, opting to stay in the shadows." You didn't like that.

"Alright, alright…it seems we're lining up…Eagles are looking fine this year, aren't they?" "Jeon, that's inappropriate." "What, man? You're going to look at Kim Yugyeom and say I'm wrong?" "Jungkook, they can hear you."

"Hey, shit. Here's your soda." Tzuyu slides in next to you, and you don't unglue your eyes from the field as you reach and fumble for your drink. The straw poked your hand as Mingyu slid past you, making you scowl as you swatted his leg for him to sit down.

"Wonwoo's taking the kick? I thought it was going to be Cheol." Mingyu muttered, taking a bite from his hot dog. You nodded, watching as Wonwoo shook his head while still talking to Seungcheol. His hands were moving rapidly, likely explaining why Wonwoo didn't want to make the kick. Your boyfriend only gave Wonwoo a stern look, and you could make out the words falling from his lips.

"I believe in you. Kick the fucking ball."

You watched as the Eagles made their wall, their goalie shaking his legs out. Kwon Soonyoung, you remembered – you'd met him at a frat party at Yonsei a few weeks back. Seungcheol had gone with you, making friends with the enemy (more like scoping out his competition. Sneaky bitch.) "C'mon, Woo." You mumbled to yourself, grabbing Tzuyu's hand for support as she shoved a nacho into her mouth. You were too amped up to eat, this kick was the one that would settle the score – and it was all on Wonwoo.

You knew Seungcheol wouldn't put anyone he didn't trust on this sort of line. Yeah, he had an issue with how close you and Wonwoo were, but his team was important to him – he'd built this one on his own, handpicked, the best of the best. You trusted Seungcheol knew what he was doing, and that he wouldn't set up Wonwoo for failure…

…And he didn't, as you watched Wonwoo's kick bounce off the goalpost and straight into the net – just barely missing Soonyoung's fingertips.

"THE HAWKS ARE GOING TO THE CHAMPIONSHIPS!"

You cheered happily, the only one besides Mingyu and Tzuyu – and earned the nastiest of glares from Yonsei students as you ran down the steps of the bleachers. Seungcheol was jumping with his arms around Wonwoo and another player, Wen Junhui, when you pushed past them to get to your friend.

"Wonwoo! That was fucking amazing!"

He just shook his head, aiming the water bottle into his mouth as he gestured towards Seungcheol.

"That's all Cheol's idea. Mastermind behind it all." You whipped around to see your grinning boyfriend being shaken by Mingyu, trying to pry himself from your friend's embrace as you felt the cold splash of the water cooler being poured on Wonwoo. It went down your back as well, making you squeal as you jumped out of the way. Seungcheol reached his arm out to you, and you grabbed his hand as his teammates picked a soaked Wonwoo up and onto their shoulders.

"We'll meet you at the parking lot!" Mingyu yelled as he and Tzuyu trailed after them, and Seungcheol only gave a thumbs up. It was customary that the entire team went to dinner together, usually still in their stinky and sweaty jerseys but Seungcheol had long refused to let the team be represented that way. Everyone went home to get themselves together, then he footed the bill.

"Cheol, that was great! You're going to the championships!" Your smile was hurting your cheeks as he nodded, pulling you into his chest. He was sweaty and overwhelmingly warm, but you didn't care as he plucked the fabric of your wet shirt off your back in greeting.

"You know…you could've greeted me first." "Oh, not this again! Seungcheol, Wonwoo is just my friend." "I know he is, Y/N." Seungcheol said pointedly, but you felt scrutinized under his arched brow. You felt your lip jut out into a pout, and he sighed, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"C'mon, you can come over to mine and change." He swept your hair back over your shoulders, his fingers brushing your neck. You frowned, your hands floating to his wrists as he shook his head.

"Tell me you love me, Cheol." "I love you, honey. Come on."

It wasn't a lie. Seungcheol did love you, but it'd slightly become less of a romantic love as the months pressed on. He couldn't get over the odd feeling in his stomach when he saw Wonwoo's soft gestures towards you, the way Wonwoo served your drinks at the parties you went to, the way Wonwoo behind a camera made you smile easily – far easier than necessary for someone that was just your friend.

He hated how you didn't see it, the way Wonwoo was in love with you. He could see it, and he knew it was the truth: Wonwoo would visibly tense at the sound of your name. Seungcheol remembers when Junhui asked him his plans last week, and how Wonwoo grimaced when Seungcheol said he was taking you on a date night.

He didn't like feeling this way. He didn't like feeling like his jealousy was festering in the pit of his stomach while you saw it as nothing more than just friendly banter. Granted – Wonwoo never flirted with you, never touched you inappropriately, he never crossed the line.

But the soft compliments he gave you? The gentle swipe of your hair off your face and the adjustment of your necklaces?

The way he calmly called your name, or sweetheart from across the room…

And you listened.

It wasn't your fault. Seungcheol knew it wasn't, and he felt like a fool to keep feeling so much resentment towards Wonwoo – especially when Wonwoo also made it strictly known that everything he felt was platonic.

It just didn't feel that way.

"I love you, Cheol." "I know, honey. Now…let's get dinner?"

– FIVE YEARS AGO: INCHEON AIRPORT TO LAGUARDIA, NEW YORK.

"I'm sorry."

You were standing in the middle of Incheon Airport, your duffle bag tucked over your shoulder when Hansol dropped the bomb.

"Sorry?" You whispered, your voice shaky as the reality of his words sank in.

It'd been a few days since you packed your last box and dropped it off at your parents' house. Hansol had gone with you, warmly greeting your parents and sitting in your living room, your mother showing him baby photos. You remember feeling your heart race at how Hansol traced your face in the pictures, before glancing up at you.

The wild beating in your chest hadn't been positive, and there was a glint of knowing in Hansol's eyes. The relationship was over, it was just a matter of who pulled the plug, and when. It had been a month or so since you settled everything in New York, and a month since either of you spoke about it. You had gone to his apartment and looked to pick a fight – but the fight never happened. He pulled you into him, and you had snuggled in his bed. You kissed, you watched movies…

But it was a goodbye and you denied it. In your heart, in your mind, you wanted to deny it. It was a good thing, wasn't it? To be in New York and know that Hansol had connections there? His sister lived there. If he wanted…if he wanted, he could come with you. Transfer to a university in New York, and it would be worth it. To study in a place he once called home, to breathe in the inspiration of the city that has been the background of hundreds of films, the breeding ground of insane creativity? And if not…what about you? Were you enough to want to move in with? Did he see a future with you where things were more than just college sweethearts who stayed over at each other's apartments more than four times a week? Did he understand who you were, to the depths – the need to love, because you were overflowing with it?

Did he see a future where you were more than just attached at the hip with Wonwoo?

The truth was, he did. He saw it all with you – the apartment, the marriage, hell, even a kid or two. He saw all of it, a ring and a career alongside you and to see all your hopes and aspirations grow into something tangible. He saw it.

You didn't.

"I know it's shitty of m-me to do this, especially n-now." He held back his tears, but his voice shook with bitten back sobs anyway. "But I can't. I c-can't do long distance."

Somehow, he knew you knew that wasn't the real reason. He knew, from the way the back of your eyes filled with hurt and betrayal, the grip on your duffle making the strap burrow into your hand. The way you bounced on your toes, once, twice – before nodding. A singular tear rolled down your face.

"It's okay. I understand." Your voice had been surprisingly steady as he hesitated, before reaching his arms out. You stepped into them, and somehow felt the weight off your shoulders as he hugged you tightly. "I'll miss you, Sol." "I miss you already, babe. Please call me when you land, okay? I'll be up, I swear."

You had called him when you landed. He'd arranged to have a car pick you up and take you to your new apartment. He finally cried on the phone, and you sobbed with him as you made your bed and settled in.

After six hours of reminiscing and crying on the phone, you hung up for what you thought would be the last time. He wished you good luck, and to call him whenever you wanted. And God, you wanted to.

But just like Wonwoo, you left it alone. Six months, not a single word.

– PRESENT: LAGUARDIA AIRPORT TO JEON WONWOO, HOME.

You looked into the empty space you used to call your second home. Gone were the calming periwinkle walls, the gold-detailed pastry cases. Gone were your cherry wood bar stools, the wicker recliners in the corner, the play areas for children.

Your shop was gone, and you held the keys in your hand one last time.

"End of an era, huh? Where are you going to go now?" Mr. Cortéz was next to you, holding his granddaughter on his hip as you sighed.

"I'm not sure. I'm going to miss Harlem, but I know that…this isn't home." You said sheepishly, running a hand through your hair. He nodded, patting your shoulder with a sympathetic smile.

"We're going to miss you here, mija. You will always have a place in Harlem with us." To say you wanted to cry was an understatement, but you just blinked the tears back as you allowed him and his granddaughter to envelope you into an embrace. "I left my cupcake recipe with your wife, so you can always make them for Elisa. I'm going to miss you."

"Be safe, okay? Don't give up on your dreams." He patted your back softly, and you held back a sniffle as your leasing agent gave you a soft smile. Goodbyes were never something you were good at, but you couldn't say anything more as you handed your keys back to the leasing agent and turned to your packed car. You grimaced at the sight of Euijoo's neck pillow still in your passenger seat, and you reached in through the window to grab it and shoved it in the trash.

You sighed, glancing up at your empty shop once more before slipping into the driver's seat, gripping the glittery wheel cover. You blinked once, twice, before shoving your key in the ignition and pulling out of your parking spot.

You truly had no idea if this was the right decision. In your mind, you weren't sure.

But your heart?

You broke up with Euijoo a few months ago, and kicked him out of your apartment. You slowly started selling everything in the apartment, only packing your essentials and finding a wholesale thrift to take all your furniture from the pastry shop. You closed the shop officially a week ago, and did a mass bake sale to finish all your products.

You went back and forth to Seoul without telling anyone, finding a cozy apartment in Gangnam and meeting with a leasing agent there to open a shop. Your parents long stopped asking you to come home, but you couldn't help and feel giddy as you walked around the city – gorging yourself on hot street food and buying furniture for your new apartment without interference.

Now? You just had to board your plane. You'd sold your car to Euijoo's brother, Hyunjin, and he was waiting at the airport to take it once you left. You had zero plans of telling anyone anything, and you'd be landing in Seoul the day before your birthday. You could catch up on any sleep, and then visit Mingyu and Tzuyu's restaurant. Maybe get dinner there, maybe catch up with the couple…

Maybe surprise Wonwoo.

Yeah, that sounds like the plan.

"Nice change of scenery, finally took a vacation?" Wonwoo's voice is once more staticky through FaceTime, and you've got him propped up in your new bathroom. You hadn't said anything about leaving New York yet, but you shrugged as you carefully lined your lips.

"Mhm, could say that. Finally get to do shit without Euijoo weighing me down. What are your plans tonight? Going to Gyu's?" You ask nonchalantly, but you can feel your hands trembling as you put down your lipliner. If Wonwoo notices, he doesn't say anything.

"Actually, I'm going to swing by the restaurant in a bit. We always call you for your birthday, you know, so it's funny you called me first." He nods lightly, but you know Wonwoo too well to think he's not even slightly suspicious. "Wanted to beat you to it, I guess. I feel alone here a bit, the resort is super nice but I'm so…ugh, I don't know. I might go out for a beer, see what kind of trouble I can get myself into." You wiggle your brows in the camera, and Wonwoo snorts. He swings his keys in front of him, shaking his head as he speaks.

"Not too much trouble, I hope. Have you talked to your parents yet? I know your mom misses you, you've been even more MIA since you and Euijoo broke up. I commend it, don't get me wrong, but still. Where the hell have you been?" "Healing." You shrug, smushing your cheek with the palm of your hand. Wonwoo doesn't look like he believes you, but you only give him a soft smile. He tries to bite his back, tonguing his cheek as he huffs.

"You look happier. I like that." "I feel happier, Woo." It's not a lie. You feel so much lighter being back in Seoul, knowing that your family and friends are no more than a train ride away.

You pretend to check your watch, sucking your teeth.

"Shit, I'm going to miss my dinner reservation. Will you still call me when you get to the restaurant? I miss you guys." You pout, tucking your hair behind your ears as Wonwoo nods.

"Yeah, no worries. Be safe, and don't get too tipsy. I can't hold your hair when you throw up from all the way over here, you know." He scolds, making you giggle.

"Got it. I'll see you, yeah?" You nod, and he does the same.

"See you, sweetheart." The call goes dead as your heart registers the pet name, but you immediately rustle out of the bathroom to catch a taxi. You're wearing a black crew neck over a nice pair of jeans, paired with your favorite dirty Chucks in forest green. You grab your winter coat off the hook by the door, tugging it on and shoving your phone in your pocket. Checking the coat pockets for your wallet and keys, you find both in the left pocket and practically slam out of your apartment.

Not having been to Mingyu and Tzuyu's restaurant definitely proved navigating there to be difficult. You got out a block away from the actual spot, tugging a face mask over your face and pulling the hood of your coat over your hair. You take a deep breath, taking a step forward when you see a tall man step out of a taxi, a black coat covering broad shoulders. Thick frames sit on his nose, the lower half of his face covered by a black mask. You squint your eyes to see closer as he hands the driver a wad of cash, and the crinkle of his nose proves it's exactly who you're looking for.

Jeon Wonwoo.

You stay rooted in your spot as he walks coolly into the restaurant, holding the door open for a woman and her daughter to slip out. The daughter's eyes widen as he moves past them, her cheeks flushing as her mother rushes her off the sidewalk. What a funny thing, to see someone else experience the same things you do.

Over the year that you decided to leave New York, you spoke to Hansol and Seungcheol a lot – even after promising 'this is the last call,' you called them again and again. As it turns out, he too felt that Wonwoo was a bigger part of your life than he could ever be, but it didn't hit him until he found out Wonwoo had missed every single AV Club meeting in the two weeks following him finding out that the two of you were dating. Wonwoo didn't speak to Hansol directly for over a month, until Hansol confronted him and got the answers he was looking for.

Wonwoo had long been in love with you, and had gone over to your apartment initially to, yes, tell you he'd broken up with Jaehee; but he also went over there to confess to you. He'd brought over a bouquet of pink camellias, but left them on the porch in case he caught you at a bad time – and Hansol later found out he threw them away on his way out of your apartment complex.

At first, Hansol had nothing to say on the matter. You were his girlfriend — but he couldn’t lie to himself, the guilt of knowing Wonwoo had been in love with you for so long was starting to eat away at him. With a reluctant heart, he ended things; only for Wonwoo’s dumbass to not make a move and let you slip away to New York.

You'd also heard from Seungcheol and Hansol that he hadn't kept a girlfriend around for too long since – nothing to write home about. He didn't introduce any of them to anyone, just soft launched here and there on social media but mostly kept the "situationships" to himself.

The only hope you had in your belly was that your plan would go, well, according to plan. You'd ordered a bouquet of flowers, pink camellias, to be delivered to Wonwoo at the restaurant after you arrived. After that…okay you didn't plan anything after that, but spontaneity is cool, right?

You wipe your palms on your coat, taking a deep breath as you walk towards the door. Yanking it open, you hear the doorbell alert the people inside – only to see a few people scattered around. Mingyu is wiping a glass down behind the bar and Tzuyu is sitting on a barstool next to Wonwoo, her left hand sitting atop her belly.

With a huge rock on her ring finger. "Welcome to Hana's! Have a seat anywhere, we'll be right with you!" Her voice is just as warm as ever, and you find yourself forcing your feet to move, ducking your head as you head towards the back of the restaurant. You see Mingyu lean over to grab a bottle off the wall, and you slide into one of the booths where you're out of sight but they're not.

You can hear them start to talk about you, Mingyu pouring Wonwoo a beer and sliding it across the bar.

"Has Y/N spoken to either of you?" Tzuyu asks, and Wonwoo clicks his tongue.

"Yeah, she called me earlier. It was a little odd, considering we always call her. But it's her birthday, I'm not going to badger her for answers. Plus, she's on vacation for once. Can't complain." He shrugs, and Mingyu laughs softly.

"Vacation? Where? Did she say?" "I didn't ask." Wonwoo replies, and Tzuyu snorts. "You'd be a horrible spy, Jeon. Here, I'm going to call her. She's gotten better at answering." You watch Tzuyu grab her phone off the table, and quickly lower your ringer as far as it will go. She faces the phone towards all of them, and Wonwoo looks unamused as you feel your phone start vibrating in your hand.

You deny the call, quickly texting her that you're driving to dinner and will call her when you get to the restaurant. A lie, and you can see her frown sadly next to Wonwoo. She puts her phone down, sliding off the bar stool – likely on her way to you.

"Gonna take this order, I'll be right back." She grabs the notepad off the bar, but the ringing of the doorbell grabs her attention. A delivery man with a huge bouquet of flowers slips in, holding the baby blue gift card in his hand.

"For Jeon Wonwoo? Is there a Jeon Wonwoo here?" Wonwoo's eyes go wide, before he clears his throat. "Uh, yeah. That's me, thank you. Does it say who they're from?" The delivery man hands him the card, bidding everyone a good night.

"Well?" Mingyu leans over as Wonwoo puts the flowers down on the bar and flips the card open. His eyes dart back and forth as he reads it, before handing it to Mingyu, who reads it out loud while Wonwoo thumbs the petals.

To Wonwoo,

Thank you for always being someone I can count on, even when I'm halfway across the world. Thank you for looking out for me, and for loving me more than you let on.

Always yours, Y/N.

P.S. Don't forget to call me back!

"Huh." Mingyu clicks his tongue, and Tzuyu grabs the card and scans it. She sighs, holding it to her chest.

"Camellias…" Wonwoo pouts, before his eyes narrow. "They're her favorite. It's like she's trying to tell me something." "Okay, mind reader. What could she possibly have to say that isn't already in the card?" Tzuyu waves it around, and you take it as your chance to slide out of the booth, hands in your pockets. You walk towards them quietly as Mingyu and Tzuyu begin to theorize, and neither of them look your way as you slide into the barstool diagonal to Wonwoo's.

"She probably wants to know what a girl's gotta do to get some service around here." You mumble, and Tzuyu flushes, about to apologize when you carefully slip your mask off.

"But I guess you can treat me, since it is my birthday." You shrug, Mingyu's eyes widening before he covers his face and sinks to the ground behind the bar. Tzuyu scoffs out a laugh, her eyes filling with tears as she pulls your hood off your head, her hands smoothing your hair down gently.

"You're home." She whispers, her belly getting in the way as she pulls you into her. You feel your eyes burn with tears as she buries her face in your hair, your hand moving to pat her back. "I am, I missed you guys." You murmur, and Mingyu hops over the bar to also crush you in his embrace. You can barely see out of your teary eyes, but you can see Wonwoo's cheeks flushed almost as pink as the flowers, the shock in his demeanor evident but he just clears his throat and looks away.

"How long are you here for? A week? A month? Please say a month, you have to meet our kids." Mingyu begs into your hair, and you can barely conjure words as Wonwoo stays silent. "Shit, I'll even buy you a new ticket back to New York if you stay for two months." You don't respond, waiting for the couple to pull away. You wiggle lightly, making them both move back as you wipe your eyes. "I'm here for good. I have a new place in Gangnam, and I'm opening a shop a few blocks from here. I'm…I'm sorry I didn't tell any of you guys." You gesture towards Wonwoo as well, who only tongues his cheek before running the tips of his fingers around the rim of his beer. He nods, "Yeah. Welcome home, sweetheart." "You're not even going to hug me? Some friend you are." You try to joke, and Wonwoo scoffs,before reluctantly sliding off his stool. Tzuyu says something about getting you dinner, skirting out of the way. It seems Mingyu also gets the hint, moving away with the promise of a nice beer.

You're overwhelmed by the same patchouli scent on Wonwoo’s clothes, sweetened with notes of peach as he wraps his arms around your waist. Your own wrap around his shoulders, and you can feel your heart thundering in your chest as he breathes you in softly. He nestles his head next to yours, and his breath is warm against your ear as he speaks.

"I've missed you so much, Y/N." He mumbles, and you feel his arms tighten slightly, as if you're going to slip away. "We need to have a serious conversation, though, because I am mad at you."

You scoff slightly, trying to hide your tears as you bury your face in his neck. He rubs your back gently, before pulling away and wiping your eyes carefully. "Later." You only nod, watching Tzuyu carefully walk over with a bowl of hot tofu stew, and Mingyu slides a pint glass across the bar for you.

You spend the next three hours consoling an emotional Tzuyu, and telling Mingyu all about the delicious dishes you tried in New York. He jests that the restaurant would love a pastry chef if you're willing to share your recipes, and you only snort and turn him down softly. You tell them all about Euijoo, only earning scoffs and huffs from the couple as Wonwoo nurses his beer silently.

You tell them about your shop in Harlem, and how it was actually a call with Wonwoo last year that made you realize that you were unhappy – which made his cheeks flush, but he remained quiet, only nodding along. Tzuyu squeezes his shoulder, and he just nibbles on his lip as you keep talking about all the regulars you had. You tell them about your SoHo apartment and how you often visited the Seaglass Carousel if you were feeling stressed. You promised to take them there someday, if they ever wanted to see what your life was like when you were gone.

They fill you in about their own lives – planning their wedding, having their second daughter in a few weeks. They talk about their oldest, Eunha, and how she's growing up to be just like Mingyu. You hold back tears as they eagerly talk about their budding family and their beautiful relationship, often sharing looks full of adoration and admiration for one another as they spoke. You listen carefully, and Tzuyu even asks if, since you're back, you'd like to be a bridesmaid.

You agree, when Mingyu finally brings out a thick slice of his infamous chocolate cake – one that actually got you into baking but you'd never admit it. At least, not to him.

"Happy Birthday, Y/N! We're so glad you're home, seriously. It's been so dull without you." Tzuyu cheers, allowing Mingyu to light the pink candle in the middle of the slice. You smile softly, tucking your hair behind your ears as they sing to you softly – Wonwoo mouthing along from his stool.

"Make a wish." Mingyu holds it up to you, and you can't help but realize that he's a father now. Tzuyu is a mother, and they have their whole lives figured out. They're so gentle, loving, passionate…and you're still trying to figure yourself out.

Ah, but comparison is the thief of joy.

You close your eyes, sighing before conjuring your wish in your mind.

You don't notice when Wonwoo takes a quick photo, the flash hidden by Tzuyu's shoulder.

You blow out the candle quietly, opening your eyes to see the couple clapping softly. Tapping the plate, you clear your throat.

"Can I get this in a box? I have some things I need to sort out before the night ends."

Mingyu and Tzuyu share a look, before she glances over her shoulder. You nod as she looks back at you, and she smiles.

"Well, we'll see you more often, right? You have to meet Eunha, and the baby."

"Absolutely." And you mean it. You mean it as Mingyu boxes up your slice of cake, sealing it into a brown paper bag for you. You inch closer and closer to Wonwoo as the goodbyes become extensive, before splaying your hand across his back. He glances over his shoulder, a jump in his brows as if to say, ready to go?

You bid Mingyu and Tzuyu a good night, and you promise them you'll even try to come by in the morning for Mingyu's mother's oxtail soup. Mingyu says he can't promise there will be any up by the time you come by, but you make Tzuyu promise to save you a bowl. She does.

"When did you sell the shop?" Wonwoo asks as the two of you step out into the street, the cold air making his breath visible as he speaks. "And why didn't you tell me?" You look at the flowers in his arms, how he holds them like a baby.

"I was worried you'd be upset that I gave up." You murmur as the two of you begin to walk seemingly with no direction, earning a sigh from Wonwoo.

“I’m upset that you didn’t even think to tell me anything. I’m supposed to be your friend. One of your best friends, if I’m not mistaken. You move across the world and suddenly that doesn’t matter anymore?”

“Wonwoo, it’s not like that. I just…I should know what I want out of life. I should know where my heart calls home, but it’s only been a person. I’m not sure if the place matters.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair as Wonwoo flags down a taxi.

“Your place or mine?” He mutters, opening the door for you to slide in.

“Yours.” You mumble back, giving the driver a quick smile as Wonwoo shuts the door. He rattles off his address — and it’s the same building as yours.

“…I live there, too.” You whisper, and he clicks his tongue.

“Good to know.” He shrugs, before reaching over and tugging your seat belt on. He clicks in place, choosing to stay silent as the taxi weaves through the busy roads. You want to say something, and you attempt to several times — but he just shakes his head, pressing a finger to his lips as if to say wait.

And wait, you did.

You let him pay the taxi driver and help you out of the taxi. You let him lead you into the lobby, the security guard giving the both of you a curt nod as you duck into the elevator.

Wonwoo only lives a few doors down from you.

“Interesting.” You murmur to yourself. It’s like I’ll always find my way back to you.

He unlocked his door, holding it open for you to slip through. You did, silently toeing your shoes off in his foyer before stepping into his living room. Shrugging your coat off, you watch him flick the lights on.

Everything is so him. From stacked consoles on the side of his television, to a bookcase full of acoustic guitar records and a few thick books. A few of his cameras are strewn on his kitchen table, popped open and film exposed. His record player sits in front of his window, the blinds and curtains pushed open and the window slightly ajar to circulate the air. There is a mug on his coffee table, half full of what you assume to be green tea.

It smells like patchouli, peaches, and home.

His hand takes the bag from you, and he walks past you to place the flowers and the cake on his kitchen counter. He closes his eyes as he tugs his coat off, and you avert your eyes from his form-fitting shirt — opting to turn around and hang your coat on the rack by the door.

“Are you actually here for good? Or was that just something you said to appease Mingyu and Tzuyu?” He mutters, thumbing at the petals of the flowers once more. You sigh, crossing your arms as you sidle up next to him. Your hip bumps his as you lean on the counter, and his eyes avoid yours as you look up at him.

His shoulders are tense.

“I’m here for good, Wonwoo. I missed it here, I missed Mingyu and Tzuyu and I missed my parents.”

“What about me? Did you miss me?”

His voice is so soft you almost can’t hear it, and you purposely bump your hip to his to garner his attention.

“Of course I missed you.” You whisper, a smile twitching at your lips as he nibbles on his lip.

“Then why didn’t you visit? Why did it take you six months to call me when you first moved? Why…Why did you date Euijoo?”

You feel your chest ache at his questions, the furrow in his brows making you push off the counter, straightening. Sighing, you rest your head on his bicep, the muscle tensing beneath your cheek.

“Sometimes we do things to fill a void, you know? Sometimes we hide from the things we know could be good for us, and look for something we think could be enough, so we won’t ruin or sully what we have already.” You shrug, and he looks down at you again.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means I wish I would’ve realized how you felt about me before I left. I mean, I would’ve still gone but I would’ve visited more. I would’ve come back often, tried to make it work. I’m sorry.”

You peer up at him through your lashes, and he just shakes his head.

“My feelings here don’t matter, I’m talking about you.”

“You are a huge part of me, of my life.” You remind him, your hand ghosting over the small of his back as he huffs.

“So you abandoned your life in New York, your dream, for me?” Wonwoo sounds almost offended, and you scoff.

“I abandoned my life in New York because I missed home. I missed my parents, my friends. I miss talking to my friends when we’re all staying up late, not just when I am and I have to go to bed when the gab gets good. I…I missed walking around in the middle of the night with you, and getting heartburn from eating spicy noodles at two in the morning. Can’t I miss home, Wonwoo?”

He clicks his tongue, tapping his fingers on the counter. “I guess you can. But you said home for you is not a place, but a person.”

“I did say that.”

He doesn’t say anything, picking at his nails silently before sighing.

“Did Hansol tell you about the flowers?” He murmurs, and you nod.

“You could’ve talked to me, especially between boyfriends. You had lots of chances, Seungcheol literally aired you out.” You say pointedly, and he rolls his eyes.

“You didn’t believe him, and I wasn’t going to ruin our friendship because I was feeling something you weren't.”

“And how do you know that I wasn’t?” You raise a brow, and he scoffs. He shoves his hands in his pockets, moving out of the kitchen to go sit on his couch. He leans his head against the wall, closing his eyes as you make your way over and perch on the edge of his mahogany coffee table.

“I’m sorry I missed your birthday dinner that one year. I thought if I missed one, it’d be easier to start getting used to not seeing you. I was fully committed to getting over you, to moving on, even if I wasn’t happy with…fuck, I forgot her name.”

“Jaehee.”

“With Jaehee.” He ran his hand over his face, and you sigh.

“That was ages ago, Wonwoo. We move on.” You pat his knee, and he lifts his head to face you. His cheeks are slightly flushed as he takes a breath.

“I don’t want to move on, that’s the problem. You think I haven’t tried? Do you know how many relationships I’ve been in since you’ve left?”

“Mmh, I don’t. Do tell.” You nod, inching slightly closer, resting your elbows on your knees and clasping your hands together. He doesn’t look amused, running an exasperated hand through his hair and closing his eyes.

“I look for you everywhere, and I’ve never even had you. I can’t help but compare every single woman I’ve ever been with to you, Y/N. It’s driving me fucking insane, being in love with you.”

He’s hiding his face in his hands, and you feel your chest grow hot as you hum in response. You shift slightly, your knees bumping his and making him sigh.

“I mean, for years it's been like we're in this odd mesh of limerence and denial. You do something that makes me think, oh, maybe she's into me? You'd seek me out for comfort, for help, for whatever, and I was there. I am there, like an idiot, hoping you'll just get it. Then you date people who are in proximity to me – my best friend, my team captain, the secretary of my AV club. Then you leave. You left, Y/N."

"I know." You can't recognize the thickness in the back of your throat, the way you swallow around it as he fiddles with one of his rings. "You didn't even come say goodbye, Wonwoo. Hansol ripped my heart out and handed it to me, because of you, and you weren't even there." "I didn't want to see you cry." He mumbles, and you only shake your head.

"You've seen me cry, you've seen me laugh. You've been the reason behind the tears and the laughter. You've seen me in all these weird spots in my life, you watched me date all these men. You were most of the reason as to why these men broke up with me. Yet, you never once thought that I was looking for you?" "Why would I ever give myself that much importance?" He scoffs, and you shrug. "Maybe because I give you that much importance, Wonwoo."

He sighs shakily, leaning back on the couch cushions and swallowing hard. "Did you know I got a few collections displayed in a museum after you left? Your parents went, did they send you photos?"

"Some. I liked the one of Tzuyu and Mingyu in the flower fields." He got up, skirting around your knees and walking up to the bookcase next to his TV. He scours the leather bound books, before a soft aha! falls from his lips, pulling out a green one. He flips it, and you realize it's a photo album.

He hands it to you, sitting back down on the couch. You open it tentatively, your fingers trembling as the photos come into view. They have that digital camera feel to them, a bit grainy and dated. The first photo was old, you could tell just from the image: it was you and Mingyu, sitting around a bonfire at a waterfall you would hang out at during the warmer months, one that went into a lake lined with boulders. You were dating here, and your nose had melted marshmallow swiped across it while Mingyu grinned in the corner of the photo.

"This is an old photo, Wonwoo." "They're all old, you haven't been around." He retorts, before flipping the page.

Another photo of you smiling as you laid out on the flat boulder by the edge of the lake, another of you on the handlebars of Mingyu's bike – you remember that one, it was Mingyu's seventeenth birthday. Another of you with Tzuyu solving a puzzle during one of Mingyu's visits, you and Hansol sharing a cup of lemonade during a snack run after one of Wonwoo's soccer games, you and Seungcheol swinging on a hammock in the park – where you often bumped into Wonwoo taking photos of birds, flowers, life.

There was photo after photo of you, in every moment of your life. There was a photo of the pink camellias he'd gotten for you, there was a photo of his student apartment packed up but one of your cardigans, bright red, stark against the cardboard boxes. This album, full of memories of you through his eyes – without a singular glimpse of Wonwoo, until the last photo.

It wasn't like the other photos – this was high definition, and you remember this photo being taken. You were wearing a pink t-shirt that had belonged to Wonwoo, and a necklace that Wonwoo had given to you for one of your birthdays. You were sitting on his couch, surrounded by Mingyu and Tzuyu. You had a bag of honey mustard pretzels that Wonwoo bought you in your lap, your smile shy and your fingers holding a napkin.

It was the day you finally told them you'd be leaving, just moments before.

And you remember how quietly he'd put his camera away after that, and your friends had settled uneasily around you. Wonwoo sat on his coffee table, eyes worried but masked with a soft smile – just like you were, now.

The album was empty after that, with only two or three pages left to complete it.

"This was an exhibit I arranged for the museum, but I never submitted it. I called it Hanging By A Moment, because that's what…" He takes a deep breath. "That's what this feels like. I feel like I'm just waiting for the moment to end, and I'm not sure in which direction I would prefer it to happen. Sometimes I would stay awake and wonder why I didn't go visit you, but I knew exactly why." You set the photo album on your lap, giving him a gentle look.

"You didn't want to see something that would break your heart." "I didn't want to see you happy with someone else, somewhere else." His voice is thick, and you move to speak but he shakes his head.

"I didn't want to go somewhere and see you living so well without me, when I'm in shambles without you. I couldn't sleep most nights the first year that you were gone. I found myself still walking towards your apartment with Hansol. Hell, I've even hung out with Seungcheol, routinely, just to feel the influence of you. The essence of what you are, imprinted in the people you've graced with your presence." He's looking down at his hands, a singular tear rolling down his cheek. You feel like you can't breathe around the lump in your throat, as he glances up.

"I don't think I can handle this anymore. I need you to say nothing is ever going to happen between us, that the moment is over. I need you to end this, because if you don't, I never will."

You can't speak, but it doesn't matter – because he keeps going.

"I'd be perfectly content having you within arm's reach for the rest of my life, as long as you're happy. You could be across the world, hell, across the fucking universe and I'd never stop missing you, or yearning for you, or loving you. Befriending you all those years ago has got to be one of the biggest mistakes I have ever made, because I can't imagine a life without you. But loving you, being in love with you? Y/N, that has got to be the biggest grace I've ever been given by whatever God is out there. Nothing has ever been easier than loving you has been, but it is the most painful thing I've ever experienced. So, please. End this, I'm begging you." Your throat hurts from holding back your tears, a soft sob escaping your lips as you turn away. You let the tears run down your cheeks, using your hand to muffle your cries as he just lets his tears drip onto his jeans. You can see, through blurry eyes, the way he wants to reach for you, the way his hands clenched into fists before he shoves them under his thighs.

It's silent for a moment, aside from shaky breathing and a few sniffles from Wonwoo. You wipe your eyes carefully, trembling hands gripping the edges of the album as you slide it onto the coffee table next to you. He grabs it, using it as an excuse to stand up and move around – Wonwoo always needed to do that after talking. Like he felt the need to exert all his feelings physically.

You also stand, his rug soft under your socked feet as he slides the album back in place. He doesn't turn back around, his hand lingering on the spine of the album as you round the coffee table. You're right behind him, seeing the buried tension in his back and shoulders as he feels your presence. You clear your throat as best as you can.

"I don't want the moment to end." He doesn't move, and you find yourself stepping in front of him, between the bookcase and his chest. He doesn't look at you, but allows your hands to find home on his chest. You smooth his shirt cautiously, before patting him gently.

He glances down.

"You're my home, Wonwoo." You say softly, feeling his breath hitch in his throat. Your hand moves to his jaw, your thumb gently tracing circles into his cheek. He has a bit of stubble, despite the cool scent of his aftershave. You can't help but let the sacred words slip from your lips as his eyes bore into yours.

"I love you." He looks away, a shaky sob from his lips making your heart ache as you rest your head on his chest. He instinctively wraps his arms around you, so used to your physical affection in years past that it's just muscle memory at this point – despite his own reserved affections. You're surrounded by his scent, his warmth, him.

"I know it won't be easy. I've been gone for five years, and I've missed so much of your life. I know my apologies count for near nothing at this point, but you can't sincerely believe that I haven't yearned for you every step of my journey away." You're slightly muffled, feeling the metal of his necklace under his shirt as he holds you closer, tighter. He doesn't reply, so you keep going.

"I love you, Wonwoo. I'm sorry I didn't allow myself to feel it before, and I'm sorry that I've made you wait so long. I'll wait, as long as you need me to. As long as you want me to wait, even if I die waiting–" "I'd wait an eternity for you." He murmurs into your hair, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

"You shouldn't say that, Wonwoo." "But I did, and I will. I'd die waiting for you, if that's what it takes."

You sigh, pressing your forehead to his chest. "Are you still mad at me?" For the first time in years, you hear him laugh softly. Your arms tighten around his waist reflexively, a pout on your lips as you peer up at him. "I missed your laugh." He huffs, cheeks tinging pink as he avoids your gaze, carding his fingers through your hair. "I'm still mad at you. I bet you paid a shit load of money for a cab from the airport, didn't you? You could've just told me to come pick you up. I would've done it." "I wanted to surprise you." "Well…what about your apartment? I didn't even get to recommend this place, you probably went through some real estate guy–" "You're just grappling at things to be mad about, aren't you?" "No. I am mad." He grumbles, his lip jutted out in a pout as you smile up at him.

"You sure? Can't I change your mind, my good sir?" You wiggle your brows, and he scoffs, but you see the twitch of a smile on the corner of his lips. He tongues his cheek as your hands move to his face, making him look down at you. "I'm sorry, Wonwoo." He rolls his eyes, your hands squishing his cheeks together. "Prove it." You quirk a brow, "Prove…what?" "That you love me. Prove it." He shrugs, moving your hands off his face and letting them go at your sides. You scoff, gesturing to the air.

"I'm here, aren't I? Isn't that enough?" You cross your arms, a defiant look crossing your features as he sighs. His fingers are warm as they tuck a stray curl behind your ear, your skin prickling as he thumbs at your earlobe. "Of course it's enough." He mumbles, "You'll always be enough. More, even. More than enough for me."

You think he mumbles I love you.

Your face grows hot as he scans it, eyes heavy with purpose and love. For the first time, you allow yourself to realize how nervous Wonwoo makes you – your heart racing in your chest as you lean closer to him. He doesn't back away, his hand now gently holding your jaw. His thumb rests on the corner of your lip, the weight so comforting. "Kiss me." You do just that, your lips crashing into his as he steadies your body. Your hands fist his shirt as he kisses you slowly, walking you back into the bookshelf. Your back hits it gently, his hands cupping your face softly as he pulls away. He rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed as your fingers circled his wrists. "I missed you so much, sweetheart." "I missed you too, Wonwoo."

He struggles to bite back his smile, your lips pressing a chaste kiss to his before peppering them all over his face. "You can't stay mad at me forever, you know." You speak through kisses, his nose scrunching as you press your lips to it.

"I can certainly try. You know I can hold a mean grudge." "Mingyu ate your leftovers once, Wonwoo. He literally cooked for you everyday of college, you need to let it go." "You're taking his side? Some friend you are." He scoffs, his hands pushing your hair off your shoulders. You wrap your arms around his waist, your chin in the center of his chest as you pout up at him.

"I flew all this way, I confessed my love…and I'm your friend?" He tongues his cheek, swallowing his laughter as he shakes his head. "Well, no. A friend wouldn't leave me for five years and then suddenly show back up–" "Wonwoo." " –And expect me to just forgive her. You could at least try and get in my good graces." You huff, "So you hate me." "No, no. I'm very much in love with you, actually. However, though love is merciful…I am not as much. You said you'd wait." "Wonwoo–" "Ah, ah. You said you'd wait. So you will." He shrugs, running his hand through your hair. He twirls a piece around his finger, "I know that you know how I feel about you, from other people's minds and mouths. I think it's best if I get to show you, truthfully and openly. Don't you?" You say nothing just yet, choosing to stare up at him with a hint of worry in your eyes. He glances down, the hand in your hair coming to gently hold your jaw. "What if you realize you don't want me?" "Oh, sweetheart. I'd be a fool not to want you. Let the sky fall the day I make that stupid decision."

You sigh, moving to rest your cheek on his chest. He hums, running his fingertips across your scalp.

"It's not everyday you find a muse in someone the moment you meet them. Don't worry about me ever not wanting you, me ever not needing you." You don't reply, feeling your nose burn as your eyes fill with tears. He pats the back of your head, before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Come, I need to take your picture. You need to fill the last few pages of that album."

And, you comply. You let him wipe your tears, pressing kisses to your eyelids as he sits you at his kitchen counter. He pulls out a gold candle from his kitchen drawer, sticking it in the cake slice from the restaurant and lighting it carefully. He pushes your hair back, and pulls the pendant of your necklace out to rest in the middle of your chest.

"Smile, sweetheart." He murmurs behind the camera, and you do. You smile, glossed lips swollen from the kisses, eyes full of stars as you stare at Wonwoo behind the flash. "Make a wish, quickly." You lean forward, closing your eyes when you see another flash behind your lids. Smiling to yourself, you blow the candle out, quickly taking it out of the cake slice. He offers a fork, and you lean on your elbows as he takes out a few bottles of soju.

"What'd you wish for?" He asks, unscrewing one of the lids off the bottles. You smirk around a bite of cake, shaking your head as he turns away to rummage for shot glasses.

"I'm not telling you, it won't come true." He scoffs, pulling out a set of shot glasses you'd given him during college. They have Snoopy and Woodstock doodled on the sides – he was always Woodstock, you were Snoopy.

"Oh, come on. Tell me, I'll make it come true." "What are you, a magician? Tell me what else I missed while I was gone." He rolls his eyes, running his tongue over his lower lip as he slides the Snoopy glass over, filled to the brim with fresh soju. You take it carefully, and he raises a brow.

"Tell me your wish, Y/N." You huff, before reaching over to cheers your glass with his. You both knock back the liquor, and you scrunch your nose as you slide it back over to him. He fills it again, and you shift in your chair.

"If I tell you, you'll have to do it." "Stop being so ominous, I hate it when you do that."

He slides the glass back over, only half full as he sidles up next to you. Your hand instinctively wraps around his bicep, and you rest your cheek on his shoulder.

"Promise me you'll make it come true, Wonwoo." "I promise. It's your birthday, sweetheart. I'd bring down the stars if you asked."

– SIX WEEKS LATER: GOYANGI'S HOME, SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA.

Wonwoo had done exactly as you asked on your birthday – he kept his word, and tried his best to make your birthday wishes come true. Granted, you underestimated him: he would get both done within the six weeks it took to get your shop open.

After the two of you finished off the thick slice of chocolate cake, Wonwoo asked you to spend the night. You did, and a part of you held back tears as he held you in his arms – mumbling in his sleep. Mumbling about how he loved you, how long he'd waited…

How scared he was you'd slip away, like sand in an hourglass timer.

You'd spent the last month and a half glued at the hip. He took you to visit your parents early in the mornings, who bawled uncontrollably and demanded you'd stay all day. Wonwoo hadn't minded, and he stayed with you for dinner several times – and took many odd photos. He never showed you any of them, but he couldn't let you out of his sight, either.

He accompanied you to all your furniture shopping for the shop, he helped choose the paint, he even went as far as taking your website photos. Which, of course, included photos of you – in the kitchen, in your uniform, making a mess of flour and powdered sugar.

Powdered sugar that he kissed off your lips.

Because neither of you could go more than an hour without seeing each other, you practically moved into his apartment. You were spending almost every night there despite your own bed calling your name like a child does its mother. Wonwoo hadn't been kidding about making you wait, either. He let you kiss him, he told you he loved you, yes – but the dates were casual outings. Dinner, picnics, movies. You had a few game nights, and even went over to Hana's for drinks. You'd decided you were each other's plus ones for Mingyu and Tzuyu's wedding, and submitted such information on your RSVP placards.

You spent time together in copious amounts, something you couldn't ever find a fill of. You made him pastry after pastry, coffee cup after coffee cup, back massage after back massage to ease the tension in his shoulders. He gave you a silver necklace, a small letter W hanging from the center.

You wore it with pride. He didn't ask you to be his girlfriend, and he didn't let you ask any questions about it, either.

Instead, he made your birthday wishes come true – he asked the Museum of Arts if they still needed an exhibit for the season. When they said yes, he submitted his Hanging by a Moment gallery – with a few new additions. You'd loved it, and had proudly gone to the museum at least twice a week to see it.

Now?

You're both standing in your unopened shop, showing your parents everything. The walls are a muted terracotta with a few tangerine accents, to match the feel of the digital photos of your life through Wonwoo's eyes. You asked him to make copies of the photos for you as well, framing them in thick, gold frames.

All but one, that sat in the middle of them all on the wall. "And this is the final installment." He spoke to your parents softly, before gesturing to a photo split in the middle. One half was you, dressed in all black with the silver necklace he'd given you three weeks ago, and holding Wonwoo's digital camera up to your face. Your smile was peeking out from behind your hand, directed right at him.

And the other half was him. The only photo of him in the entire exhibit – of him holding his digital camera vertically against his face, slightly messy hair and a beige t-shirt that was two sizes too big for him but you loved anyway. You'd taken this photo at a street food stand, and he remembers how softly you kissed his cheek right after.

You stood next to him with a soft smile on your face as your father perused the photos, his eyes watery as he looked at the ones of you in college. Your smile, so young and carefree. Your eyes, full of the same shimmer and light you have now – but now, it's brighter. You seem lighter.

Happier.

You seem like you're home.

"What do you think?" You ask gently, wrapping your hand around Wonwoo's arm. He instinctively covers your hand with his, and your father nods.

"I think you're in love." He shrugs, and Wonwoo's cheeks flush almost instantly. You chuckle, squeezing your hand around Wonwoo's arm before patting his chest.

"I've got some new pastries in the oven, shall we? I'm trying a new recipe." You wiggle your brows at your parents, who both smile as you extend your hands to them. They take them gingerly, letting you guide them into the kitchen. You look over your shoulder, sending Wonwoo a quick wink as you slip inside with them.

And, Wonwoo knows.

He knows you love him, as he stands in this shop – named for him, by you. Walls covered in you, by him. He knows you love him as you smile warmly at him, your eyes sparkling in a way he'd only ever seen with him – never with Seungcheol, or Hansol, or Mingyu.

Just him.

So, what does it matter? The moment, why does it matter? Why not hang onto it, as long as he can? Why not take in every ounce of your light so long as you allow it, and reflect it right back to you? Why not be a mirror of your love, a beacon of the same hope you hold, a star in the sky that also tells you there is something to wish upon?

Why waste it, when he can savor it – the way you look at him, the way you kiss him, touch him, the way you make him feel? How he's gone absolutely mad just looking at you in the mornings, slowly waking up by his side, burying your face into his bare chest? Why waste the moment when he can capture it – your smiles, your tears, the way you cover your face shyly when he compliments you.

Why not live in the moment – the feeling of your lips against his, the way you claw his shirt off, the way you whimper beneath him while fully clothed and untouched? Why not live in the moment, where he gets to hear you laugh like no one's listening, watch you dance like there is no tomorrow? Why not, when you ask him to take the long way home and roll the windows down, singing along to his playlist and feeling the air whip your hair around until your face is frosty from the wind.

Why not live in this moment – when you're so irrevocably in love with him, and he doesn't have to ever question it because you don't even need to tell him? Where you've related him to a cat that always finds its way back home, where you're supposedly the home and you are – but you are also the cat that finds her way home all on her own?

Why not? "Wonwoo? Are you listening?" "Huh? Sorry." He rubs his neck sheepishly, before noticing he's sitting at the bar of your shop, a dulce de leche éclair sitting on a plate in front of him. Your parents are in the corner, holding their own pastries and analyzing the photos once more. You're leaning your back on the bar next to him, your elbows holding you up as you reach over and gently carding your fingers through his hair.

"I said, I love you." "Now, why does it sound like you're scheming? Tell me what you really said." "It is, promise." You chuckle, your hand coming to pinch his cheek softly. He frowns, only making you coo up at him as you brush your lips to his. He glances up quickly, seeing your parents still enthralled by the photo of you and Mingyu at the waterfalls all those years ago. He looks back down, seeing you absently scanning his face as your thumb continues to rub circles into his face.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, before your father turns around and clears his throat. You look over your shoulder lazily, and your father has the pastry plates in his hand. "Your mother and I are going to start heading out now, honey. We've got a long drive back, and I'm sure you want to clean up a bit around here before your big opening tomorrow." "You're right, Dad. Thank you for coming, I'm glad you two could be the first to see it." Your voice is so warm, he can feel all the stress from his days just melting right off him as you walk your parents to the front. He follows suit, lingering behind as you and your parents say your goodbyes. He interjects his own, enveloping both of your parents in a hug before pulling away. You both wave as they get into their car, your mother waving back as they pull into the street and all the way down the road, before their car turns out of sight.

You turn around, your arms crossed as you look up.

"Goyangi's Home. What a name, isn't it?" You sigh, before glancing over at Wonwoo. He shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into his chest. Your giggle is like music to his ears as your hands rest on his chest, your lip tucked beneath your teeth as you look up at him.

"Well, you're home, aren't you?" "Aren't you, Wonwoo?"

"I am. I love you, you know."

He feels his chest ache in the best way possible, his heart beating twice as fast as you wrinkle your nose at him.

"I know. I love you, honey." So it's fine. It's fine, as Wonwoo lets you kiss his lips once, twice, three times before you slip back into the shop. It's fine, as Wonwoo walks in behind you, his fingers locking the front door so no one mistakes the shop as open. It's fine, as you hand him a broom and make him sweep the shop while you roll out the dough in the back, your hands coated in flour when he comes to steal a kiss.

Or two, or three – until you're pushed against the industrial fridge, his hands wrapped around your thighs as yours tangle in his hair. He doesn't care about the flour. He doesn't care that you'll both be here late to roll out the stupid dough, he doesn't care as long as you're with him.

He doesn't care about the time differences anymore. The kilometers of distance, the aches of missing you. He doesn't care, and he'd do it ten times over just to be worthy of you.

He doesn't care about how pathetic he might sound as he kisses down your neck, begging you to be his girlfriend, begging you to never, ever leave him again.

He doesn't care about all the painful moments he used to hang onto, because you are the best moment to ever capture.

He cares when you promise that you'll never leave him again, your lips soft against the shell of his ear. He cares when you say yes, you'll be his girlfriend. You'll be anything he wants, for as long as he wants it. So yeah, he'll live in this moment. He'll keep it, hold it, cherish it forever as more whispers float off your lips to one another. I love you.

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