#Jeonghan imagines

[hanniescookie]

home - yjh

pairing - jeonghan x f!reader

genre/warnings - established relationship, fluff, romance, hurt/comfort, skinship, use of petnames, soft hannie hours cus i miss him sm and he's so comforting

summary - the sight of jeonghan fixes all the mess in your day.

wc - 753

A/N - i had an extremely rough day, and just the thought of jeonghan brought a smile to my face so i had to do something about it hehe ｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡ @starstrawb here's hannie for you, i know i said weekend but i have been extremely busy!! hope you like this 🤍

| @maestro-net

You breathe a sigh of relief, dropping your head onto the steering wheel after finally squeezing into your parking spot. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, the exhaustion of the day pressing you further into the seat.

Dragging yourself up the elevator is a task in itself, but you manage to somehow step into the familiarity of your apartment with a burning headache. All you can think about is hitting your bed and closing your eyes, but you're scared sleep won't find you as usual.

You kick your heels off and your head cranes up to the beautiful sight in front of you — the sight that makes a smile bloom on your face involuntarily.

Yoon Jeonghan is your home.

It's a realization that dawns upon you while watching him build some Lego sets in your living room.

You make it out to be a large castle he's making and your mind replays his words from yesterday when this set arrived.

“I'll build you a palace prettier than myself.”

Your heart fills with insurmountable love for him — the kind of emotion that claws at your heart and makes it bleed out tears.

The soft click-clack of the Lego bricks is almost like a soothing melody, melting the ghost of chaos looming over your head. Just watching his hands move, so careful and precise as he snaps each piece into place, feels like watching a tiny world come together. The way his brow furrow in concentration, the occasional hum under his breath – these small, ordinary things make your smile grow fond.

He isn't doing anything grand, just building. But in that simple act, there is a quiet comfort that seeps into the exhaustion clinging to you.

The warm glow of the lamp beside him catches the curve of his cheek, highlighting the gentle slope of his nose. Even his silence feels comforting, as if just watching him is enough to provide you comfort.

He tilts his head, his lips forming a soft 'o' as he considers the next piece. A stray strand of hair falls across his forehead, and without thinking, you want to reach out and brush it away. Involuntarily, the tension in your shoulders eases, the pounding in your head softening.

“Angel?”

You hear him, and your eyes meet his concerned ones from afar. He's standing up and walking over to you in no time, smiling softly.

“I didn't even notice you,” he mutters, holding your face in his hands, and wiping the wetness under your eyes. You hadn't even noticed that you'd been crying.

His arms wrap around you easily, lulling you into his warm embrace that feels insanely comforting. There are no questions asked, just a gentle hold that speaks volumes. You let your guard down, allowing yourself to melt into his warmth, the tension in your body slowly melting away. The stress of the day, the frustration, the tears you held back – it all begins to unravel in the safety of his arms. You breathe in deeply, feeling the calm wash over you, and let out a shuddering sigh.

“Hannie.”

He hums, craning his neck to look at you with a reassuring smile. “Hard day?”

You bite your lip to not cry more, your heart swelling with love for this man who just exists and brings comfort to you. He chuckles fondly, caressing the side of your head, “Aww, my baby.”

“It's alright,” he presses a lingering kiss on your temple, holding you closer in a hold that feels delicate and reassuring. “I'm here. You know I'm here, right?”

You nod, sniffing and punching him with a weak fist. “That's exactly why I'm crying. You're so… so…”

He giggles, squishing your face in his hands like he's amused and fond at the same time. “So whaaaat?”

“So comforting!” You cry, fisting on his shirt tightly like you're scared he'd disappear. “Just— you know I had the worst day ever! But seeing you, just seeing you Jeonghan, made me smile. It's so annoying!”

He laughs softly, the sound rumbling in his chest as he pulls you into a gentle rock, his warm neck touching your skin. If anything, Jeonghan is amused (and flustered, but that's something he won't show).

“You're soooo whipped for me,” he sings with a teasing edge to his voice. You grumble, but shift closer in his embrace, too tired to fight anything. Besides, he's not wrong. You are whipped for him.

How could you not be when his simple existence lights up your life like nothing else?

[hannie-bees]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔄𝔯𝔱 𝔬𝔣 ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔰𝔢 2 || c.sc || y.jh

Synopsis: In the glittering world of stolen art and shadowy deals, the line between right and wrong blurs in golden lights. Officer Choi Seungcheol spent years chasing down the notorious thief known only by whispers: you. A masked gala, a single stolen dance, and an impossible heist pull you both into a dangerous waltz where the stakes are higher than ever.When loyalty, ambition, and something dangerously close to obsession collide, the real prize might not be what either of you expects.

NOW PLAYING: » [Art of Chase] «PLAYLIST»

0:58 ─〇───── 3:16

⇄ ㅤ◁◁ㅤPrevious | | Next ▷▷ ↻

II ᴡᴀʟᴛᴢ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜɪᴇᴠᴇꜱ

Warnings: Mild violence, threat of capture, emotional tension, theft. Slight mention of deception and manipulation.

WC: 1765

A/N: I'm SO SO SO sorry for the delay. I barely had time bcuz of end sem exams and I will try my best to whip up the next part within 4 days!

The city glittered below like a handful of diamonds tossed across black velvet. From the rooftop terrace of the high-rise across the street, you had the perfect view of tonight’s stage, the Daumier Museum of Fine Arts, all glass curves and brutalist lines, currently hosting the temporary exhibition: Imperial Splendors: Treasures of the Romanov Court.

Inside sat your prize, the Royal Danish Egg. Gold lattice. Transparent pale blue enamel. Diamond-studded crests of a monarchy long gone. A whisper from 1903, believed lost to time, war, or greed, depending on who told the story. Rumors placed it in private hands, passed down through generations until it reemerged in whispers; whispers that led you here. It wasn’t just beautiful, it was priceless.

And someone wanted it badly enough to pay you a fortune.

The private showcase was being held at a discreet security museum in Geneva, the kind of place that never appeared in travel brochures, but where old money liked to hide its secrets in plain sight. No foot traffic. No fanfare. Just tight security, velvet shadows, and priceless history behind laser grids.

You stood in the low glow of the warehouse hideout, blueprints spread out before you like a map of sin. The floor plans of the security museum in Geneva, pristine, precise, and now annotated in your sharp handwriting.

Jeonghan lounged across from you, legs kicked up on a crate, flipping through a dossier with lazy flicks of his fingers. But you knew better than to mistake his posture for disinterest. His mind was always working, always five steps ahead, sometimes even of you.

“Five guards on the floor. Thermal scans show one in the vault corridor,” Jeonghan said, leaning beside you, tablet in hand, wind tousled his hair. “Security rotates every seven minutes. Laser grids cycle in and out. Cameras are on motion-based loops.”

You raised a brow. “Tight. Tighter than last time.”

He gave you a crooked smile. “Lucky for you, I’m better than last time.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smirk mirrored his.

Jeonghan turned, facing you fully now. “We’re in and out in fifteen. Vault is on sublevel three. The egg’s in a pressure-sealed case inside a reinforced glass enclosure. You've got eighty seconds to disarm it once you're in.”

You didn’t flinch. “I only need sixty.”

“Cocky,” he said softly, his eyes lingering a second longer than usual. “You know the exit plan?”

“South stairwell. Maintenance shaft. Rooftop rappel. Same as always.”

He nodded but didn’t move. For a moment, the silence stretched, heavy with everything unsaid.

Then he broke it.

“Try not to flirt with the man trying to arrest you this time, yeah?”

You blinked. “I didn’t—”

Jeonghan raised a brow.

You sighed. “Okay, maybe a little.”

He chuckled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Let’s just get the damn egg,” he muttered, stepping back and tugging his hood into place.

The plan was simple: break into the estate during the masquerade fundraiser he was hosting, snag the egg from the gallery vault, vanish before anyone noticed it was gone.

Except, of course, it was never that simple.

Inside the Masquerade

The air inside the museum pulsed with elegance and artifice. Velvet ropes, champagne towers, polished marble floors catching candlelight. Wealth dripped from every corner, silk gowns, sharp tuxedos, diamond masks. You walked among them like you belonged, the black half-mask on your face hiding more than your identity. Jeonghan blended in effortlessly at the bar, sipping something gold and fizzy, his mask a sweep of silver with a fox’s grin.

Security was subtle but everywhere, discreet comms in ears, small bulges under jackets. You could feel Seungcheol’s presence even before you saw him. You knew he’d be here. After all, he’d been chasing you for months.

And then there he was, at the far end of the room, black suit, mask like obsidian, scanning the crowd with unsettling calm.

Your eyes locked.

His jaw tensed just enough to betray that he recognized you, or thought he did. You let your gaze flick away with practiced indifference.

Jeonghan’s voice slipped into your comm. “Sublevel three’s cleared. Corridor guard is changing routes. Ten-minute window. You’ve got this.”

The Vault Room

You moved fast, down the maintenance stairwell, mask gone, cloak trailing behind you. A swipe of Jeonghan’s stolen keycard, a six-digit code memorized from days of stakeouts, and you were past the first checkpoint.

Sublevel three.

The vault door loomed at the end of the hallway, steel, ancient, and humming with modern tech. You reached into your belt, pulling out the modified magnetic ring. It locked into the panel with a soft chime.

Jeonghan’s voice: “Security camera disabled. You’re good.”

Your gloves made no sound against the steel vent cover you slid off. It was narrow, but you'd squeezed through tighter. A quiet crawl forward, two left turns, and you emerged behind a column near the main vault hall, just like the blueprint promised.

The hallway buzzed with electric tension, laser grids crisscrossing like a web of death. Across the room, in a timed sequence you couldn’t afford to miss, the fire alarm blinked red once.

That was your cue.

The laser grid vanished for exactly 30 seconds — courtesy of Jeonghan's override.

You moved fast, graceful, body low, ducking under wires and sliding across the marble with practiced ease. The vault keypad blinked to life at your touch.

6 digits. Two rotating dials. One biometric glitch to override.

You exhaled, fingers flying. The machine hissed, then unlocked with a faint, mechanical sigh.

Inside, the Royal Danish Egg sat on its pedestal, lit like a jewel in a snow globe. Transparent casing. Digital timer blinking beside it.

Eighty seconds.

You moved.

A thin needle into the seal joint. Pressure equalized. A scalpel-thin laser cutter around the base. You felt your breath syncing with the timer.

Sixty seconds.

Glass hissed. A click. A shift in the pedestal weight would trigger a silent alarm, so you swapped it with a duplicate, a carefully printed decoy Jeonghan had mocked up in Berlin.

Thirty seconds.

The egg was in your hands, heavier than it looked, humming with history.

Then—

A sound.

Your head snapped up.

Footsteps.

No alarm. No panic. Just slow, deliberate footsteps down the hall.

You shut the vault quietly behind you, flattening against the wall just as the security light flickered.

And then, as if summoned by tension itself, he appeared.

Officer Choi Seungcheol.

Dressed in black again, tactical, precise. Not part of the museum’s guards. Not officially, anyway. His eyes scanned the hall, sweeping over the vault door, the path you’d taken — and then landing on the faint scuff mark your boot had left near the laser grid.

He stepped closer.

You didn’t move.

You couldn’t.

But then, right as his gaze swept in your direction, a dull thud echoed from the far hallway.

Seungcheol's head snapped toward the sound.

Distraction. Perfectly timed.

Jeonghan.

The officer took off in that direction, fast, silent, calculated.

You didn't waste a second.

“Motion sensor triggered,” Jeonghan’s voice snapped through your earpiece. “Reroute. North corridor. Now.”

You didn’t ask questions. You slipped out the vault, sprinted down the hallway. Voices echoed faintly above. Footsteps coming fast.

You dove through the service hatch, slammed it shut behind you, locking it with a swipe of your fake credentials. Metal clanged.

Your hands shook as you scrambled up the maintenance ladder, adrenaline clawing at your lungs.

The rooftop was a breath of cold relief — Jeonghan was already there, one hand outstretched, the other gripping the fire escape ladder. You tossed him the egg.

He caught it with one hand, staring at it like it meant nothing.

You didn’t speak — there was no time.

Later, at the hideout, after peeling out of silk and silence, you collapsed onto the worn leather couch, egg still warm from your body heat.

The vault had been hell — pressure plates, mirrored walls, a camera system on a thirty-second loop that had nearly fried your nerves. You’d only gotten the Royal Danish Egg thanks to Jeonghan’s timing with the decoy switch and your sprint through the security corridor when the sensors blinked offline.

And Seungcheol.

You hadn't seen him until it was almost too late — his voice echoing down the hallway, his silhouette sharp in the strobe of the emergency lights. You'd ducked into the service stairwell, heart pounding as he passed just a floor below. If you'd hesitated for even a second…

“He was right there,” you said now, wide-eyed, giddy from the thrill. “Cheol, I mean. If the guards had been even a second faster—”

Jeonghan stiffened beside you.

Because when Seungcheol’s name slipped from your lips casually, like he wasn’t the one chasing you down, like he wasn’t getting too close—something in Jeonghan shifted.

He remembered the way your eyes lit up at the masquerade when you spotted the officer in black. The way you leaned in a little too close during the dance. The way you smiled like you were daring him to catch you.

It wasn’t just the heist anymore.

And that scared the hell out of him.

He clenched his jaw, fingers tightening on the strap of his pack. He’d spent years learning your rhythms, your games, your tells. He could read you better than anyone.

But now you were playing a game even he couldn’t control.

And he hated that it hurt.

You didn’t notice. “I think he almost saw my face. God, the look in his eyes when I slipped behind the—”

“Is this a game to you?” Jeonghan’s voice cut in, low, sharp, laced with something you couldn’t quite name.

You blinked. “What?”

He didn’t look at you. Just stared straight ahead, jaw tense and said the only thing that slipped through the crack in his mask.

He shook his head, standing slowly. “You’re never going to see what’s right in front of you, are you?”

And then he was gone — leaving you alone with the stolen egg and the echo of something you didn’t yet understand.

You stared after him, suddenly breathless for a different reason.

Somewhere in the city, Seungcheol was already reviewing the security footage, replaying the heat of your touch, the brush of your voice in his ear.

He wasn’t letting this go.

Neither of them were.

And the next time you crossed paths with either one…

You wouldn’t be able to run fast enough.

[diamonddaze01]

Full Throttle (i)

pairing: ferrari driver!yoon jeonghan x journalist!reader chapter wc: 20.6K (dont look at me)genre: humor, fluff, angst, smut (?) au: f1 au (i am sorry i am a nerd abt this) rating: m (MINORS DNI)warnings: SLOOOOOW BURN. mentions of injuries, car crashes // eventual smut.

PREQUELS: would highly recommend reading On the Record and Off the Record to gain some context into the relationship! This fic starts directly after the end of Off the Record 

summary: jeonghan's not used to someone who pushes his buttons as easily as you do, and you're not used to someone who challenges you as quickly as he does. maybe it's time to go full throttle, both on and off the track.

a/n: this one is gonna be long. buckle in. this is dedicated to kae @ylangelegy , who was the one who pushed me to write this in the first place, and also graciously beta read this // this is also dedicated to alta @haologram , who watched me lose my mind over this for so long and gave me so much love and support as i wrote this. // huge thanks to lola @monamipencil and haneul @chanranghaeys for beta-reading and giving me their thoughts, especially about when things were too technical // and finally, an ENORMOUS thank you to jupiter @cheolism for the banner!

read part 2 here! <3

FORMULA 1 ROLEX AUSTRALIAN GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Melbourne Grand Prix Circuit 

The Australian Grand Prix had come to an end, but the buzz from the race still lingered in the air. The paddock had started to quiet down, though the echo of cheers and the scent of champagne were still fresh. Jeonghan stood at the edge of the pit lane, watching as the last of the mechanics began to clean up, the high of the win beginning to settle into a low hum of satisfaction.

His fingers absentmindedly brushed over his helmet, the familiar weight grounding him after the chaos of the race. But his mind wasn’t on the mechanics or the trophy waiting for him. No, it was on you.

You had walked away with that smug grin of yours, and even now, hours later, the image of you—cool, collected, and far too clever for your own good—lingered in his thoughts. The way you’d turned the tables on him, effortlessly making him feel like the one caught off guard. For once, it hadn’t been about the race or the rumors swirling around his personal life—it had been about you and the way you knew how to press all his buttons without breaking a sweat.

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath, a grin creeping onto his face despite himself. "I should’ve asked her to dinner."

But there was no time for that now. The press was waiting. The fans, too. He needed to play the role of the cool, collected champion for the cameras, the last thing he needed was another round of gossip, another round of teasing from the people who loved to stir the pot. And yet, the thought of you, the way you’d made him feel a mix of frustration and something else entirely, was almost too tempting to ignore.

The crew cheered as he finally made his way back to the motorhome, the world still swirling in a whirlwind of victory and flashing cameras. But inside, it was quieter. More personal.

"Jeonghan!" His manager greeted him with a smile, the kind of smile that signaled the end of a long race and the beginning of yet another whirlwind of interviews, photos, and meetings. But Jeonghan only half-listened as his manager spoke, his mind flickering back to the conversation earlier.

"You sure know how to keep things interesting, don't you?" His manager chuckled, noticing the distraction in his eyes. "The headlines are still buzzing. You planning on setting the record straight anytime soon?"

Jeonghan chuckled under his breath, running a hand through his messy hair. "Let them talk," he muttered, flashing a grin. "It’s part of the game."

But that wasn’t what was on his mind. It was you. The way you’d baited him, just enough to make him feel the heat of the moment. He had never been this distracted by anyone—or anything—before.

"You have a minute?" a voice interrupted his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. It was his publicist, holding a phone in one hand, the other gesturing toward the press conference set up for him in the next room.

Jeonghan looked at her, then glanced over his shoulder as if expecting to see you again. But you were gone, just like that. He gave a small sigh, almost imperceptible to anyone watching.

"Yeah, yeah. Let’s do this," he muttered, before stepping forward. Jeonghan’s footsteps echoed through the motorhome hallway, the thrum of victory still running through his veins, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t shake the way you’d looked at him—those piercing eyes, full of challenge. He'd seen that expression before, but this time felt different. You weren’t just some reporter stirring up a bit of drama—you were someone who knew exactly how to get under his skin.

His publicist was waiting outside the press room, ready to brief him on the upcoming interviews and meetings. "You’ve got a full schedule, Jeonghan," she said, giving him the rundown with practiced precision. But Jeonghan barely heard her, his mind still distracted by the way you’d turned the tables.

"Hey," he cut in, slowing to a stop in front of her. "What do you know about Y/N?" he asked, his tone casual but with an edge of curiosity that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

The publicist blinked in surprise, and beside her, his manager gave a short laugh. "Y/N? You mean the reporter?" the manager asked, voice dripping with amusement. "The one you’ve had run-ins with over the past couple of seasons?"

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. "Run-ins?" he repeated, his lips curling into a small, knowing smirk. "What exactly are you implying?"

The publicist shrugged, exchanging a look with the manager. "She’s been covering F1 for a while, pretty sharp with her articles," she said, keeping her voice neutral. "Some of them have definitely gotten attention, especially that one a few weeks ago... the one about you and the whole ‘mysterious love life’ thing." Her eyes flicked to his manager, who made a face at the mention of that piece.

Jeonghan sighed, running a hand through his hair. He’d tried to forget about that article, but your earlier conversation (read as: challenge) had baffled him. "I shouldn’t have said anything," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "But you know she always gets a rise out of me, don’t you?"

The manager snickered. "Oh, we know. It’s not every day we get to watch you struggle to keep your cool. She’s got a way with words, that one." He winked. "But hey, I get it. She’s a great reporter—sharp, clever—and always knows where to find the juiciest stories. You just might want to be a little more careful with what you say around her next time."

Jeonghan smirked. "Careful? Since when have I ever been careful?"

His publicist gave a pointed look, clearly not impressed. "That’s not the problem, Jeonghan. It’s that you tend to forget she knows exactly what buttons to push."

Jeonghan chuckled, his eyes glinting with a new energy. "Oh, she’s good, I’ll give her that. But I’m not so easily rattled." His mind wandered back to the way you’d smirked and walked off, leaving him standing there feeling like he'd just been served a dish of his own medicine.

"Don’t underestimate her," the manager added, half-joking. "You’ve been in this game long enough to know, no one gets a rise out of you like that without knowing exactly what they’re doing."

Jeonghan hummed thoughtfully. "I suppose you’re right. But maybe..." He trailed off, eyes narrowing as a plan started to form in his mind. "...Maybe it’s time I gave her a taste of her own medicine."

The publicist and manager exchanged a glance but didn’t say anything. They knew that look—the one Jeonghan got whenever he was plotting something, usually with a dash of mischief and just the right amount of charm to make it impossible for anyone to say no. The same charm that had gotten him into trouble more times than they cared to count.

"You’ve got your interviews now, Jeonghan," his publicist reminded him gently, pulling him back to reality. "We can revisit this later. Just keep your head in the game for now."

He nodded, though his mind was still fixated on you. "Yeah, yeah. Later."

As he entered the press room, he was immediately hit with a barrage of questions. The usual ones about his win, his performance, and his plans for the rest of the season. But even as he answered, his thoughts lingered on you and that damn article. You were always one step ahead, always stirring the pot just enough to keep things interesting. But now, it seemed you had caught his attention for real.

And maybe—just maybe—he was going to have some fun with this.

FORMULA 1 MSC CRUISES JAPANESE GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Suzuka Ciruit

The neon lights of Tokyo cast a kaleidoscope of colors on the bustling streets, the city alive with energy even late into the night. After a long day of prepping for the upcoming race, you’d decided to wind down with a quiet drink in a tucked-away bar that promised a moment’s reprieve from the chaos of the paddock.

The bar was small and intimate, the kind of place that felt like a secret only locals knew about. Jazz music hummed softly in the background, and you found a seat near the corner, ready to savor your drink in peace.

But of course, peace wasn’t in the cards tonight.

“Y/N?”

The familiar voice made you freeze mid-sip. Turning your head, you found none other than Yoon Jeonghan standing a few feet away, his face lit with mild surprise and unmistakable amusement. He wasn’t in his Ferrari team gear for once—just a sleek black jacket and jeans, looking effortlessly casual in a way that somehow made him even more irritatingly attractive.

“Jeonghan,” you replied evenly, setting your drink down. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, sliding onto the stool beside you without an invitation. “Same as you, I’d imagine. Taking a break from the madness.” His eyes flicked to your glass. “Whiskey? I wouldn’t have pegged you for the type.”

“And what type is that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He leaned back slightly, his lips quirking into that trademark smirk. “The type who drinks whiskey alone in a bar and pretends they’re not thinking about work.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, you’re wrong. I’m not thinking about work. I’m thinking about how nice it is to not deal with questions about lap times and tire strategies for five minutes.”

Jeonghan chuckled, signaling to the bartender for a drink. “Fair enough. Though, if memory serves, you’re usually the one asking those questions.”

“Occupational hazard,” you shot back. “And if memory serves, you’re usually the one avoiding them.”

“Touché.” He raised his glass when it arrived, a silent toast that you reluctantly mirrored with your own.

For a while, the conversation meandered through safer topics—Tokyo’s sights, the food, the insanity of race week—but there was an undercurrent of something sharper, a game of verbal ping-pong that neither of you seemed willing to let go of.

“You know,” Jeonghan said after a particularly clever jab from you about his less-than-stellar start in Australia, “I think I’ve finally figured you out.”

“Oh?” you asked, amusement dancing in your tone. “Do tell.”

“You act all cool and collected, but deep down…” He paused for dramatic effect, leaning in slightly. “…you love the chaos. You thrive on it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, though a grin tugged at your lips. “And what about you, Mr. Reigning Champion? Aren’t you the one who said chaos is just part of the game?”

“True,” he admitted with a lazy shrug. “But I like to think I’m more strategic about it.”

“Strategic?” you echoed, incredulous. “You literally said ‘let them talk’ after crossing the finish line in Australia. That’s not strategy, Jeonghan—that’s reckless arrogance.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm, and you hated how it made your chest tighten just a little. “Maybe. But it keeps things interesting, doesn’t it?”

You didn’t respond, sipping your drink instead, determined not to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

Jeonghan tilted his head, his gaze flicking over you with a knowing glint. “This feels familiar.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference. “What does?”

“Let’s just say you have a knack for leaving me with something to think about,” he said casually, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass.

A flicker of amusement crossed your face. “Still losing sleep over it, Jeonghan?”

He leaned in, his voice dropping low, laced with mischief. “Not quite. But I’ve been wondering if you’re all talk or if you actually mean half the things you say.”

You smirked, leaning back just a little. “And what are you planning to do about it?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Guess you’ll have to find out next time,” he said smoothly, signaling to the bartender and slipping his card onto the counter.

You frowned, catching on quickly. “Jeonghan, you don’t have to—”

“Of course I don’t,” he replied, his smirk growing as he leaned in just enough for his voice to drop, intimate and teasing. “But what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t treat you every now and then?”

“A terrible one,” you deadpanned, crossing your arms.

He chuckled, standing up and adjusting his jacket. “Always so quick with the comebacks.”

You tilted your head, not backing down. “And yet, here you are, still trying to keep up.”

He grinned, leaning down so his face was level with yours. “Oh, I’m not just keeping up, sweetheart. I’m leading.”

With that, he threw on his jacket, turning to leave, but not without one last playful remark. “Enjoy your night, Y/N. And next time…” He flashed a grin over his shoulder, his voice dipping lower. “Try putting that mouth of yours to better use.”

Your mouth dropped open, and you could hear his laugh as you watched him disappear into the neon-lit streets. 

Damn him.

The Suzuka Circuit’s air was heavy with anticipation, the disappointment in Ferrari’s garage palpable. Jeonghan leaned against the barrier in the media pen, his crimson Ferrari suit contrasting with the growing dusk. Despite his relaxed posture, the tension radiating off him was hard to miss.

"Yoon Jeonghan," you began, stepping forward with your mic. "P11 today—your first time not making it to Q3 since your rookie season. What happened out there?"

His smile was thin, masking the fire simmering beneath. "Suzuka’s a tough circuit. I put in a solid lap, but in the end, it just wasn’t enough. A couple milliseconds make all the difference."

"Kim Mingyu of McLaren knocked you out in the dying seconds of the session," you pointed out, your tone as neutral as possible.

"Yeah, Mingyu had a great lap," he said, though his smirk betrayed a hint of frustration. "Kudos to him for that. It’s the nature of the game—sometimes you’re the one knocking others out, and sometimes you’re the one being knocked out."

You tilted your head, pressing just a little. "Ferrari’s upgrades were supposed to shine here at Suzuka. Do you think the car—or the driver—fell short today?"

His eyes met yours, sharp and knowing. "Is that your way of asking if I’m losing my edge?"

You smiled faintly. "Just doing my job, Jeonghan."

"And doing it well," he replied smoothly. "I’ll make sure to give you something better to write about tomorrow."

Yoon Jeonghan’s Q2 Knockout: A Sign of Ferrari’s Struggles or a Driver Underperforming?

Your analysis was live before the sun set over Suzuka, dissecting Jeonghan’s performance lap by lap:

"While Ferrari’s SF-24 showed promise in Q1, Jeonghan’s Q2 lap exposed cracks in execution. Hesitant braking into Spoon Corner cost him vital time, and a wide exit through Degner 2 raised questions about his confidence under high pressure. Kim Mingyu’s decisive lap in the McLaren only highlighted the contrast, leaving Ferrari fans wondering if Jeonghan can rebound from this rare stumble."

It didn’t take long for the article to ripple through the paddock—and reach its subject. The article was sharp, critical, with the same bite that you had become a household name for. And Jeonghan read every word.

He must have been an idiot to assume you would be kinder after the way he’d left you gobsmacked a few nights prior at the bar. 

You had just wrapped up your interview with Mingyu, the day’s pole sitter, when Jeonghan found you.

"Got a minute?" he asked, voice deceptively light.

You glanced up, startled to find him so close, still in his Ferrari suit, his hair slightly damp from the cool-down lap.

"Something on your mind?" you replied, keeping your tone professional.

He didn’t bother with pleasantries. "That article."

You raised an eyebrow. "Specificity helps, you know."

He chuckled darkly. "The one where you ripped apart my Q2 performance like you’re a technical director." He took a step closer, and for the first time, the calm façade cracked - his smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Hesitant braking? Lack of confidence under pressure? You really think I’m losing my touch?"

"I think Suzuka demands perfection," you replied evenly. "And today, perfection wasn’t what we saw."

He let out a low laugh, shaking his head. "You love this, don’t you? Watching me stumble so you can tear me apart in print."

"Jeonghan," you said, straightening, "if you want me to write glowing reviews, give me something to work with."

"You should’ve mentioned how close I was to Mingyu’s time," he shot back.

"Close isn’t enough," you countered, coolly. "Not in this sport."

His eyes narrowed, and he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Careful, sweetheart. Don’t let them think you’re this obsessed with me."

"Careful, Jeonghan," you shot back mockingly. "Sienna Hartley might not like hearing you get so worked up over me."

His hand shot out, catching your wrist before you could walk away. "Here’s an exclusive for you," he said, his voice sharp. "Me and Sienna? Not together."

You blinked, thrown off for just a moment before you schooled your expression. "Good to know. Now let go."

He released you immediately but lingered just long enough to murmur, "Don’t think this is over."

The Suzuka chaos worked in Jeonghan’s favor. 

When the lights went out, Jeonghan’s start was perfect—clean, aggressive, calculated. By the first corner, he had already gained two places, capitalizing on a sluggish Alpine and threading the needle between a Williams and an AlphaTauri. 

The midfield battle was fierce. Suzuka’s notorious esses demanded precision, and Jeonghan attacked them with surgical efficiency, his Ferrari responding like an extension of his own instincts. He overtook the Aston Martin of Lee Seokmin into Turn 11 with a move so bold the crowd audibly gasped. 

Each pass felt like a small victory, but it wasn’t enough. The podium still felt miles away. His fingers tightened on the wheel as he navigated the sweeping Spoon Curve, catching a glimpse of the orange McLaren far ahead—Mingyu.

The memory of your post-quali interview slipped into his mind. Close isn’t enough. Not in this sport.

He exhaled sharply, forcing the thought away. Now wasn’t the time. Jeonghan approached Degner 2, the car planted firmly under him. He could feel the wear on his tires but knew he still had grip to spare. He glanced briefly at the digital display on his steering wheel, calculating the gap to the car ahead—P5, the Red Bull of Choi Seungcheol.

As he accelerated toward the Hairpin, your voice echoed in his head again. Hesitant braking. Confidence issues.

His jaw clenched. It wasn’t anger—it was something more complicated. Why did you always manage to get under his skin? He should’ve been focusing on tire wear, fuel management, or his next target, but instead, his mind betrayed him.

He thought of the way you’d smirked during the interview, how your tone had been sharp, almost daring. The way you’d walked away, leaving him with more to say.

Focus. He snapped himself back, braking perfectly into the Hairpin. The slip of attention hadn’t cost him, but it had been close. Too close.

A well-timed pit stop under a virtual safety car catapulted him to P4. He rejoined the track with fresh mediums, slicing through the field with an aggression that stunned even his team.

By Lap 40, he was staring down the rear wing of Kwon Soonyoung—his own teammate. The team’s radio lit up, the pit wall hesitating.

“Jeonghan, Soonyoung ahead on a different strategy. Keep it clean.”

He didn’t wait for a direct order. Into 130R, the fastest corner on the track, he swung to the outside. His car shuddered with the force of the maneuver, but he held his line, leaving Soonyoung no choice but to yield.

“P3, Jeonghan. You’re on the podium now. Great move.”

With only two laps to go, he was in P2, chasing Mingyu, who had a comfortable lead. Jeonghan knew catching him was impossible, but that wasn’t the point anymore. This was about proving something—to his team, the fans, and maybe even to you.

The Ferrari hummed beneath him, a symphony of power and precision. Every turn, every braking zone, every shift felt like redemption. When he crossed the line in P2, the roar of the crowd was deafening, but all he could hear was his own heartbeat.

The media room was packed, buzzing with questions for the podium finishers. You started with Mingyu, still glowing from his dominant victory.

“Kim Mingyu,” you began, “another win for McLaren. How does it feel to catch up to Jeonghan in the driver’s championship?”

Mingyu smiled, leaning into the mic. “It feels incredible. The car was perfect today, and the team did an amazing job. Credit to everyone back at the factory.”

Before you could move on to the next question, Jeonghan interjected from his spot.

“Must feel nice to start up front and stay there,” he quipped, his tone light but pointed.

Mingyu grinned, unfazed. “You would know, Jeonghan. But you kept me looking over my shoulder the whole time.”

The room chuckled, and you shot Jeonghan a warning glance, which he ignored entirely.

Later, when a question was directed at Jeonghan about his race recovery, his response was pointed. "Oh, you know. I’m pretty good at managing tire degradation. And I had a lot of people doubting me on this track specifically, so I had to prove them wrong too."

His gaze locked on yours as he delivered the last line, and the meaning wasn’t lost on you—or anyone else in the room.

Jeonghan barely made it three steps out of the press conference room before Soonyoung intercepted him, leaning casually against a stack of Pirelli tires like he had all the time in the world. The amusement on his face set Jeonghan’s internal alarms blaring.

“What the hell was that about?” Soonyoung asked, arms crossed in mock authority.

Jeonghan blinked, expertly schooling his expression into one of pure confusion. “What was what about?” he replied, his tone dripping with innocence.

“Oh, don’t even try to play dumb with me, Jeonghan. I know you too well.” Soonyoung’s grin widened as he stepped closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “You were doing something during that press conference. I’ve never seen you look that smug unless you’re—”

“I was answering questions,” Jeonghan interrupted smoothly, plucking a water bottle from the cooler without breaking his stride. He unscrewed the cap with deliberate calm, taking a slow sip. “That’s what press conferences are for, in case you forgot.”

Soonyoung squinted at him, unconvinced. “Right. And here I thought press conferences were for you to pretend you’re unbothered while delivering backhanded digs at Kim Mingyu.”

Jeonghan barely managed to keep a straight face, though he felt the tiniest flicker of pride. He had been particularly good with his barbs today. Still, there was no way he was admitting that. “Don’t project, Soonyoung,” he drawled. “Not everyone uses media day as therapy.”

Before Soonyoung could retort, a new voice joined the conversation.

“I know what it was,” said Kim Sunwoo, strolling up with the unshakable confidence of someone who didn’t yet understand how much trouble he was about to cause. The young mechanic had a smirk plastered on his face, the kind that made Jeonghan instinctively want to flee.

“You know what?” Jeonghan asked warily, his eyes narrowing.

“That look you had during the Q&A,” Sunwoo continued, leaning casually against a tool chest. “You were staring at her, man. Like, full-on laser focus. It’s like you were trying to send her a message.”

Jeonghan’s grip on the water bottle tightened. He felt his ears heat up but refused to let it show. “I was answering her question,” he said evenly. “It’s called eye contact. You should try it sometime—people like that sort of thing.”

But Sunwoo wasn’t done. “And don’t think we didn’t notice you getting all flustered when Mingyu’s name came up,” he added, his smirk widening.

“Flustered?” Jeonghan repeated, letting out a short, incredulous laugh. “Right. That’s definitely the word I’d use to describe me.”

“Come on, dude.” Sunwoo shrugged, undeterred. “Admit it. You’ve got a crush.”

The words hit like a sucker punch. Jeonghan froze mid-sip, choking slightly as the water went down the wrong way. He coughed, spluttering as Sunwoo and Soonyoung erupted into laughter.

“Alright,” Jeonghan said sharply once he’d recovered, pointing a finger at Sunwoo. “You’ve been spending too much time on TikTok. Get back to work before I have you polishing rims for the rest of the season.”

But Sunwoo only grinned wider, completely unbothered. “Jeonghan’s in loooove,” he teased, drawing out the word in a sing-song voice.

“I said that’s enough,” Jeonghan snapped, the slight pink tinge creeping up his neck completely betraying his forced composure. “Shouldn’t you be tuning an engine or something useful?”

Soonyoung, meanwhile, was doubled over laughing, clearly enjoying himself far too much. When he finally straightened, he clapped Jeonghan on the back. “Hey, don’t worry about it, man. If you need advice, just let me know. I’m great with women.”

Jeonghan groaned, brushing him off. “The day I take advice from you, Soonyoung, is the day I retire. He shoved past them toward his motorhome, muttering under his breath. “Insufferable. Both of you.”

But even as he slammed the door behind him, Jeonghan couldn’t stop the echo of Sunwoo’s words from rattling around in his head. 

You’ve got a crush.

He scoffed aloud, shaking his head. “Ridiculous,” he muttered, tossing the water bottle onto the couch. But as he sank down beside it, arms crossed and jaw tight, he couldn’t quite stop himself from wondering.

Jeonghan didn’t want to be here.

The club pulsed with energy, a humid swirl of bodies pressing too close, the bass reverberating in his chest like a persistent headache. Strobe lights sliced through the haze, and the air smelled faintly of spilled drinks and cheap cologne. Somewhere in the chaos, Soonyoung had disappeared, leaving Jeonghan to fend for himself.

He’d been ready to make his exit the moment they walked in, but Soonyoung had insisted. “You need to loosen up, Jeonghan. Let the adrenaline from the race wear off. Have a drink, maybe dance.”Jeonghan had scoffed at the idea, knowing full well that his reason for not wanting to stay wasn’t exhaustion.

No, it was you.

Even when you weren’t in the room, you lingered in his mind like the ghost of a song he couldn’t stop humming. The podium had been a nice distraction. But now, surrounded by the chatter of strangers and the clinking of glasses, his thoughts drifted back to the press conference and the pointed, teasing look you’d given him when he spoke.

And then there was Mingyu—always Mingyu—whose name you’d said with just a little too much warmth. Jeonghan had pretended not to notice, but it had been impossible to ignore.

Shaking his head, Jeonghan pushed through the crowd, determined to leave. He had almost made it to the exit when someone collided into him, hard enough to send him stumbling forward.

“Whoa—watch it!” a voice slurred, sharp with irritation but unmistakably familiar.

He turned, already scowling, but the expression froze on his face when he saw you.

“Jeonghan?” you said, blinking up at him, your voice teetering between surprise and amusement. Your cheeks were flushed, lips curling into a slow smile as you adjusted your grip on the drink in your hand.

“You?” he blurted, his composure slipping for a fraction of a second.

“What are you—?” you started, only to trail off as a giggle bubbled out of you. Shaking your head like you were trying to clear it, you added, “Wow. Small world, huh?”

“I guess so,” Jeonghan said, his tone carefully even, though his gaze lingered on the way the dim light caught the sheen of your hair, the curve of your smile. His eyes dropped to your drink, then back to your face. “Are you drunk?”

“No,” you said, far too quickly, before adding with a sheepish laugh, “Okay, maybe. Just a little.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, threatening to curve into a smile. “Sure looks like it.”

You waved him off with a dramatic flourish, nearly spilling your drink in the process. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be... I don’t know, brooding on a podium somewhere?”

He tilted his head, pretending to be affronted. “I don’t brood. And besides, this is a celebration.”

“Oh, right,” you said, stepping closer. Your gaze softened, and your voice dropped just enough to make the words feel like they were meant for him alone. “The big comeback.”

“Lots of doubters, huh?” you added, the slight slur in your voice doing nothing to dull the edge of your words.

Jeonghan blinked, caught off guard, before a chuckle escaped him. “Well, your article did the talking for you.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, your eyes a little too bright, your smile a little too slow. “What a way to get my attention, pretty boy.”

His breath caught, his carefully built façade cracking for just a second. “You think I’m pretty?”

Your lips parted, but before you could answer, a hand landed firmly on your shoulder.

“There you are!”

Jeonghan looked up to see one of your friends glaring at him as they steadied you. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and you’re... what? Flirting with Yoon Jeonghan now?”

“Not flirting,” you protested weakly, though your lopsided smile said otherwise.

Your friend wasn’t convinced, nor were they interested in his response. They tugged you into the crowd with an apologetic glance over their shoulder. “Sorry about her—she’s had a night.”

Jeonghan stayed rooted in place, his gaze following your retreating figure. His lips curved into a faint smile as your words replayed in his mind.

“What a way to get my attention,” he murmured to himself, shaking his head.

And yet, as he stood there, the thought struck him that maybe you’d already gotten his.

FORMULA 1 GRAND PRIX DE MONACO 2024Track: Circuit de Monaco

The paddock at Monaco was alive with its usual glitz and glamour, the unmistakable hum of anticipation hanging thick in the air. Cameras flashed, team personnel buzzed around, and the harbor glistened under the sun. Monaco, the crown jewel of the F1 calendar, had a way of amplifying everything—victories felt sweeter, defeats more crushing, and the stakes impossibly higher.

Jeonghan, fresh off securing pole position, had his usual air of nonchalance, but the glow of triumph was undeniable. The fans chanted his name; the cameras adored him. Yet as he stepped off the podium erected for the post-qualifying festivities, his sharp eyes caught sight of something—someone—that brought him up short.

You.

You were standing just beyond the throng of journalists, your press badge gleaming under the midday sun. It had been weeks since he’d last seen you, weeks since your sharp quips and piercing questions had filled the air between you like sparks on dry wood.

Those weeks had been… odd, to say the least. You’d been reassigned to cover Formula E, a shift Jeonghan had learned about only after noticing your absence at the paddock in China. He had played it cool, pretending it didn’t matter, but he had found himself seeking out your byline anyway—reading articles that had nothing to do with him or F1, just to feel the rhythm of your words.

Even the searing critiques you usually aimed at him had been sorely missed. It was maddening, really, how much quieter the world had felt without your fire.

Now, here you were again, back in the fray of Formula 1, as though no time had passed. Jeonghan’s expression remained casual, but his stride toward you was deliberate, cutting through the chaos of the paddock.

When he stopped in front of you, his smirk was already in place, a shield against the strange, unwelcome flutter of relief in his chest. “Where’ve you been?” he asked, tilting his head with practiced ease.

You looked up from your notebook, arching a brow at him. “Missed me, Jeonghan?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

The word landed between you like a drop of rain on hot asphalt, its simplicity taking you aback. Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but notice how the sharpness in your gaze softened for a fraction of a second.

But then, as quickly as the moment arrived, he leaned in, his smirk deepening. “Someone had to keep the paddock interesting.”

You rolled your eyes, recovering your composure. “I see the Monaco air hasn’t done anything for your humility.”

“And I see Formula E hasn’t dulled your wit,” he shot back, stepping closer so the noise of the paddock faded slightly.

You shook your head, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You’ve done not too bad these past few races, huh?”

The comment was offhand, tossed in almost as a formality, but it hit Jeonghan harder than he expected. Compliments—genuine ones—were rare from you, and they stirred something unexpected in him.

Jeonghan blinked, the smirk faltering for just a second before he quickly replaced it with mock arrogance. “Not too bad?” he echoed, feigning offense. “I dominated in China, held my ground in Miami, and destroyed Emilia Romagna. Give me some credit here.”

For all his ego, Jeonghan knew he wasn’t wrong. He’d won China by a jaw-dropping 22.3-second margin, Mingyu so far behind that Jeonghan had time to deliver an entire thank-you speech over the radio before the McLaren driver even crossed the checkered flag. In Miami, even a grueling five-second stop-go penalty hadn’t stopped him; he finished P2 (behind Kim Mingyu, annoyingly) and picked up the extra point for the fastest lap, earning him Driver of the Day. And in Emilia Romagna, he was the clear favorite from the moment the race weekend began. The Tifosi were relentless, their cheers in the grandstands so deafening that Jeonghan could barely hear his engineer’s voice over the radio.

When he crossed the finish line first, the sea of red under the podium roared with such thunderous applause that his ears rang for hours afterward. In just three races, Jeonghan had cemented himself as the best contender for the 2024 World Champion.

And yet, somehow, it wasn’t as sweet without you there to write about it.

“Alright,” you said, meeting his gaze head-on. “You’ve been exceptional.”

The word struck like a sucker punch. For once, Jeonghan didn’t have a clever retort. 

"Congrats on pole, Jeonghan," you said, your voice cool but sincere, offering him a small smile. It made his heart skip a beat.

Jeonghan’s lips twitched, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You called me exceptional."

You glanced up at him, closing your notebook with a flick of your wrist. The corner of your mouth quirked into a smirk. "Yes. Now, thoughts on pole?"

He's silent for so long that you politely clear your throat, hoping to cut through the sudden stillness. "Maybe this should be my headline for the day, Jeonghan. Monaco's Maze Leaves Golden Boy Spinning Out."

It's like someone doused him with ice water. His easy, sun-soaked posture stiffens, and the small smirk he'd been wearing evaporates.

You're still a journalist. He forgets that sometimes.

"Why do you do that?" he mutters, voice edged with something unfamiliar—disappointment, maybe.

You blink, caught off guard by the abrupt change in tone. “Do what?”

“That.” He gestures vaguely between you and the notebook tucked in your hand. The lenses of his sunglasses catch the sunlight, but there’s no mistaking the intensity behind them. His gaze pierces, searching for something in your expression. “Bringing the shitty headlines into every conversation."

You arch a brow, tucking the notebook closer to your chest as if shielding it from his line of sight. “Shitty? You mean accurate, Jeonghan.”

His jaw tightens, a subtle movement, but enough to draw your attention. There’s a faint crease forming between his brows now, and you realize it’s not your usual back-and-forth banter. “You know what I mean,” he mutters, voice low and barely audible over the hum of the paddock—the distant rumble of engines, the echo of voices, the clinking of tools in nearby garages.

For a moment, you’re at a loss. Jeonghan doesn’t let things like this bother him—or, at least, he’s always been good at pretending they don’t. His whole brand is carefree charm, a perpetual smirk, and the confidence of someone who knows he’ll always be the center of attention. This feels different.

“You’re upset about a headline?” you ask, genuinely curious now.

“It’s not about the headline.” His tone sharpens, but he stops himself, jaw clenching like he’s swallowing something bitter. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, his fingers brushing over the brim of his cap. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, tinged with something almost vulnerable. “It’s about how you never let up, even when it’s me.”

The admission lands heavily between you, unexpected and disarming.

You shift uncomfortably under the weight of his words, the way they seem to strip away the professional distance you’ve been clinging to. “Why should I?” you counter, keeping your voice steady despite the flicker of doubt creeping in. “You’re just another driver, Jeonghan.”

His laugh is short and humorless, cutting through the charged air between you. “Right. Just another driver.”

There’s something about the way he says it—low, almost resigned—that catches you off guard. The bitterness in his tone isn’t theatrical; it’s real, raw, and so at odds with the image he projects to the world.

You glance at him, searching for the Jeonghan you’re used to—the one who shrugs off criticism with a knowing grin, who always has a teasing retort ready. But for once, he’s not hiding behind a smirk or a cocky quip. He looks tired, the weight of his words pulling at the edges of his carefully maintained charm.

“Jeonghan,” you begin, unsure of what you’re even trying to say.

But he shakes his head, cutting you off before you can find the right words. “Forget it.”

He takes a step back, and it feels like a gulf opening between you. The mask of indifference slips back into place with practiced ease, but you’ve already seen the cracks. “You’ve got your job to do,” he says, his tone clipped and distant. “Make sure you spell my name right in that next ‘shitty headline.’”

You hate the way your chest tightens at his words, hate the instinctive urge to reach out and stop him as he turns to walk away, his figure retreating into the chaotic swirl of the paddock.

But you don’t.

Instead, you grip your notebook tighter, the edges digging into your palm as if the physical discomfort might drown out the ache building in your chest. The buzz of your phone in your pocket snaps you out of the moment. Grateful for the distraction, you pull it out to see a text from your editor: Post-qualifying article. Deadline: 6 PM.

Just another driver.

The words echo hollowly in your mind, unconvincing and painfully untrue.

Because the truth is, Jeonghan has never been just anything to you.

And that’s exactly why this is so damn complicated.

Jeonghan spends the night refreshing his Twitter feed. 

He’s not sure what he’s waiting for, honestly. 

Maybe it’s the rush of validation that comes from a clever reply, or the sting of criticism that reminds him he’s still human under the helmet. Or maybe it’s something else entirely—something he doesn’t want to name. The applause of the crowd is long gone, and the adrenaline from securing pole position hours earlier has settled into a restless hum. His phone feels heavier in his hand as he scrolls, tapping at random links and skimming comments that veer between praise and criticism.

The article finally pops up, your name bold and unmistakable at the top. His stomach tightens, a sensation he’ll never admit to anyone, least of all you. 

He clicks it immediately. 

The headline strikes first: 

Kim Mingyu’s Risky Qualifying Lap Keeps Rivals on Edge

For a moment, he freezes, his eyes scanning the words again to make sure he didn’t misread.

Mingyu?

Confusion knots his brow as he scrolls down. The opening paragraph is a glowing analysis of Mingyu’s audacious lap—a near miss in the second sector, a masterful recovery in the final corners. The kind of detailed, evocative writing that Jeonghan knows you reserve for stories you care about.

Then, buried halfway through, he finds his name:

“Jeonghan, true to form, delivered a flawless lap to secure pole position. His consistency and precision were unmatched, placing him at the front of the grid for tomorrow’s race.”

That’s it.

No breakdown of his sector times, no mention of the deft control it took to navigate the tight Monaco corners under immense pressure. Just a single, clinical acknowledgment, overshadowed by Mingyu’s second-place drama.

Jeonghan stares at the screen, his thumb hovering over the refresh button. He doesn’t know what he was expecting—a parade in words? A headline with his name front and center?

It’s ridiculous, he tells himself. Pole position speaks for itself. It doesn’t need a poetic article to back it up.

But that doesn’t stop the irritation bubbling under his skin.

He tosses his phone onto the bed with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. His hotel room feels quieter than it should, the distant hum of the city barely seeping through the windows.

He can’t shake the feeling that you’re making a point. That this is your way of reminding him that while he might be the golden boy on the track, he doesn’t get special treatment in your world.

Not in your writing. Not from you.

It’s infuriating.

And yet, a part of him—one he’s unwilling to examine too closely—wants to know why you didn’t write more about him. Wants to know what he’d have to do to make you look at him the way you clearly look at Mingyu.

Not just another driver.

But the one worth writing about.

The morning of the Monaco Grand Prix dawned with the soft hum of engines filling the paddock and the gleaming streets of Monte Carlo radiating under a cloudless sky. Jeonghan arrived early, his customary calm masking the roiling anticipation beneath. Pole position was his—secured with a lap so clinical it had left his rivals chasing shadows. Yet, the sharp sting of your article still lingered, buried beneath layers of pride and annoyance.

By mid-morning, the paddock buzzed with tension. The Monaco circuit—narrow, unforgiving, and relentlessly demanding—left no room for error. Victory here wasn’t just about speed; it was about precision, strategy, and an unwavering mental edge. Jeonghan knew that all too well.

As he suited up, the familiar ritual steadied his thoughts. Helmet, gloves, fireproofs—each piece transformed him into the driver everyone expected him to be. His engineer’s voice crackled over the comms. “Focus on the start, Jeonghan. Turn One is everything.”

He gave a curt nod, stepping into the car. The roar of the crowd was muffled as the cockpit enveloped him. Lights on the dashboard blinked in sequence, a visual metronome syncing with his heartbeat.

The engine roars to life beneath Jeonghan as he settles into the cockpit, the familiar hum of the Monaco Grand Prix vibrating through the seat, up his spine, and into his very bones. His focus sharpens like a blade, the heat of the sun seeping through his visor, but he’s not thinking about the sweat trickling down his neck or the weight of the helmet that obscures his field of vision. He’s thinking of the laps he’s put in, of the sacrifice, the years of work that led him here, to this very moment, pole position in Monaco.

He has no illusions about the challenge ahead. This track has always favored the one at the front, especially when that one is someone as methodical and precise as Jeonghan. It’s not often that the pole sitter falters here. But that’s not what has his stomach in knots. It’s not the track or the other drivers. It’s you. The thought of your words, your perspective, your gaze.

What if this win isn’t enough? What if I’m still just another driver to you?

His grip tightens on the steering wheel, and for a moment, he considers the possibility of failing, of cruising through the race without the sharp, passionate energy that has always pushed him. What if he doesn’t even get the headline he’s chasing? What if all this effort amounts to nothing more than another expected victory, no deeper praise, no recognition?

He blinks, pushing the thought away. He can’t afford distractions. He’s here to win—nothing else matters.

The lights blink, one by one, before finally turning off, and he’s off, the car surging forward into the narrow streets of Monaco, engines screaming in unison. His concentration narrows, the noise of the crowd fading into the background. The first few laps are a blur of tactical moves, maintaining the lead, setting the pace. Behind him, Mingyu is close—too close—but Jeonghan has enough room, enough air to breathe.

The laps tick by, the gaps between drivers stretching and shrinking like the ebb and flow of a tide. In Monaco, you can’t make mistakes. The barriers are close enough to bite, and one slip-up could send everything into chaos. Jeonghan doesn’t think of that, though. He doesn’t think of the press, of his reputation, of the words hanging in the back of his mind.

What he thinks about is the win. The pure, simple joy of crossing that finish line first. He wants to feel the weight of the moment, of the accomplishment, and more than anything, he wants to look up and see you there—see that your words reflect the magnitude of this victory.

He holds the lead through the race, but it’s a quiet victory, one he can feel in his bones but doesn’t fully experience. The lap times are consistent, but nothing spectacular happens. No drama, no surprise overtake, no breathtaking maneuver.

It’s a clean, controlled victory—exactly what everyone expects from the driver in pole position.

By the time the checkered flag waves, Jeonghan crosses the line in first. The crowd erupts in cheers, but Jeonghan doesn’t feel the same rush of emotion. The thrill is absent, replaced instead by a deep, gnawing sense of doubt.

The win is his, but it feels like it’s already slipping away from his grasp.

In the post-race briefing, he sits with his team, nodding as they discuss tire strategies, pit stops, and the things that went right. But his eyes keep drifting to the back of the room, to where you stand, clipboard in hand, scribbling notes with focused intent. Every time he tries to catch your gaze, to make eye contact, you look away, as if determined to keep your distance.

It stings more than it should.

Jeonghan leans back in his seat, the weight of his helmet resting against his neck, the pressure of your indifference pressing down on him. He wants to reach out, wants to tell you that this win—this clean, controlled, expected win—deserves something more. But he stays silent, twisting the words in his mind, unable to voice the insecurity that’s suddenly consuming him.

The press conference follows the briefing, a whirlwind of questions, cameras, and flashing lights. The room is full of journalists, all clamoring for soundbites, all eager to discuss the expected result—Jeonghan, pole position, and now, victory. But Jeonghan doesn’t care about the usual congratulatory remarks. He’s waiting for something more. Something real.

When the article finally drops, hours later, he barely waits before pulling it up on his phone. He knows what it’s going to say, but still, the disappointment claws at his chest as he reads the headline.

Jeonghan Dominates Monaco: Pole Position Translates to Victory

His stomach twists, and he exhales sharply, trying to ignore the hollow feeling that spreads through him. It’s everything he expected—a result that leaves no room for admiration, no room for praise. Just the simple, obvious statement that he did what everyone expected him to do. The race was clean, flawless even, but there’s no depth to the words, no recognition of what it takes to win here, at Monaco, the most challenging track in the world.

The thought gnaws at him.

It’s not enough.

The press conference continues, the cameras flashing, but Jeonghan’s mind is far from the words he’s being asked to repeat. He’s not thinking about the team’s success, about the strategies that worked, or even about the crowd's cheers. His eyes find you across the room once again, but this time, you don't look away. Your gaze is fixed on something—anything—but not on him.

He can’t help but wonder if it’s because you don’t see him as more than just another driver. Just another one of the usual suspects who gets a win when it’s expected. He’s fighting for something more—something beyond the surface. But for now, it seems like that’s something he’ll never get from you.

He’s won Monaco. But in that moment, the victory feels like the hollowest thing in the world.

FORMULA 1 AWS GRAND PRIX DU CANADA 2024Track: Circuit Gilles Villeneuve

The Canadian Grand Prix feels like a blur. The rain starts as a light drizzle, but by the time the race begins, it’s pouring, transforming the circuit into a slippery mess. The slick track glistens under the flood of water, making the circuit treacherous, a spinning wheel of danger. The air is thick with the scent of wet asphalt, and there’s an ominous tension in the paddock, a murmur that hangs in the atmosphere as if everyone knows something bad is about to happen. 

You catch sight of Jeonghan on the grid. He’s staring straight ahead, hands clasped behind his back, his posture perfect, like the picture of composure. But you can see it in his eyes—something flickers there, a mix of tension and determination. His car, finely tuned for dry conditions, isn’t built for this. The engineers have done what they can, adjusting the setup, but there’s only so much they can do when the weather turns so violently. You know this track—the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve—is not forgiving, and for someone like Jeonghan, a precision driver who thrives when everything falls into place, this is the worst-case scenario. He’s trying to keep his focus, but you can see the strain on his face, the pressure mounting with every passing moment.

The starting lights go out, and the cars roar off the grid, their engines screaming in defiance of the rain. Jeonghan’s car is sluggish in the first few laps. You see him fighting with the wheel, struggling to keep the car in line, each turn a reminder that the odds are stacked against him. The rain is only getting heavier, and the car, built for speed in perfect conditions, is no longer responsive, no longer the finely-tuned machine he’s so accustomed to. It’s like he’s driving a different car altogether.

As the laps tick by, the race feels like a slow-motion disaster, unfolding before your eyes. Jeonghan’s always been skilled in the wet, but this is different—this is more than just rain. This is a mechanical mismatch, an impossible task to overcome. You watch him push, trying to find any way to make up time, but it’s clear he’s just not able to. The car slides wide through the corners, the back end kicking out as he struggles to maintain control. His frustration is palpable, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping the wheel with white-knuckled intensity.

And then, it happens.

The rear end of Jeonghan’s car breaks loose as he enters Turn 6, and for a moment, it’s a dance of power and precision, a flick of the wheel, an attempt to save it. But it’s futile. The car loses traction, and before you can even process it, he’s in the barriers. The sound of impact is like a gut punch, a sickening crunch that sends a wave of dread through you. The crowd's collective gasp is drowned out by the static crackle of his radio.

“Jeonghan, do you copy?” The voice of his engineer is urgent, panicked, but there’s no mistaking the defeat in it when the response comes through. Jeonghan’s voice is clipped, emotion stripped away in favor of the cold reality.

“I’m out. Car’s done.”

The message is simple, the weight of it crashing down on you. The race is over. Lap 30. The dream, the chance to prove himself in a season that’s been anything but easy, has slipped away, drowned by the rain.

You feel like you’ve been punched in the gut. It’s a loss for Jeonghan, but it feels like a loss for you too. Not because of the race itself, but because of the frustration you saw in his face. The disappointment. The feeling of helplessness. It’s all there, and it hits you harder than you expect.

He doesn’t speak to anyone after. He doesn’t go to the media pen, doesn’t stand in front of the cameras for the obligatory interview. There’s no deflection, no distractions. He’s just... gone. You barely see him in the paddock. He doesn’t even go to the Ferrari garage to debrief with his team. He disappears into the background, like he’s trying to erase himself from the scene altogether, retreating into the shadows, avoiding the world that’s waiting to cast its judgment.

And you? You stay away too. The press room feels suffocating, the questions ringing in your ears as you try to focus. You write your piece, a cold, sharp report about the race and Jeonghan’s crash, a clinical dissection of what went wrong. But something feels hollow as you type. The words don’t flow the way they used to. They’re just words, strung together to meet the deadline, to give the readers what they want. It’s not about the story anymore. It’s not about the race. It’s about the loss.

You can’t shake the image of Jeonghan crashing out, of his frustration written in every line of his face, every motion of his hands. You can’t forget the way he looked when he climbed out of the car, shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the world had suddenly fallen onto him. His eyes are distant, like he’s already checked out, retreating into himself. It’s a look you’ve seen before, but it’s sharper now, more pronounced. He’s carrying something, a burden that you don’t understand, a burden you’re not sure you can even help him carry.

But all you can do is write. And even that doesn’t feel like enough.

FORMULA 1 ARAMCO GRAN PREMIO DE ESPAÑA 2024 Track: Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya

The Spanish Grand Prix feels different from the moment you step out of the car, the heat oppressive, the air thick with anticipation and the inevitable tension of the weekend. The usual rhythm of the paddock is off-kilter, heightened by the suffocating summer heat, the burning sun beating down on every exposed surface. The heat is more than just physical; it's palpable in the way the drivers move, in the clipped tones of the engineers, in the quiet buzz of conversation that flickers out like static.

But even through the sticky, heavy air, the tension feels electric—charged, ready to snap. The circuit is a challenge in itself, and the drivers know it. There’s no room for error here—just wide, hot tarmac and the constant pressure of chasing that perfect lap.

You’ve done your best to avoid Jeonghan, kept a comfortable distance as much as possible. But there’s something about the way he carries himself now—an edge that wasn't there before. It’s sharp, biting, and yet there’s an underlying vulnerability that makes everything harder to ignore.

When qualifying results flash up, you’re caught off-guard. Soonyoung is on pole, Mingyu in second, and Jeonghan… Jeonghan is in third. 

Jeonghan strides into the paddock after qualifying, his face carefully composed, but there’s a look in his eyes—something sharp, something that makes you hesitate. You haven’t spoken in days, not since Canada, not since he shut you out. You’ve been avoiding him, and he’s been avoiding you, but you both know the silence can’t last forever.

You’re standing near the media area when he approaches, and for a moment, it feels like the world holds its breath. The slight tilt of his head, the way his gaze flicks over your shoulder, pretending not to care, but you see through it.

"Don't do this," he says, his voice tight, but it's not the playful teasing you’ve grown used to. It’s something darker. Something tired.

"Don’t do what?" you snap, your patience running thin. "Pretend everything’s fine?"

His jaw clenches, eyes narrowing. "You’ve been avoiding me. Why? Because of Canada?"

You blink. The question hits harder than you expect, and you struggle to keep your composure. “You expect me to just forget what happened? You were fine after the crash, Jeonghan. You didn’t even bother with the press. I can’t just pretend that wasn’t... anything.”

The words come out sharper than you intend, and for a split second, you regret it. You see the way his shoulders stiffen, the brief flicker of pain in his eyes before he masks it with that carefully constructed indifference.

"Maybe I didn’t want to deal with your harsh words," he snaps, taking a step closer. “Maybe I’m tired of being the perfect driver for you, the one who’s supposed to be good enough to meet your standards. But I’m not—am I?"

Your chest tightens at the accusation, at the sudden rawness in his voice. "You think I’m too harsh? You think I’m just waiting for you to be perfect all the time?" You laugh, bitter and self-deprecating. "That’s what this is about? You crashing out wasn’t because of me. I write the truth, Jeonghan. And maybe the truth is you didn’t have the car for that race. It was out of your control."

His expression darkens, and you see that familiar flash of anger—one you’ve seen more times than you care to admit. "No," he hisses, taking another step toward you. "The truth is, you're so wrapped up in your narratives, you forget that I’m human. You forget that I have feelings too, and that maybe... maybe I wanted to do this for myself, not for some headline or some article. But you... you don’t see me that way, do you? You see me as another story, another fucking headline to dissect. Just another driver."

His words cut deeper than anything else could, and the final crack in your restraint breaks wide open. You can feel the heat rising in your chest, the tightness in your throat, the way your breath hitches.

“You want me to treat you differently?” you bite back, furious, stepping into his space. “You want me to hold your hand and tell you it’s okay every time you fail? Because you’re so tired of being just another driver? Well, you know what, Jeonghan? I am tired. I’m tired of trying to keep this professional, of pretending that I’m not watching the same guy who couldn’t even handle his own crash. You don’t get to demand better treatment from me when you can’t even handle the heat.”

For a moment, neither of you move, and the silence is thick, charged with the weight of your words.

He stares at you, eyes dark, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. You’re both too close now, caught in this space where words are weapons, and you’re both bleeding out.

Finally, Jeonghan turns away, his expression unreadable, but you can see the tightness in his back, the way his jaw works, like he’s holding something back. "Maybe you should stop writing about me altogether," he mutters, his voice rough, before stalking off, leaving you standing there, heart pounding and chest aching.

For a moment, you stand frozen, caught between regret and relief, between the anger that still simmers beneath your skin and the sudden emptiness that creeps in now that he's gone.

The moment Jeonghan storms off, leaving you standing there with a surge of anger and a pounding heart, you don't realize someone’s been listening. But someone has. The faint click of a camera, barely audible over the sound of your pulse, is enough to make you pause. You turn, instinctively, to see a familiar face from the gossip side of the paddock. It's Soojin, a reporter known for getting the juiciest bits of drama and twisting them into scandalous headlines. She’s got a camera in one hand, her phone in the other, furiously typing something into it with a smirk that sends an uncomfortable ripple through your gut.

Before you can say anything, she’s already gone, blending back into the throng of people milling around the paddock, her steps quick and sure. The damage has been done. You know it, and the prickling sensation in the pit of your stomach tells you that it’s about to get a lot worse.

By the time you’ve made it back to the media center, the storm has already hit. Your Twitter feed is flooded with the words “Trouble in Paradise?”, and the accompanying photos. The images are damning—Jeonghan’s angry face, red with emotion, and your own flushed, furious expression, both of you screaming at each other in the middle of the paddock. There’s no context, no explanation, just the raw emotion, raw enough to sell.

The headline isn’t even what stings. It’s the comments that follow. Speculation, assumptions, and a flood of opinions. Some call it a lover’s quarrel, some assume the worst, but most seem content to paint the picture of two people on the verge of breaking. It’s not just your name that gets dragged through the mud; it’s Jeonghan’s too. Both of you, caught in a perfect storm of emotions and bad timing. The last thing either of you needs.

You try to shut it out, but it’s impossible. The text messages from your editor come through, asking for a statement. Your phone rings with calls from the PR team, from your colleagues, and even from your friends, who all seem to know about the situation before you’ve even had a chance to process it yourself.

And then, just when you think it couldn’t get worse, the email comes. It’s from Ferrari’s PR team, and it’s almost too professional to be true:

Dear Y/N, In light of the recent events surrounding your interactions with Mr. Yoon Jeonghan, we would like to offer you full access to the Ferrari garage for the remainder of the season. This will provide you with the opportunity to write an in-depth feature on the team, showcasing the work and dedication that goes into each race weekend. We believe this move will allow for a clearer perspective on the situation and help ensure that your reporting reflects the true nature of the team and its drivers. We look forward to your continued coverage. Best regards, Ferrari PR Team

It’s a calculated move—a distraction, a chance to smooth things over. And you know it. The message is clear: everything must look fine. Everything must be fixed, packaged neatly for the media and the fans to consume. You’re a pawn in a much bigger game, and they’re making sure you play along.

At first, you think about refusing. You think about how everything feels so wrong right now. About how the image of you and Jeonghan, caught in the heat of an argument, is being used to feed the frenzy. But the PR team doesn’t leave room for argument. You know that declining would only escalate things further, make them harder to fix.

So, you agree.

The access starts almost immediately. They give you a full tour of the Ferrari garage, show you the inner workings of the team, introduce you to the engineers, the strategists, the pit crew. You’re given permission to write about the team’s strategy, their behind-the-scenes preparation, but there’s always a sense that you're being watched—every move, every word.

You can’t help but notice Jeonghan’s absence. Every time you walk through the garage, he’s not there. The driver who once greeted you with a cocky smile and a teasing remark, the one who always found a way to make you laugh, is nowhere to be found. It’s like he’s vanished, swallowed by the thick wall of Ferrari’s PR machine.

It’s as if nothing is real anymore. The false smiles, the calculated interviews, the way the drivers exchange glances with a rehearsed ease. The more you observe, the more you realize how much of this world is a performance, a show put on for the audience, with no room for anything real. It all feels like it’s slipping through your fingers, leaving you with nothing but an empty, fragile façade.

Still, you’re expected to keep writing, to deliver the polished pieces the team expects. You’re supposed to put the headline “TROUBLE IN PARADISE?” behind you and focus on the carefully constructed narrative. So, you do. For now.

But even as you walk the pits, breathing in the scent of burnt rubber and sweat, there’s a quiet ache in the back of your mind. The truth is, you don’t know how much longer you can keep pretending that everything is fine.

Not when you still feel Jeonghan’s words hanging in the air between you, like the remnants of a storm that’s yet to pass. Not when you still want, with everything in you, to be able to fix it.

And maybe that’s the problem.

The crash happens so quickly, so violently, that it almost feels unreal. One moment, the tell-tale red of Jeonghan’s car is cutting through the circuit with his signature precision. The next, it’s a twisted mess of metal and rubber, skidding off the track, his car spinning wildly as Lee Seokmin’s Aston Martin clips him just before the tight corner at Turn 14. You watch it all unfold from the pit wall, your heart stopping for a brief second as the sound of the crash echoes through the air. 

There’s a collective gasp from the crew around you, followed by the frantic chatter of engineers and strategists, trying to process what just happened. You can see the smoke rising from the wreckage, and your breath catches when the marshals begin to swarm the car, signaling that Jeonghan is still inside. 

The radio crackles to life, but Jeonghan’s voice doesn’t come through. For a second, it feels like time slows down. The pit wall is a blur of motion, but you’re frozen, eyes locked on the track, praying for him to be okay. 

Then, finally, the confirmation comes: “Jeonghan is out of the car. He's fine. We'll move him to the medical center.” 

A wave of relief washes over you, but it’s short-lived. The weight of the crash—his crash—still hangs in the air, and it’s clear from the looks of the Ferrari crew that no one knows exactly what went wrong. The tension in the paddock is palpable, and as you’re given full access to the debriefing room afterward, the atmosphere is thick with unspoken frustration. 

Jeonghan walks in with that same seething expression he had after the crash, and the room goes silent. His eyes are red-rimmed, his jaw clenched, the kind of anger that’s so deep it can’t be shaken by anything or anyone. His usual confident swagger is replaced by a taut, barely contained rage that makes it hard for anyone to even breathe in his presence. His voice, when he speaks, is sharp, cutting through the room like a knife. 

“You think this is a joke?” he snaps, looking at his team with a glare so intense it’s almost suffocating. His fists are balled at his sides, his shoulders tense with barely controlled fury. 

The debriefing begins, but it’s clear that no one knows how to handle him. His coach tries to keep things calm, but Jeonghan's sharp words only make the tension worse. The rest of the team sits in silence, unsure of what to say, how to fix the situation. His eyes never leave the table, his posture rigid, as though every part of him is fighting the urge to storm out. 

The meeting goes in circles—strategies discussed, what went wrong, how to move forward—but nothing seems to land. Jeonghan doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to listen to anyone right now. His frustration is palpable, and it’s clear this crash, this failure, has broken something inside of him. 

When he finally stands, his chair scraping harshly against the floor, there’s an air of finality to it. Without another word, he storms out, leaving a tense silence in his wake. No one dares to speak, knowing that anything they say would be pointless. The door slams shut, and the meeting disbands soon after. 

But you don’t leave. You don’t really have anywhere to go. Not yet. 

You make your way to the Ferrari canteen, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. It’s one of those rare moments when you’re not chasing a headline, not following the usual routine, and the monotony of it all feels like a relief. You order two beers without thinking. You don’t need two, but for some reason, it feels right. Maybe it’s the adrenaline still coursing through your veins from the crash, or maybe it’s just the weight of everything—the pressure, the disappointment, the simmering frustration with Jeonghan that you haven’t had the chance to process yet. The beers are cold, the glass bottles slick with condensation, and when you walk outside to the grandstands, you find him. 

Jeonghan is sitting alone, his back against the metal railing, the crowd long gone. The air is warm, the kind of summer heat that clings to your skin and makes everything feel a little heavier. His eyes are closed, his head tipped back as he stares at the sky, and for a moment, you wonder if he even notices you approaching. 

Without saying a word, you sit beside him, the soft crunch of your shoes against the gravel the only sound in the stillness. You don’t offer him a drink immediately. Instead, you hold the bottles in your hands, feeling the chill seep into your palms, letting the silence stretch between you. 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you hand him one of the beers. He doesn’t look at you, but you catch the faintest shift in his posture, a soft hum of acknowledgement as he accepts it, cracking the cap with a quick twist.

“Jeonghan,” you say, breaking the silence, your voice quieter than you expect it to be. He doesn’t respond immediately, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. You take a sip of your own beer, the bitter taste grounding you in the moment. You can feel the tension that’s been building between you both, the weight of the unspoken words, but for now, you can’t bring yourself to make him speak. 

Then he does. “Full access, huh?” His voice is rough, the teasing edge to his words gone, replaced by something heavier. The bitterness is unmistakable. “You must be thrilled, getting to see me crash out in front of the entire team.” 

You almost choke on your beer. You can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or genuinely hurt, but it stings regardless. 

“I’m not,” you say quickly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You wish he would look at you, but he’s staring straight ahead, his jaw still tight, muscles still coiled like a spring. "I don’t want that, Jeonghan. What don’t you get?" 

“No?” He tilts his head slightly, but his gaze stays fixed. “I would think Miss Scathing Articles would relish the chance to tear me down again.” 

A sharp retort sat on your tongue, but you swallowed it. There was no point. Instead, you looked away, focusing on the distant horizon where the racetrack lay, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. "I don’t," you said quietly. "I’m not interested in tearing you down. I never have been." 

Jeonghan’s laugh was hollow, almost like a scoff. "Color me surprised." 

A beat passed between you both, the air thick with unspoken words. You took a sip of your beer, now lukewarm and slightly flat, but it didn’t matter. Neither of you had the luxury of pretending everything was fine anymore. 

He finally turns to you, his eyes meeting yours; there’s something in the way he looks at you—raw, vulnerable, almost like he’s waiting for the punchline of some cruel joke. 

“I’m sorry,” you say after a long silence, your voice softer this time, barely above a whisper. You’re not sure if he hears you, but he looks at you with an expression that makes you feel like you’ve just stepped into a minefield. 

He doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, he exhales a long breath, rubbing his forehead with his fingers as though the weight of it all is finally catching up to him. The tension between you hangs heavy in the warm summer air, the quiet hum of distant cicadas filling the space where words should be. Jeonghan takes another sip of his beer, the bottle pressed lightly against his lips as though it might cool the heat simmering under his skin. He looks tired—no, more than tired. Worn down. The type of exhaustion that no amount of sleep could fix. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says finally, the words coming out uneven, almost like they’re foreign on his tongue. His voice is softer now, missing the sharp edges that had cut into you moments before. “You were just doing your job.” 

“Jeonghan,” you start, but he holds up a hand, silencing you. 

“No, really.” He forces a thin smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s the kind of expression you’ve seen him use in press conferences—a shield, practiced and perfect. “You’re here because Ferrari told you to be. Because someone thought it’d be a great PR move. You don’t owe me anything beyond that.” 

The words sting, even though you know they shouldn’t. He’s not wrong. This isn’t your world, not really. But you can’t help the knot tightening in your chest as you watch him retreat into himself, the walls going up before your eyes. 

“I’m not here because they told me to be,” you say quietly, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “I’m here because I wanted to be. Because I saw the crash, Jeonghan, and I—” You stop, swallowing hard as the memory flashes behind your eyes again. The twisted metal, the plume of smoke, the moment you thought— 

“I was scared,” you admit, your voice cracking slightly. “Not as a journalist. Not as someone with a job to do. As someone who—” Jeonghan’s gaze snaps to you, his eyes narrowing slightly, but there’s something vulnerable there, too, something unguarded. 

You don't finish the sentence. 

Jeonghan watches you closely now, his beer suspended mid-air, forgotten. The sharpness in his gaze softens, replaced by something else—curiosity, maybe, or an unease he doesn’t quite know how to address.

The air between you feels heavy, suffocating in its quiet. You can still hear the faint echoes of the crash in your mind, the awful screech of metal against asphalt, the split-second horror of thinking you’d just seen him—

He sets the bottle down with a soft clink against the railing, breaking the spell.

“Scared, huh?” His voice is quieter now, and there’s a touch of disbelief, as though he’s trying to decide whether to accept your words or dismiss them.

You nod, throat tightening as you try to push through the lump that’s settled there. “Terrified,” you admit, the word feeling foreign and vulnerable on your tongue. “Not because of what I’d have to write, but because I thought—” You bite down on the rest of the sentence, unwilling to say it aloud.

Jeonghan exhales, long and slow, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he leans back against the railing. “I’m fine,” he says eventually, the words flat and unconvincing. He glances at you, his lips pressing into a faintly wry smile. “A little bruised. A little pissed. But I’m fine.”

It’s not enough to untangle the knot in your chest, but it’s a start. You nod, not trusting yourself to say anything else.

He finishes his beer in a few swallows, the motion oddly decisive, before standing and brushing off his pants. For a moment, you think he’s about to leave without another word, the tension between you both left unresolved.

But then he turns, holding out a hand toward you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a faint curve to his lips that feels almost... playful.

“Friends?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, his hair falling into his eyes. “If you’re going to be hanging around the garage all season, might as well, y’know?”

You blink at him, taken aback. The man who’d stormed out of the debriefing room in a fit of rage, who’d spat barbs at you moments ago, now stood here offering a truce like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Friends,” you echo, narrowing your eyes as you take his hand. It’s warm, his grip firm but not overbearing, and for a fleeting second, you wonder if this is another performance—an act to keep you at arm’s length.

But when he pulls you to your feet, there’s something genuine in his expression, something almost relieved.

“You better not make me regret this,” he says, letting go of your hand as he shoves his now-empty beer bottle into your other one. “And don’t think this means you’re off the hook for the shit you wrote.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you mutter, rolling your eyes as he smirks.

For the first time all day, the knot in your chest loosens just slightly. You follow him back toward the paddock, your steps lighter than they’ve been in weeks.

And for now, that’s enough.

FORMULA 1 QATAR AIRWAYS AUSTRIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Red Bull Ring

The Red Bull Ring stretches out before you like a postcard of precision. Nestled in the Austrian hills, the track gleams under the soft morning sun, its curves and straights inviting the first roar of engines. The garage is alive with motion—engineers bent over laptops, mechanics tightening bolts, and the hum of anticipation that comes with any race weekend.

You step into the Ferrari garage, an interloper in a sea of red. Jeonghan’s car gleams in its designated spot, pristine and ready, as though it hadn’t been a crumpled wreck just a week ago. The team works around it like a well-oiled machine, barely sparing you a glance. You’re supposed to be here, technically, but that doesn’t stop the slight twinge of unease as you find a quiet corner near the monitors.

“Back again?”

The voice is unmistakable, light and teasing. You turn, and there he is: Yoon Jeonghan in his fireproofs, the sleeves tied around his waist, his white undershirt faintly clinging to his frame. He looks every bit the picture of calm, like he hasn’t spent the past few days fielding press questions about his crash.

“Didn’t think you’d miss the chance to watch me run into someone,” he adds, smirking as he adjusts his gloves.

You raise an eyebrow. “Is this your way of saying you’re aiming for Aston Martin?”

He laughs, a real laugh this time, and it’s startling how much it changes the air around you. “Not today. But I’ll keep you updated if Seokmin starts driving like a rookie again.”

“Careful, Jeonghan,” you shoot back, crossing your arms. “I might put that in my next article.”

He leans casually against the wall, his dark eyes scanning your face with an intensity that’s become familiar in the past few weeks. But there’s no edge to it today, no armor. Just him, relaxed and—for once—almost easygoing.

“You’re not as scary as you think you are,” he says after a beat, his voice low enough that the hum of the garage nearly drowns it out.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the grin that creeps onto your face. “And you’re not as charming as you think you are.”

He tilts his head, considering this like it’s the most interesting thing he’s heard all day. “Fair. But you’re still here, aren’t you?”

“Purely professional,” you quip, ignoring the way his smirk grows.

Before he can reply, the engineer by the monitors calls him over, gesturing to the screen. Jeonghan holds up a finger, signaling for a moment, then turns back to you.

“Stay out of trouble, yeah?” His voice is lighter now, teasing but not in the way that cuts. It feels natural, like banter between...well, maybe not quite friends. Not yet. But something close.

You shrug, watching as he walks toward his team, the confidence in his stride unmistakable. The tension that had lingered after the crash feels like it’s finally begun to dissolve, replaced by something steadier. Not quite trust, but something adjacent.

As you settle into the corner, notebook in hand, you can’t help but glance at him every so often. On the surface, it’s just another practice session, another day at the track. But for the first time in weeks, it feels like something close to normal. 

FORMULA 1 QATAR AIRWAYS BRITISH GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Silverstone Circuit

Silverstone roars to life under a blazing sun, the grandstands filled to capacity with fans waving flags and wearing team colors. The overcast sky has burned off, leaving the track shimmering under the summer sun. It’s one of the biggest stages of the season, and Jeonghan delivers a masterclass in qualifying, the finely tuned Ferrari underneath him responding to every input like an extension of himself. The sharp smell of rubber and fuel lingers in the air, mingling with the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

He’s back.

The final lap times on the leaderboard tell the story: pole position. Ferrari’s garage is electric with celebration, engineers clapping each other on the back, a cheer rising when Jeonghan steps into the swarm of red. His team surrounds him, hands gripping his shoulders, voices shouting praise over the din.

He grins, wide and unguarded, the weight of the last few weeks lifting ever so slightly. Spain and Canada had shaken him, but this—this feels like a reckoning. Proof that the mistakes and setbacks weren’t the whole story.

“Perfect lap, Jeonghan,” his engineer says, beaming as he hands him a water bottle.

He nods in acknowledgment, taking a swig, his heart still racing as he glances around the paddock. The sun is high now, glinting off the sleek curves of the cars lined up in parc fermé. Jeonghan’s gaze sweeps over the crowd, soaking in the energy—until he sees you.

You’re standing just outside the McLaren garage, the vibrant orange of their branding a stark contrast to the reds and blacks of his world. You’re leaning against a barrier, the breeze tugging at your hair as you laugh at something Mingyu says. Your face is so open, so full of light, that it’s almost magnetic.

Mingyu gestures animatedly, clearly in the middle of some ridiculous story, his grin as wide as the Cheshire Cat’s. You throw your head back with a laugh, and Jeonghan feels a tightness in his chest he can’t quite place.

The joy that had filled him moments ago flickers.

Why does it bother him?

The thought lingers as he watches you, his water bottle dangling forgotten in his hand. Jeonghan isn’t used to this kind of gnawing discomfort. He’s competitive, sure, but this is something else entirely.

Jealousy.

The sun is lower in the sky when he finds you, his long strides purposeful as he weaves through the paddock. The golden hour light makes everything seem softer, but Jeonghan’s mood is anything but. His thoughts from earlier have been simmering, the warmth of victory eclipsed by a frustration he can’t shake.

You’re leaning against a railing, scrolling on your phone when he approaches.

“Shouldn’t you be in the Ferrari garage?” he says, his tone sharper than he intends.

You blink up at him, startled. “I was just catching up with Mingyu.”

Jeonghan crosses his arms, his brow furrowing. “Funny. I thought you were doing a full-access piece on Ferrari, not McLaren.”

There’s something in his voice—an edge that sets your teeth on edge. “I am,” you reply slowly, standing up straighter. “What’s this about?”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing. “Is that why your articles about Mingyu are always glowing? What, are you sleeping with him?”

The accusation is like a slap, cutting through the air with a harshness that leaves you stunned.

Your expression shifts, disbelief giving way to anger. “Are you serious right now?”

Jeonghan doesn’t respond immediately, his jaw tight. The regret in his eyes is fleeting, buried under the weight of his own misplaced frustration.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” you snap, your voice trembling with fury. “It’s always one step forward, two steps back with you, Jeonghan.”

His lips part as if to reply, but you don’t wait for him to dig himself deeper. You storm off, your footsteps echoing against the paddock floor. The sting of his words lingers, but so does the look on his face as you walk away.

Jeonghan stands there, watching you go, the tension in his shoulders giving way to a sinking feeling in his stomach. He knows he’s crossed a line, and the weight of his own stupidity settles heavily over him.

The knock on your hotel room door comes before sunrise, soft but insistent. You groan, burying your face in your pillow before dragging yourself to the door.

When you open it, the hallway is empty. But at your feet sits a bouquet wrapped in crisp white paper, tied with a simple satin ribbon.

Roses. Soft blush pink, their petals perfectly unfurled, paired with delicate sprigs of baby’s breath.

The arrangement is beautiful, almost heartbreakingly so, the kind of bouquet that feels like a story in itself. You crouch to pick it up, your fingers brushing over the velvety petals. The faint, sweet scent of roses fills the air, mixing with the crisp morning chill that seeps into the hallway.

Nestled among the flowers is a small envelope.

You pull it out, your thumb brushing over the edge of the paper as you open it. Inside, scrawled in a slightly messy hand that’s unmistakably Jeonghan’s, are two simple words:

I’m sorry.

You glance down the hallway instinctively, half-expecting to see him lingering in the shadows. But it’s empty, as silent as it was before you opened the door.

You stand there for a moment longer, the bouquet in your arms and the note trembling slightly in your fingers. The apology feels heavier than the flowers, weighted by the memory of his words from yesterday.

He didn’t need to apologize like this, you think. He could have texted, could have mumbled something in passing when you inevitably crossed paths today. But instead, he’d gone to the trouble of figuring out your favorite flowers—roses and baby’s breath, a detail you don’t even remember telling him.

The realization stirs something in you, softening the edges of your anger.

The roses sit on the desk as you get ready for the day, the baby’s breath adding a delicate touch to the arrangement. The card leans against the vase, its two-word apology a quiet presence in the room.

Somewhere in the city, Silverstone is waking up, the air already buzzing with anticipation for the race. But here, in the stillness of your hotel room, you take a moment to breathe, to let the gesture sink in.

Jeonghan’s voice echoes faintly in your mind, the memory of yesterday’s confrontation still fresh. And yet, as you glance at the roses again, the sting of his words begins to dull, replaced by something softer, something not yet ready to be named.

The pre-race buzz was electric. The roar of engines echoed faintly in the distance, a constant backdrop to the paddock’s chaotic rhythm. Mechanics zipped between garages, reporters hustled to get last-minute quotes, and fans outside the barricades chanted their favorite drivers’ names. Amid all this, your footsteps fell heavy against the asphalt, your target in sight: Yoon Jeonghan.

There he was, leaning against the nose of his red Ferrari, his race suit a striking flash of scarlet that caught the sunlight and made him look annoyingly pristine for someone who had caused you so much grief. He was chatting with an engineer, that easy, charming smile plastered on his face like he hadn’t thrown baseless accusations your way less than 24 hours ago.

You marched toward him, purpose sharpening your steps. The bouquet from this morning was still vivid in your mind—blush pink roses, soft and elegant, their delicate petals almost glowing against the green of the baby’s breath, a stark contrast to the seething frustration you still carried. And the note—just two infuriatingly simple words—burned in your pocket, a reminder of the apology you hadn’t quite accepted yet.

“Jeonghan,” you called, your voice cutting through the low hum of conversation around you.

He glanced up, his casual demeanor faltering for a split second when he saw you. Then, like a switch had flipped, his smile returned. “Oh, hey.”

You stopped a foot away, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “How did you know my favorite flowers?”

His lips quirked into a faint smirk, and he leaned ever so slightly against the car, as if the conversation were a game he’d already won. “Oh good, they got delivered to the right room.”

“Jeonghan,” you said, your tone sharper now, “don’t deflect.”

“Deflect what?” He tilted his head, his eyes sparkling with that infuriating glint of mischief that made you want to throttle him and laugh in equal measure.

“JEONGHAN.” The snap in your voice turned a few heads nearby, but you didn’t care.

He sighed dramatically, dragging a hand through his hair. “Fine. A certain papaya-colored birdie told me.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Papaya-colored birdie... Mingyu?”

Jeonghan hesitated, his grin faltering for just a moment. You saw the gears turning in his head, calculating whether to deflect again or come clean.

“Spit it out, Yoon Jeonghan,” you said, stepping closer, “or I’ll never write a single kind thing about you for the rest of your life.”

His mouth twitched, caught between amusement and resignation. Finally, he shrugged, his voice almost too casual. “Childhood friends, eh? You and Mingyu? That explains yesterday.”

You blinked, thrown by the abrupt shift in topic. “Don’t change the subject,” you snapped, though his words tugged at something in the back of your mind. “You really went to Kim Mingyu for help? After accusing me of—”

“I might have... aggressively encouraged Mingyu to spill everything he knew about you,” Jeonghan admitted, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You raised a brow. “Aggressively encouraged?”

“Fine,” he said with a huff. “I threatened to steal his steering wheel from the McLaren garage if he didn’t talk.”

Despite your irritation, a snort escaped you. “And he just handed over my life story, huh?”

Jeonghan crossed his arms, mirroring your stance. “What can I say? He’s surprisingly chatty when he thinks you’re in trouble. Very protective, that one.”

You clenched your jaw, the pieces clicking into place. “So, that’s why you jumped to conclusions yesterday. You thought—”

He cut you off, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “I know. I was out of line. That’s what the flowers were for.”

For a moment, the noise of the paddock seemed to fade. The wind carried the faint scent of burning rubber, and the distant cheers of fans reached your ears like a muted hum. Jeonghan’s expression softened, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something quieter, almost vulnerable.

“For what it’s worth,” he added, his tone lower now, “I really am sorry.”

You exhaled slowly, the weight of the last day lifting slightly from your chest. “You’re lucky I like roses.”

“I know,” he replied, his grin returning, lighter this time, almost boyish. “Good taste, huh?”

“Good recovery, at least,” you muttered, your lips twitching despite yourself.

Jeonghan’s laughter followed you as you turned and walked away, the sound less grating than it had been the day before. It wasn’t forgiveness—not yet—but it felt like a start.

FORMULA 1 HUNGARIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Hungaroring

The Hungarian Grand Prix paddock was buzzing, but you could tell something was off. The sound of chatter and engines felt like distant echoes as you stood by the garage, watching Jeonghan’s Ferrari pull back into its stall after a less-than-stellar FP1. The car’s engine quieted as the mechanics immediately went to work, inspecting it. But it wasn’t the car that caught your attention—it was Jeonghan himself.

He was unusually quiet, his usual cocky confidence buried beneath the furrow of his brow as he stripped off his helmet and gloves. His gaze was focused on the car, but it was clear his mind wasn’t in the garage. He seemed... distant, almost frustrated. The others in the team were busy talking strategy, discussing the data, but Jeonghan barely spoke up during the debriefing. It was strange.

The team finished up, but you noticed Jeonghan lingered near the back, hands on his hips, staring at his car like it had personally betrayed him. It wasn’t like him to be this quiet, especially not after a session where he was so used to being in control. You could practically feel the weight of his thoughts from where you stood.

You didn’t want to be intrusive, but you couldn’t ignore it—something was wrong.

You walked over, careful not to disturb the mechanics who were still busy at work. "Jeonghan," you called softly, stepping beside him. He turned to you, but his eyes didn’t quite meet yours. They were focused on something distant, like he was seeing the track or the car but not really seeing them.

“Everything okay?” you asked, trying to keep the concern out of your voice, but it slipped through anyway. “You’ve been quiet since the debriefing.”

He gave a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine.”

You weren’t buying it. You had known Jeonghan long enough to recognize the way he carried his frustration. It wasn’t the kind of thing that could be hidden behind a casual smile, no matter how practiced.

“You sure? You know you don’t have to be okay all the time, right?” you pressed, stepping a little closer. The air around you felt heavy, charged with unspoken words.

Jeonghan exhaled sharply, his fingers digging into his gloves before he slowly pulled them off. He seemed to be gathering himself before speaking. “I hate it,” he muttered, and his voice had a rawness to it that caught you off guard. “Not being perfect. I... I can’t stand it.”

“Not being perfect?” you echoed, surprised. Jeonghan, the ever-cocky, confident driver, admitting that?

He looked up at you then, his eyes intense, as though he was searching for something in your gaze. “Yeah. I know it sounds stupid,” he said with a wry laugh that lacked its usual humor. “But it’s who I am. I’m a perfectionist, always have been. Every little mistake... it sticks with me. I can’t just move on. I think about it. Constantly.”

You watched him, absorbing his words, the vulnerability in his tone feeling like a crack in his otherwise polished exterior. Jeonghan, always so composed on the surface, always teasing and joking, was admitting something deeper now—something more personal.

“Is that why you were so quiet during the debriefing?” you asked, keeping your voice soft.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his gaze flicking to the car again. “I know I didn’t have the best session, but it feels like... like I failed. Like I’m not doing my job right. I could’ve done better.” His jaw clenched as if he were angry at himself.

The silence that fell between you was thick, almost suffocating, and you could feel the tension radiating off him. You hadn’t seen him like this before—not with this level of self-doubt.

“You’re not failing,” you said, your voice firm. “You’re allowed to have bad sessions. Hell, everyone has bad days. But that doesn’t mean you’re failing. It’s just a part of it.”

Jeonghan glanced over at you, his lips curving into a small, grateful smile. “You really believe that?”

“Yeah, I do,” you said, nodding. “I mean... it’s not all about being perfect. Sometimes it’s the mistakes that push you to be better.”

Jeonghan looked down at his hands, still clutching the gloves, and you could see the gears turning in his mind. “I know. But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

“I get it,” you said, crossing your arms and leaning against the side of the garage. “But you’ve got a whole team behind you. And we all know what you’re capable of. You’ll get there. It’s just one session.”

He finally met your gaze, his eyes softening. “Thanks.”

There was a long pause, the sound of distant chatter and the hum of the paddock filling the silence. You were so used to Jeonghan’s teasing and cocky attitude that this quieter, more introspective side of him felt like a different person altogether. And maybe it was—it was the side that wasn’t the driver who fought for every fraction of a second on the track, the side that just wanted to be good enough.

“It’s not stupid, you know,” you added quietly. “Caring about being good at what you do isn’t stupid. It’s just... exhausting sometimes.”

Jeonghan laughed lightly, the sound a bit more genuine this time. “You have no idea. But I’m getting better at... handling it. I think.”

You smiled at him, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over you. There was still that hint of unease in his posture, the tightness in his shoulders, but for the first time all day, he seemed a little more at ease with himself.

As you turned to leave, you shot him one last look. “Just don’t be so hard on yourself next time, okay?”

“I’ll try,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. And for a moment, you almost believed him.

The stands were eerily quiet now, a stark contrast to the roar of the crowd just hours earlier. You wandered through the empty paddock, your steps unhurried as the hum of the night settled around you. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint clatter of the Ferrari team packing up, but Jeonghan wasn’t with them.

You’d seen him after the race, his jaw tight as he climbed out of the car. Finishing P5 wasn’t bad by any measure, but it wasn’t what he wanted. And with Mingyu overtaking him in the Driver’s Championship by just twenty points, it was clear Jeonghan had taken it as a personal blow. His disappointment hung around him like a shadow.

It wasn’t hard to guess where he’d gone.

Sure enough, when you climbed up into the grandstands, there he was. Sitting alone in the middle row, still in his Ferrari race suit, unzipped to the waist to reveal his black base layer. His hair was tousled from the helmet, his posture slouched, shoulders hunched as though the weight of the day hadn’t yet left him. Beside him were two bottles of beer, one already open and resting loosely in his hand.

You approached quietly, but Jeonghan didn’t flinch. He didn’t even turn around when you reached him, your feet crunching softly against the debris of the crowd—discarded programs, empty wrappers, and forgotten flags. He must’ve known it was you, though. He always seemed to know.

“Mind if I join you?” you asked, your voice breaking the stillness.

He finally glanced up, his expression unreadable. “It’s a free grandstand,” he muttered, gesturing to the empty seats around him.

You slid into the seat next to him, the cool metal chilling through your clothes. Jeonghan’s gaze returned to the track ahead, where the floodlights illuminated the ghost of the race. He took a sip of his beer, silent.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet stretched, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable—just heavy. You could feel the frustration radiating off him, the bitterness that came with being so close but not close enough.

“You should drink this before it gets warm,” he said suddenly, pushing the unopened beer toward you.

You picked it up, twisting off the cap with a small smile. “Thanks. Not exactly the post-race celebration you were hoping for, huh?”

He huffed a humorless laugh. “Not exactly.”

The silence fell again, but this time you weren’t willing to let it linger. You turned to him, watching the way his fingers tapped restlessly against the neck of the bottle. “You’re still in the fight, you know,” you said gently.

Jeonghan’s lips quirked, but it wasn’t a smile. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Well, you are,” you insisted. “Three points. That’s nothing. You’ve come back from worse.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he tilted his head back, looking up at the dark sky above the track. “You don’t get it,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “It’s not just about the points. It’s about everything. The mistakes, the pressure... the expectations. It’s like... like I have to prove that I deserve to be here. Every single time.”

“You do deserve to be here,” you said firmly, the conviction in your voice enough to make him turn to you. “You wouldn’t be in that seat if you didn’t. You’re one of the best drivers on the grid, Jeonghan. Everyone knows it. Even Mingyu. Especially Mingyu.”

Jeonghan scoffed, a flicker of a smile breaking through his stormy expression. “Bet he’s loving this right now.”

“Maybe,” you said, leaning back against the seat. “But knowing Mingyu, he’s probably already plotting ways to rub it in at the next race.”

That earned a laugh, small but real, and the sound was enough to make you smile too.

“You’re good at this,” he said after a moment, his tone softer now. “Talking me off the ledge.”

“Someone has to,” you replied with a shrug. “And honestly? I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. One race doesn’t define you, Jeonghan. You’re not just a number on the leaderboard.”

He looked at you then, his gaze lingering. There was something in his expression—gratitude, maybe, or something deeper, something you couldn’t quite name. “Thanks,” he said simply, the word weighted with more than just appreciation.

You clinked your bottle against his. “Anytime.”

The two of you sat there for a while longer, the weight of the day slowly lifting as the quiet of the night wrapped around you. It wasn’t much, but it was enough—for now. And as Jeonghan leaned back in his seat, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles, you knew he’d be okay. Eventually.

You took another sip of your beer, the chill of the bottle grounding you as Jeonghan’s earlier tension began to melt away. The ghost of a smile still lingered on his lips, and for the first time since you’d climbed up to find him, his shoulders seemed lighter.

“So,” he said, breaking the quiet, his voice tinged with a familiar mischievousness, “what’s your headline going to be this week?”

You raised an eyebrow, scoffing softly as you bumped his shoulder with your own. “You’ll see it when you see it, Yoon Jeonghan. No spoilers.”

His chuckle was low and warm, a sound that felt like the first crack of sunlight after a storm. “Should I be worried?”

“Always,” you replied, the corners of your lips quirking upward. “But maybe not too much this time.”

He gave you a curious look, his expression halfway between wary and amused, but he didn’t press. Instead, he leaned back, his gaze drifting back to the track. The night was calm now, the weight of the day’s disappointment tucked into the folds of shared silence.

The headline hit Monday morning, and Jeonghan had to admit, you’d delivered once again.

Ferrari Falters in Hungary: Yoon Jeonghan's Fight for the Title Tightens

The article was incisive, as sharp as he’d expected. You broke down his struggles in FP1, critiqued his race strategy, and even called out the overtaking move that cost him crucial points. It was the kind of detailed, no-nonsense analysis you were known for, and Jeonghan read every word with a mix of frustration and admiration.

But at the bottom, tucked beneath the last paragraph, there was a footnote—barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.

“Despite Hungary’s setback, Yoon Jeonghan remains one of the most popular and formidable contenders for the championship. With only twenty points separating him from the lead, Belgium offers a more than fair chance for the Ferrari star to close the gap and reclaim his momentum.”

Jeonghan blinked, then read it again, a slow smile tugging at his lips. He leaned back in his chair, the paper still in hand, and shook his head.

“Subtle,” he muttered, though his tone was anything but annoyed. It was gratitude, warmth, and a flicker of hope all wrapped together in a single word.

He might have faltered in Hungary, but you’d reminded him—the season wasn’t even half over. And maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t fighting alone.

FORMULA 1 ROLEX BELGIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps

The weekend at Spa began like a dream.

The legendary Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps was a driver’s haven and a monster in equal measure. The longest track on the calendar, its 7 kilometers of asphalt wound through the lush forests of the Ardennes, combining high-speed straights, sweeping corners, and the unpredictable challenges of its microclimate. The iconic Eau Rouge and Raidillon dared drivers to go flat out, while the downhill plunge into Pouhon tested their courage and precision. It was a place where skill separated the good from the great.

Jeonghan thrived on its challenge.

FP1 and FP2 were his playgrounds, his Ferrari gliding through corners like it was made for this circuit alone. The car was responsive and balanced, every adjustment in setup shaving precious milliseconds off his laps. Jeonghan pushed it to its limits, feeling every bump and curve beneath him as if Spa’s asphalt were an extension of himself.

By the time he returned to the garage, his name was at the top of the timesheets, and his team wore expressions of pride and relief. Engineers crowded around him during the debrief, their excitement palpable. Even Mingyu wandered over to toss a mockingly impressed, “Don’t get used to it, Yoon,” in his direction.

Jeonghan, basking in the buzz of dominance, had only winked.

But then came the penalty.

A breach in power unit regulations—an unavoidable technicality that slapped him with a grid penalty. It was frustratingly bureaucratic, a punishment that felt out of his control and yet deeply personal. His pole position was stripped away, and he was relegated to P10.

In the Ferrari garage, Jeonghan leaned against the back wall, arms crossed, the weight of his helmet heavy in his hand. The rhythmic hum of power tools and bursts of chatter around him did little to soothe his simmering frustration.

It wasn’t just the penalty—it was the sting of perfection slipping through his fingers, a weekend that had started flawlessly now teetering on the edge of disappointment.

He glanced up, ready to bury himself in the chaos of the paddock, and froze.

You were there, leaning casually against the pit wall, chatting with one of the mechanics. The glow of the overhead lights caught in your hair, and despite the whirlwind of activity, you were a picture of calm. Your hands moved as you spoke, animated yet confident, the faintest flicker of a smirk playing on your lips.

His gaze lingered.

It hit him—a memory of your words from Hungary, your unwavering belief cloaked in sharp wit: “A more than fair chance to close the gap.”

For the first time since the penalty, the gap didn’t feel insurmountable.

He didn’t realize he’d been staring until you caught his eye. Your brows rose, and you tilted your head in mock curiosity before excusing yourself from the mechanic and walking toward him.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice laced with a note of amusement and something softer underneath.

Jeonghan shrugged, plastering on his signature cocky grin. “Since when are you worried about me?”

Your lips twitched in a barely concealed smile. “Oh, I’m not worried. Just curious. I wanted to see how Ferrari’s golden boy handles a little adversity.”

His grin faltered for the briefest moment before sharpening again. “Keep watching,” he said, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “I might surprise you.”

You tilted your chin, your expression a blend of challenge and intrigue. “Don’t disappoint me then.”

The way you said it—like you meant it—sparked something fierce in him.

As you turned to leave, the faint scent of your perfume lingered in the air, anchoring him to the moment. Jeonghan watched you disappear into the paddock, your confident stride a sharp contrast to his brooding, and for the first time that day, a smirk tugged at his lips.

It wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.

P10 to P1. 

It was the kind of race drivers dreamed of—the kind that earned its place in highlight reels for years to come.

The chaos began even before the lights went out. Rain had threatened all morning, dark clouds heavy over the Ardennes, but it held off just long enough to keep everyone guessing. Jeonghan sat in his Ferrari on the grid, surrounded by cars that had no business being ahead of him. He’d spent every second since the penalty recalibrating his mindset, shifting his frustration into fuel.

As the lights went out, his singular focus kicked in.

Turn 1, La Source: Jeonghan dived inside, threading through a gap that barely existed. The radio crackled with his engineer’s voice, commending his clean move, but he barely registered it. Eau Rouge and Raidillon loomed ahead, their uphill sweep demanding precision, bravery, and trust in his car.

He took the corners flat out.

By Lap 5, Jeonghan was in P7. His mind churned as he studied the cars ahead, each one a problem to solve. Every braking point, every shift in weight through the curves—it all required perfect execution.

But then came the rain.

It began as a drizzle at Pouhon, the light sheen on the track turning treacherous by the next sector. Jeonghan’s grip on the wheel tightened as he adjusted his lines, feeling for every ounce of traction.

“Box this lap for inters,” his engineer instructed.

“No,” Jeonghan replied, his voice steady. He could feel it—the balance of risk and reward. He stayed out one lap longer, the gamble paying off as he overtook two cars struggling on the wrong tires. When he finally pitted, the stop was flawless.

By Lap 20, the red flag came out, the rain too heavy for safety. Jeonghan sat in the pit lane during the suspension, helmet off, sweat beading his brow. His thoughts wandered for the first time since the race began.

Your words came back to him.

"Jeonghan’s perfectionism is both his weapon and his curse. When he is at his best, he’s untouchable. But the question remains: can he handle the pressure when the odds aren’t in his favor?"

His jaw tightened. You were right—about the pressure, about the way he held himself to standards so high they sometimes crushed him. But you’d also written something else.

"A more than fair chance to close the gap."

He wasn’t sure why, but that sentence anchored him.

When the race restarted, Jeonghan was a man possessed.

Sector by sector, he clawed his way through the field, each overtake cleaner and bolder than the last. At Blanchimont, he overtook Soonyoung in a move that was half instinct, half calculated risk. His engineer’s voice came over the radio in a disbelieving laugh: “Mate, you’re insane!”

By the final lap, he was leading. The roar of the crowd blended with the steady beat of his heart as he crossed the finish line, victory his once more.

The pit lane was a blur of celebration. His team engulfed him in a sea of red, their cheers drowning out even the din of Spa’s loyal fans. Soonyoung appeared out of nowhere, throwing an arm around Jeonghan’s shoulders.

“Winning in Spa from P10? You better believe I’m buying the first round,” Soonyoung declared, grinning despite his P2 finish.

Jeonghan laughed, the sound ragged and raw from effort, but his mind wasn’t entirely in the moment.

Later, in the quiet of the motorhome, when the adrenaline had settled and exhaustion was creeping in, Jeonghan pulled out his phone. His thumb hovered over the search bar before typing your name.

The article was already live.

His breath caught as he read your headline:

From P10 to Perfection: Yoon Jeonghan’s Masterclass at Spa

It was glowing, but in your unmistakable style—balanced, sharp, and honest. You praised his overtakes, his strategy, and his ability to rise under pressure. Your writing was like poetry, an ode to his resilience, his precision in the rain, his ability to claw victory from the jaws of defeat.  But what caught him off guard was the final line.

"With the championship fight closer than ever, it’s not a question of if Jeonghan will close the gap. It’s a question of when."

Jeonghan read it three times, his chest tight with something that felt almost like pride.

For the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to believe them.

The bass thrummed low and heavy, a pulse that seemed to reverberate straight through the packed room. 

Jeonghan leaned against the bar, his drink in hand, his racing suit long since replaced by a fitted black shirt with the top buttons undone. The sleeves were rolled just enough to expose his forearms, the dark fabric clinging to his frame in a way that effortlessly commanded attention. Around him, the club buzzed with post-race energy—drivers, engineers, and team members alike reveling in the victory and chaos of the day.

Soonyoung was next to him, buzzing with his usual infectious energy. Jeonghan caught snippets of his teammate’s banter, but his mind was elsewhere.

“God, Jeonghan, if you stare any harder, she’s going to spontaneously combust,” Soonyoung teased, sipping his drink with a knowing smirk.

Jeonghan blinked, startled. “What?”

Soonyoung rolled his eyes, nodding toward the dance floor. “Her. You’ve been staring at her like she’s a particularly tricky apex all night.”

Jeonghan followed his gaze.

There you were, dancing with a group of Ferrari engineers, the colored lights spilling across your frame, making your skin glow. You laughed at something one of them said, your head tilting back, your hair swaying with every movement. Jeonghan’s grip on his glass tightened.

“You’re hopeless,” Soonyoung said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Just go talk to her. Or better yet, dance with her. God knows you’ll make everyone else jealous.”

Jeonghan scoffed, setting his empty glass down on the bar with a sharp clink. “You’re imagining things.”

“Sure, and you just happened to spend the past ten minutes glaring at the poor guy she’s dancing with.”

Jeonghan shot him a warning glance, but Soonyoung only grinned wider.

“Look, you’ve already won at Spa,” he added, leaning closer. “Might as well take another victory tonight.”

Jeonghan shook his head, but the heat in his chest betrayed him. He cast one last glance at you before downing the rest of his drink and pushing off the bar.

The crowd was a blur of movement, bodies packed tightly together under the pulsing lights, but Jeonghan moved with purpose. He found you easily, your energy magnetic even in the chaos.

The beat shifted as he approached, slowing to something deeper, sultrier. He stepped in behind you, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from your skin.

“Enjoying yourself?” he murmured, his voice low and warm against your ear.

You turned slightly, glancing at him over your shoulder. Your lips curved into a teasing smile, your eyes dancing in the dim light. “Jeonghan. Didn’t think you were the clubbing type.”

He smirked, his hand brushing lightly against your waist. “I make exceptions for special occasions.”

You arched a brow, leaning back into him just enough to blur the line between teasing and inviting. “Special occasions, huh? Like winning at Spa?”

“Something like that,” he said, his voice a touch quieter now. His fingers rested lightly on your waist, the heat of his touch sending a shiver up your spine.

You turned to face him fully, your hands drifting up to rest on his shoulders, playful and almost casual. “So? What’s it like being untouchable?”

He chuckled softly, his gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips and back again. “You’d know,” he said smoothly, “if you were paying attention during my races instead of writing snarky articles.”

You laughed, a soft, melodious sound that made his chest tighten. “I did pay attention,” you countered, leaning in slightly, your lips barely a breath away from his ear. “You were alright, I guess.”

“Alright?” he repeated, feigning offense. “You called it a masterclass. Don’t think I didn’t read your article.”

Your grin widened, the fire in your eyes matching the teasing edge in your tone. “Oh, that? Don’t let it go to your head, Yoon. I still expect a proper interview.”

His hands shifted to your hips, grounding you against him as he swayed slightly to the beat, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “Careful. Keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

“And if I did?” you teased back, your voice soft but no less challenging.

For a moment, the world around you fell away. The music, the lights, the press of the crowd—it all faded as the space between you closed. Jeonghan’s eyes lingered on your lips, his heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the adrenaline of racing.

Then, just as you tilted your head, leaning closer—

“JEONGHAN!”

The moment shattered.

Sunwoo’s voice boomed over the music as he appeared out of nowhere, the mechanic’s grin wide and oblivious. “Bro, come on! You can flirt later! Dance with me!”

Jeonghan groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder as your laughter spilled over him like warm sunlight.

“This isn’t over,” he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.

You pulled back, still laughing, and met his gaze with a wink. “I’ll hold you to that.”

FORMULA 1 HEINEKEN DUTCH GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Zandvoort

The paddock at Zandvoort was always one of Jeonghan’s favorites. The smell of fresh sea air mixed with the unmistakable tang of fuel and rubber, while the orange-clad crowd painted the stands in a fiery glow. Jeonghan didn’t even mind the noise—something about the Netherlands had a way of energizing him.

He was walking back from the driver’s parade when he spotted you outside the Ferrari hospitality tent, a coffee in hand, your eyes scanning the throng of people with practiced ease. The crisp breeze tugged at your hair, and Jeonghan slowed his pace, his lips curling into a familiar smirk.

You glanced up just in time to catch him staring. “Don’t you have a race to focus on?”

“Don’t you have an article to write?” he shot back, his voice smooth as ever.

“I’m multitasking,” you replied, raising your coffee in a mock toast.

Jeonghan stepped closer, close enough that the conversation felt private despite the bustling paddock around you. “Let me guess,” he said, crossing his arms, “today’s headline is, ‘Ferrari Driver Jeonghan Looks Extra Handsome Under Dutch Sunlight.’”

You snorted, barely suppressing a laugh. “Oh, please. I was thinking more along the lines of, ‘Can Ferrari’s Yoon Jeonghan Deliver After Spa Masterclass?’”

“Flattering,” he mused, tilting his head. “I thought you’d save the sarcasm for the post-race write-up.”

“I aim to keep you humble,” you said with a shrug, though the playful glint in your eyes gave you away.

Jeonghan leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a thrill down your spine. “Careful. You’re starting to sound like a fan.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could get a word in—

“Jeonghan!”

A voice cut through the tension like a knife. You both turned to see Soonyoung jogging up, waving enthusiastically. “There you are! We’re late for the strategy briefing!”

Jeonghan sighed, the corners of his mouth twitching as he glanced back at you. “Guess we’ll have to finish this later.”

You grinned, your eyes dancing with amusement. “Don’t let me keep you from your briefing, Ferrari’s golden boy.”

Jeonghan’s smirk deepened. “I’ll see you after I win.”

He walked off, Soonyoung talking his ear off as you watched him go, the heat in your chest lingering far longer than it should have.

The race came and went, and though Jeonghan didn’t win—Mingyu’s dominance at Zandvoort was almost an inevitability—he still managed to bring home a solid podium finish.

Later, back at the hospitality suite, you found yourself standing near the balcony, staring out at the ocean waves in the distance.

“Not bad for a day’s work,” came a familiar voice behind you.

You turned to find Jeonghan leaning casually against the doorway, his hair still damp from the post-race shower. He’d swapped his racing suit for a simple white shirt and jeans, but somehow, he still looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine.

“Not bad,” you admitted. “Though I was expecting a win. Should I change the headline to ‘Close, but Not Quite’?”

Jeonghan’s laugh was low and smooth as he closed the distance between you. “I think you’re just trying to rile me up.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Is it working?”

He stepped closer, close enough that you could see the faint freckle on his cheekbone, the way his lashes caught the light. “You tell me.”

The air between you crackled, your banter giving way to something heavier, something unspoken. For a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

“Jeonghan!”

The door slammed open, and Mingyu’s booming voice shattered the moment.

Both of you jumped, turning to see the taller driver grinning sheepishly. “Uh, sorry. Team dinner’s starting soon, and they’re waiting for you.”

Jeonghan’s jaw tightened, but he plastered on an easy smile. “Of course they are.”

Mingyu left as quickly as he’d come, leaving you and Jeonghan alone again.

“Do people just have radar for this?” Jeonghan muttered, raking a hand through his hair.

You laughed, the tension easing slightly. “Maybe it’s the universe telling you to focus on racing.”

He stepped closer again, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Or maybe it’s telling me I’ll just have to try harder.”

Your pulse quickened, but before you could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Jeonghan sighed dramatically, stepping back with a rueful smile. “Guess I’ll have to settle for third interruptions.”

You smirked, folding your arms. “You’re consistent, at least.”

“Don’t forget it,” he said with a wink, his voice smooth as ever as he walked away.

And just like that, you were left alone, the waves crashing in the distance as you wondered how long this game of cat and mouse could last.

another lil a/n: full throttle is probably one of my favorite things i've EVER written and i am so proud of myself for getting this out of my head and onto the page.

[seungcheorry]

it started with a "love, can i borrow a towel? i forgot mine" the first time he slept at your place; you gave it to him, a silly smile on your lips when he stepped out of the bathroom with your towel around his neck.

then, it was a "we can share if you want to" the next day, when the food he ordered was too much; jeonghan didn't even bother getting a second plate, he just shared his meal with you, sitting with the side of his body pressing against yours on your couch.

weeks later, came the "here, you can use it" as he offered you one of his shirts; you forgot to pack your pajama to sleep at his place when seungkwan was abroad.

but the final one, the "can i use your shampoo?" he asked you before entering your bathroom, 3 months into your relationship, was what made you laugh.

"you just love sharing things with me, don't you?"

jeonghan shrugged, grabbing his towel - the one you bought for him to use whenever he was at your place now - and smirking at you.

"we wanna share a life together, don't we?"

and with that, off he went to take his shower, like he didn't just made your stomach do three backflips in a roll.

[svtswhorehouse]

SVT : the daddy kink line — nsfw

disclaimer: minors do not interact, 18+ only

Seungcheol: pls tell us something we don’t know, isn’t this one obvious. this man radiates so much power and authority, his aura practically SCREAMS daddy. you would call it straight off the bat before you two even started dating that he had the kink. the way he presented himself let you know it, but curiosity kills the cat right ??? (the cat being your pussy.) he wouldn’t even have to tell you. the word would just casually slip out of your mouth in a whine mid-fuck and he would stop for a beat before thrusting into you at lightning speed. ever since then, it became a name you would use every time y’all had sex and even if you wanted to let it go and quit using it, you just wouldn’t be able to help yourself from calling him daddy. not when he towers over you and makes you feel so damn good that you’re seeing stars.

Jeonghan: a flipping fucking tease. he would force it out of you for sure. leading up to it he would make jokes and subtle hints about calling him daddy, but you’d never think he would be serious about it. fast forward to you at his mercy laying on the bed completely bare and spread open for him. he would’ve been edging you for hours, his favorite past time — a sly smirk on his face as he holds off on letting you cum undone until he hears the very word escape from your mouth. you would refuse at first. not because you didn’t want to, but rather because you were far too stubborn to give in to him. jeonghan however has no problem with ruining your orgasm over and over again until you reach your breaking point and practically yell out the name with incoherent begs following it. that fucker would smile wide and big before faking sympathy and telling you that’s all you had to say if you really wanted to cum that badly. he would ruin your orgasm a few more times after that, just to remind you that one: he always gets what he wants, and two: to hear you call him daddy a few more times before he finally gives in to your desperation.

Soonyoung: hear me out — this man didn’t even know he had a daddy kink. soonyoung has definitely thought about it before, but pushed it to the back of his mind as he claimed it to be silly. it wasn’t until you were playfully teasing him one day in which the switch just flipped and he was like “damn, maybe i do have a daddy kink.” he would bring it up in the middle of eating you out. you were almost there, just needed a little push over the edge to bring you to an orgasm when he drops what he’s doing entirely. any other day you might’ve laughed in his face when insisted you call him daddy, but that night — the way he said it, he didn’t even ask for it. no, he demanded it. voice rough and stern, you just found the name slipping from your lips so easily in a desperate plea for him to continue his relentlessness on your sopping wet cunt.

Wonwoo: the thought of calling wonwoo daddy would cross your mind occasionally, however he has a sir kink and has never seemed to care about being called anything but. yes sir this and please sir that — but, you just can’t help but wonder if he would mind you calling him daddy. the opportunity arises when you found yourself on your knees infront of him one day, completely bare and ready to be good for him. he would ask you a question and you would answer with a lack of manners that he would remind you about. that was when you would strike. “yes daddy.” he was toast. you could tell he had to hold back a groan too as he was quick to skip everything else he would normally go through and instead get inside of you as fast as he could. “daddy huh?” he would ask, thrusting at an almost inhumane speed, bringing you to your orgasm much too quickly. you wouldn’t be able to do anything, but moan the word over and over again, only pushing him to fuck you harder. from that day on he ditched the sir kink. you awakened something inside of him he wished he heard from you a lot sooner. he was missing out all this time.

Mingyu: hear me out again — he can cook, he can clean, he can take care of you in more ways than one, he’s HUGE. yupppp, that’s a daddy right there. when he cages you in with his big muscular arms and overstimulates you to the point in which you’re teetering on the edge of subspace is when you find yourself calling him by the name. it leaves your mouth in a whine and it doesn’t faze him at all as he hums in acknowledgment and continues to nip at your neck. he becomes so attentive when you call him it, but still refuses to let up, the word fueling his need to bring you to another orgasm even if it would leave your brain even more empty than it already is. it’s not something he genuinely needs to hear whenever you two have sex but my god does it make his cock twitch and fuel his sex drive. once you use it for the night, you can sure as hell bet that you would be calling him daddy for the rest of the time you two spend fucking because when he hears it he won’t allow you to call him anything else.

[cheollvrs]

WARNING 🔞 nsfw audio (threesome)

🎀 seungcheol and jeonghan wanted you so bad and what better way to demonstrate you than having sex with you at the same time? while seungcheol thrusted his fat cock in your pussy, your mouth sucked jeonghan's pretty cock, giving you immeasurable pleasure. . .

© CHEOLLVRS

[xinganhao]

cheol of the day 🔊 boyfriend!seungcheol x reader ft. nana tour!jeonghan.

"Jeonghan had also cheekily given you the job of sending him what he deemed as a ‘Cheol selfie’ per day, claiming that it wasn’t fair you get him all to yourself and that he deserves compensation." — @gotta-winwin, nana tour seungcheol x reader

✉︎ my wife serena sent this my way and told me to go crazy with it. who am i to resist a little 'my boyfriend's boyfriend' jeongcheol moment? everyone read serena's work now!!! -> gotta-winwin's masterlist

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[icanimagine08]

Whipped

Summary: Yoon Jeonghan gets teased by the rest of seventeen for being whipped for his girl.

Warnings: none! Just Fluff.

Word Count: 773

I couldn't wait to post so here is another Yoon Jeonghan fic. Hope you guys enjoy this! and if you have any requests for any other members/people/characters feel free to request/ask me anything and I'll see what I can do! Happy reading! :)

Yoon Jeonghan of Seventeen wasn’t usually the type to wear his heart on his sleeve—at least, not when it came to romance. He was clever, always a step ahead, and had a teasing streak as wide as the Han River. But since he started dating you six months ago, Jeonghan’s members had noticed a... shift.

And they were having the time of their lives teasing him about it.

It started during a lazy afternoon at the dorm. The group had finished their schedules for the day, and the members were sprawled across the living room, half-watching a drama on TV. Jeonghan, who usually dominated conversations with his witty comebacks, was unusually quiet. His phone was in his hand, and he was smiling at the screen in a way that made the others take notice.

"Oh, would you look at that," Seungkwan said, his voice laced with mock surprise. "Our Hannie hyung is smiling. At his phone. Again."

Minghao leaned over from the couch, trying to catch a glimpse of Jeonghan's screen. "Is it her?"

Jeonghan’s smile disappeared as quickly as it had come, replaced with an annoyed pout. He locked his phone and turned it face down on the table. "Mind your own business, Minghao."

But the damage was done. The members perked up, sensing an opportunity to torment their usually unflappable hyung.

"Oh, it’s definitely her," Joshua chimed in, grinning. "Jeonghan only smiles like that when it’s about her."

"What did she say?" Woozi asked, though the slight upward tilt of his lips gave away that he was more amused than genuinely curious.

"Nothing," Jeonghan mumbled, slumping into the couch like he could disappear into the cushions.

"Nothing?" Vernon repeated, his eyebrows shooting up. "You were practically giggling."

"I don’t giggle," Jeonghan shot back, but the redness creeping up his neck betrayed him.

"Sure, sure," Seungkwan said, waving him off. "Hyung, we all know you’re whipped. Just admit it."

"I am not whipped," Jeonghan insisted, but his voice lacked its usual conviction.

"You absolutely are," Mingyu said, chuckling. "Remember last week when you asked the manager if you could get off early so you could take her to that café she likes?"

"That’s called being a good boyfriend," Jeonghan retorted, sitting up straighter. "Maybe you should take notes, Mingyu."

"A good boyfriend who’s whipped," Dino added, earning a high-five from Seungkwan.

Jeonghan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I regret introducing you all to her."

That wasn’t true, and they all knew it. From the moment you and Jeonghan had made your relationship official, the members had been nothing but supportive. They’d even gone so far as to declare you "the perfect match" for their mischievous angel, as you somehow managed to keep up with Jeonghan’s antics while also bringing out his softer side. But their enthusiasm also meant they saw every little way Jeonghan’s walls had come down, and they weren’t going to let him live it down.

"You’re so good for him," Seungkwan had told you during a group dinner a month ago, while Jeonghan had gone to get drinks. "It’s like you’re his kryptonite. He’s so soft for you."

Now, as Jeonghan endured their teasing, he couldn’t help but think of you and the way you’d probably laugh if you saw this. You’d tell him he deserved it, and honestly, he’d have to agree.

"Alright, that’s enough," Jeonghan said, trying to regain some semblance of control. "Yes, I’m dating someone amazing. Yes, I like doing nice things for her. Can we move on now?"

"Not yet," Seungkwan said, leaning forward with a sly grin. "Hyung, did you text her goodnight last night?"

"Of course I did," Jeonghan replied, without thinking.

"Aha!" Seungkwan pointed dramatically. "See? Whipped!"

The room erupted in laughter, and even Jeonghan couldn’t help but chuckle. He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips despite himself.

"You’re all children," he muttered, but his tone was fond.

Later that evening, when the teasing had finally died down and the members had dispersed, Jeonghan found himself back on the couch, phone in hand. He opened your chat and started typing.

Jeonghan: Remind me why I put up with them again?

Your reply came almost instantly.

YN: Because they love you. And they’re right, you are kinda whipped.

Jeonghan groaned, but he couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face. He typed back quickly.

Jeonghan: You’re lucky I love you.

YN: I know. ;)

Jeonghan set his phone down, leaning back against the couch, he closed his eyes with a content smile. If his members wanted to play, they’d better be ready for Jeonghan to play back

[mocchiixxx]

96ers (동갑내기) and My Stupid Idiot

(Yoon Jeonghan x Reader)

Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Slice of Life

Summary: While supporting HoWoo backstage at Music Bank, you get the shock of your life when Jeonghan, on weekend leave from the military, suddenly appears beside you. The surprise quickly turns into playful outrage when you realize he contacted Seungcheol first instead of you. Cue fake jealousy, dramatic accusations, and Jeonghan being his usual stupid idiot self, because no matter what, he always knows how to win you over.

Part 2

Backstage at Music Bank was as lively as ever, but you kept to the quiet viewing area, watching HoWoo perform on screen. Their comeback song 96ers had been stuck in your head for days, and seeing them perform it live, even from backstage, filled you with pride.

This wasn’t their first performance of the song, just one of the many they’d done during their promotion period. But you still came whenever you could, showing your support from behind the scenes. Going out into the audience wasn’t exactly an option when you were Yoon Jeonghan’s girlfriend. You weren’t an idol, but you knew all too well that fans would recognize you, and the last thing you wanted was to shift attention away from HoWoo on their big day.

So, you stayed here, quietly cheering them on.

“They’re really killing it, huh?”

That voice... smooth, teasing, and utterly impossible.

You froze.

Slowly, you turned and your heart nearly stopped.

Yoon Jeonghan.

Dressed in a black hoodie, round glasses perched on his nose, hair shorter than usual but still him, standing beside Seungcheol with an all-too-smug look on his face.

“JEONGHAN?!” you whisper-yelled, eyes wide.

He smirked. “Oh? Jagiya, what a coincidence.”

“COINCIDENCE?!” You smacked his arm, making him wince dramatically. “YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE IN THE MILITARY!”

“Ow, jagiyaaa,” he whined, rubbing his arm. “I got weekend leave. Thought I’d surprise you.”

Your jaw dropped. “AND YOU DIDN’T THINK TO TELL ME?!”

Jeonghan chuckled, pushing his glasses up. “Wouldn’t have been a surprise if I did.”

You huffed, but before you could respond, something clicked in your mind.

He was standing next to Seungcheol.

Your eyes narrowed. “Wait a second…”

Jeonghan blinked. “What?”

You gasped dramatically, taking a step back. “So Seungcheol-oppa was the first person you contacted when you got out?”

Seungcheol, who had been quietly observing, let out a long-suffering sigh. “Oh no.”

“Not even your own girlfriend?!” you continued, voice laced with playful betrayal.

Jeonghan chuckled, finally catching on. “Ah, jagiya, don’t be like that—”

“No, no, I see how it is,” you huffed, turning away with a fake sniffle. “I thought I was special, but clearly, Choi Seungcheol has your heart first.”

Seungcheol sighed. “Please don’t drag me into this.”

Jeonghan was grinning now, stepping closer to wrap his arms around you from behind. “Aww, my jagiya is jealous?”

You crossed your arms, pretending to stay mad. “I should be.”

He leaned in, voice dropping into a soft whisper. “You’re the only one I wanted to see, you know.”

Your heart did a ridiculous flip. Stupid idiot. Stupid smooth idiot.

“…Fine,” you muttered, relenting. “But you are making this up to me later.”

Jeonghan chuckled, squeezing you tighter. “Anything for you, jagiya.”

Seungcheol, now rubbing his temples, muttered under his breath, “I am never third-wheeling you two again.”

[svtiddiess]

Hey! He's Mine!

Synopsis: Sometimes, you have to wonder if your boyfriend is really yours. With Seungcheol constantly hogging him (and lowkey being obsessed with him), fighting for Jeonghan's attention has become part of your daily routine. But you're not one to back down—if Seungcheol wants him, he'll have to pry Jeonghan from your cold, dead hands (and honestly, don't be surprised if he actually does).

Pairing: Jeonghan (SVT) x afab!reader, Seungcheol (SVT) x afab!reader (platonically!)

Genre: fluff, crack, established relationship

Rating: sfw

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Seungcheol and yn bicker a lot but they have a sibling dynamic so it's all good fun, Jeonghan menacery, lemme know if I missed anything!

Note: This was requested! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it anonie!

Click here to join my taglist!

Read on ao3

Reblogs are appreciated ♡

.ᐟMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.ᐟ

You're not the jealous type—really, you're not. But there's something about seeing Seungcheol constantly stealing Jeonghan away from you that tugs at your heart, just a little. And it's a valid feeling, you tell yourself. After all, you're his girlfriend, and it's not exactly ideal to have your man constantly being claimed by someone else. Yet, here you are, day after day, battling for your boyfriend's attention against his best friend.

"Hey! I was cuddling him first!" you protest, glaring at Seungcheol as he strolls into Jeonghan's apartment and shamelessly pulls him away from your cozy moment.

"You've had your turn—now it's mine," Seungcheol retorts, tightening his arms around Jeonghan, who looks far too amused by the whole situation.

"Excuse me? I'm his girlfriend. That gives me cuddling priority over you!" you fire back, crossing your arms.

Seungcheol just smirks. "Best friend of 12 years here. I've known him longer, so I think that trumps your claim."

"That's not how this works!" you argue, throwing your hands up.

"Actually, it's exactly how this works. Longer history means more cuddle rights," he teases, sticking his tongue out at you playfully.

"Hannie!" you whine, turning to Jeonghan for backup.

He just chuckles, shrugging. "Sorry, bubs. You're on your own for this one. Gonna have to fight him fair and square."

You let out an exasperated sigh, watching as Seungcheol smugly pulls Jeonghan even closer, clearly enjoying his victory.

You hug yourself tightly, trying to ward off the chill as you wait for Jeonghan to pick you up. The sound of a honk snaps you out of your thoughts, and you glance up to see a car pulling up. Squinting, you notice Jeonghan in the passenger seat and Seungcheol behind the wheel. Of course, Jeonghan probably talked Seungcheol into driving—classic Jeonghan behaviour. You can't help but chuckle to yourself as the car comes to a stop in front of you.

Jeonghan hops out and immediately pulls you into a warm hug. You melt into his embrace, the cold instantly fading as he holds you close. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head and murmurs, "Did I keep you waiting long?"

"Not at all, I just got out here," you reply, smiling up at him.

He kisses your temple once more before guiding you to the backseat and sliding in beside you.

"Why are you sitting in the back?" Seungcheol pouts, glancing over his shoulder at Jeonghan.

"Because I want to sit with Y/N," Jeonghan replies with a grin.

You shoot Seungcheol a smug look, wrapping your arms around Jeonghan and sticking your tongue out playfully.

"The front seat is way more comfortable," Seungcheol mutters under his breath.

"Maybe, but he's happier sitting with me," you say with a smirk, hugging Jeonghan tighter. "Now step on it, Uber driver, or I'll have to give you a one-star review and complain about your attitude. And trust me, I'm very detailed in my feedback."

Jeonghan snorts, trying to stifle his laughter, while Seungcheol glares at you through the rearview mirror. "You know, I don't even get paid for this," he grumbles.

"Consider it a charitable act," you shoot back, grinning. "Now, less talking, more driving. Chop, chop."

Jeonghan's laughter fills the car as Seungcheol mutters something about "ungrateful passengers" and finally hits the gas. You lean back, feeling triumphant, and snuggle into Jeonghan, who's still chuckling at your antics.

You let out an exasperated huff, glaring at the man sitting across from you. Turning to your boyfriend, you pout dramatically.

"Hannie, why is he here?" you grumble, pointing at Seungcheol, who's too busy shovelling noodles into his mouth to notice your irritation.

"Because I was bored at home and missed Jeonghan," Seungcheol remarks, barely looking up from his food.

"We're on a date," you remind him, crossing your arms.

"And I missed Jeonghan," he repeats with a grin, stuffing another forkful of noodles into his mouth.

"You see him every day! Probably more than I do!" you argue, your voice rising slightly.

"There's nothing wrong with missing my best friend and wanting to hang out with him," Seungcheol shrugs, completely unbothered.

"I'm on a date with my boyfriend, and you're ruining it," you grumble, shooting him a pointed look.

"Don't act like the three of us haven't gone out together before," Seungcheol fires back, rolling his eyes.

"Well, I don't want you here this time," you deadpan.

Seungcheol gasps dramatically, clutching his chest like he's been wounded. "Well, I don't want you here either!"

"You're the one crashing our date!" you exclaim, gesturing wildly.

"You're the one crashing the time I was spending with my best friend!" he retorts, matching your energy.

"You guys weren't even together before this date!" you counter, your voice rising.

"And how do you know that?" Seungcheol challenges, raising an eyebrow.

"Because I was with him the whole time!" you shoot back, exasperated.

"Well, I was texting him, so technically, he was spending time with me too," he says smugly, leaning back in his chair.

"That doesn't even make sense!" you groan, throwing your hands up.

"It does!" he insists, grinning like he's won the argument.

"Nu-uh!"

"Uh-huh!"

Meanwhile, Jeonghan sits between the two of you, happily munching on his pasta, completely unfazed by the chaos. Damn, this place makes really good pasta, he thinks to himself, blissfully ignoring the bickering.

You lean back in your seat, resting your head on Jeonghan's shoulder and getting comfortable. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer, and rests his head on top of yours. The two of you sit there, perfectly content, listening to the sizzle of meat on the grill and breathing in the delicious aroma filling the apartment.

"I should've changed the passcode to the front door," Seungcheol grumbles from his spot by the small electric grill in the corner. He's busy flipping pieces of meat, clearly annoyed but still committed to his role as the designated grill master. Tonight was supposed to be a BBQ night for Seungcheol and Jeonghan, but, well, you decided to tag along as Jeonghan's plus one…without letting the both of them know.

You glance over at Seungcheol and smirk. "Even if you changed it, I would've figured it out eventually. Seriously, what kind of passcode is 0001?"

"A perfectly good one! And I only changed it because you figured out the last one!" Seungcheol fires back, defensively waving his tongs in the air.

"Oh yeah, your super secure passcode of 0000," you snort, rolling your eyes.

Seungcheol pouts and turns back to the grill, muttering something under his breath that you can't quite make out. Meanwhile, Jeonghan leans over, grabs a few pieces of meat, and feeds you one. You hum in delight as the flavour bursts in your mouth.

"Cheol, your barbecuing skills suck," you comment, chewing happily as Jeonghan continues to feed you more meat.

Seungcheol's head snaps up, and he stares at you, visibly offended. Jeonghan stifles a laugh beside you.

"What do you mean my barbecuing skills suck?!" Seungcheol exclaims.

"The meat could be cooked a lot better. Just saying," you shrug.

Jeonghan pops another piece of meat into his mouth and nods in agreement. "She's right, Cheol. It could be better."

Seungcheol looks back and forth between the two of you, mouth hanging open in disbelief. His shoulders slump, and his lips form a dramatic pout. "You guys are mean," he whines.

"We'd be nicer if you grilled the meat better," you tease, grinning as Jeonghan feeds you another bite.

Seungcheol huffs and lets out an incoherent grumble, turning his attention back to the grill. You can't help but snicker as Jeonghan continues to spoil you with more meat, the two of you enjoying yourselves at Seungcheol's expense.

Sitting in the corner of one of HYBE's practice rooms, you watch as your boyfriend and the rest of SEVENTEEN rehearse for their upcoming performance. A proud smile spreads across your face as you see how hard they're working, their energy and dedication filling the room.

When they finally take a break, you rush over to Jeonghan and wrap him in a tight hug, showering him with praise. "You're doing amazing! I'm so proud of you!" you gush, your voice full of admiration. He hugs you back, laughing softly, and peppers your face with kisses as his way of saying thank you.

Just as you're basking in the moment, you spot Seungcheol heading your way. Instinctively, you step in front of Jeonghan, blocking him like a human shield.

"Hey, hey! No! This is my time with Jeonghan!" you say, holding your hands up to stop Seungcheol in his tracks.

"I just want to talk to him!" Seungcheol whines, trying to peek around you.

"You can talk to him later! I've been patiently waiting for my turn," you huff, standing your ground.

"Stop hogging him!" Seungcheol complains, crossing his arms.

"I'm not hogging him! You were with him the entire practice!" you shoot back, glaring at him.

Jeonghan just stands there, a soft smile on his face as he watches the two of you go back and forth. Seungkwan walks over, clearly over the drama, and groans. "Jeonghan, stop egging them on. We all know what you're doing."

Jeonghan chuckles, completely unbothered. "But it's so fun to watch them bicker. Why would I stop?" He grins, clearly enjoying the free entertainment.

And honestly, who can blame him? Free entertainment is free entertainment, after all.

Taglist: @tinyelfperson @gyuguys @stay-tiny-things @unlikelysublimekryptonite @miyx-amour @iamawkwardandshy @codeinebelle @brownbunnyb @do-you-remember-summer-127 @sclovreina @theidontknowmehn @toplinehyunjin @gyuhao365 @mysticfairies @cherrylovescheol @cookiearmy @4shypotato @lxnnrobin @sashaaahh @xueisaaa17 @aeriyell @eshia16 @dreamingofpcy @archivistworld @kyeomiis @iwannakisspoutycheol @foxiesgf24 @livelaughloveseventeen @kwanniehae @ateez-atiny380 @junnhuisworld @horangipower17 @aliiikareed @jennwonwoo @brownsugarbaybee @adiknyamingyu @smiileflower @cherrybb96

[babyleostuff]

─ PINK RIBBONS

𝜗𝜚 THEME: fluff, domesticity, you being jeonghan's whole world (mention of the military) 𝜗𝜚 PAIRING: idol!jeonghan x fem!reader 𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT: 792

natalia's note: idc if this is too dramatic, i don't want jeonghan to go

⦗💌 ⦘your favourite past time? playing with your boyfriend's hair, duh. sadly, it's the last time you get to do it for the next two years.

“here,” jeonghan drops a bunch of… somethings in your lap and sits down on the fluffy rug you bought last month, his back facing you. 

your boyfriend’s randomness is nothing new; even before you began dating, you quickly found out that yoon jeonghan was an unpredictable man. but no matter how much time has passed since you agreed to be his girlfriend, you are still taken aback each and every time he decides to do something out of the blue in his jeonghan fashion. 

you quickly grew to love his randomness, though. it’s like being surprised in the best ways possible.

“what,” you pick up a packet of colourful hair ties and hair pins, “what do you want me to do with those?”.  

jeonghan turns around and looks up to meet your eyes, his own holding nothing but fondness and warmth. “my hair,” he says and shakes his head of messy brown hair he died a couple of days ago. “we haven’t done this in a while, so i thought it’d be nice.” 

your stomach churned. how many times have you sat like this - you on the edge of the sofa and jeonghan in front of you, resting comfortably against a cushion you placed so as not to strain his back. a drama or a cooking show would be playing quietly in the background, neither of you watching it, too busy with basking in the domesticity. 

looking back, it was a no-brainer that you got addicted to your boyfriend’s hair so quickly. playing with it became a little habit of yours - before bed, in the morning, at a game night with the boys, during parties - whenever jeonghan was in your arm’s reach, you’d play with his hair, no matter if they were short or long (though you always mourned his long hair whenever he cut them). it always managed to calm you down and ground you when life got a bit too much. 

you’ve never experienced deja vu before, but if this was how it felt then you’d rather be hit with a sledge hammer. it’d hurt less. 

and now… despite that you could feel your heart breaking, you couldn’t tell him no. it’s probably the last time you’ll be able to do this before the enlistment anyway, so maybe… maybe it’ll be a nice way to celebrate his last days at home? 

“it’s hair. it’s just hair,” your mind seems to scream into the void as you grab a couple of the purple-ish hair bands and slide them on your wrist. but your heart is even louder and it feels like you’re being ripped apart. 

were you being dramatic? definitely. did you care? not at all. your whole life would change in the next day or so and despite preparing for this for such a long time now, it didn’t make it any less painful. with jeonghan leaving you’d be losing a part of yourself.

“hey,” he raises his hand and grabs your chin, “get that scowl off your face.”

“i know,” you sigh. “it’s just that-,”.

“i don’t want to hear any of that. we’re having fun tonight, honey,” jeonghan says and runs his thumb over your cheek. affection and pure love, which are always there whenever he looks at you (coups makes sure to point that out on every possible occasion), seemed to slow your racing heartbeat, because the longer you stared into his brown, gentle eyes the more your mind seemed to quiet down. oh, how you are going to miss that lovesick stare. “no more sad faces, yeah?” 

you swallow and nod, your heart heavy from all the emotions. the pink ribbons and blue pins look like the opposite of what you are feeling, but… you have to be strong. if not for yourself, then for jeonghan. 

“any specific requests?” you ask and comb your fingers gently through his silky hair.

“nope. whatever you do,” he says and turns his back to you, “it’ll look perfect.” you couldn't see jeonghan’s face, but you could hear the smile in his voice. 

placing a peck on your exposed leg, he makes himself comfortable against the cushions and lets out his grandpa-esque sigh. 

what the next days are going to bring - you aren’t sure. you don’t even want to think about it. but for now… for now, you are as content as you can be. enveloped by your love’s affection like a security blanket, his warm hands sliding up and down your calves, as if reminding you that he’s still there, it is enough for you. enough to swallow your tears and put a brave smile on your face for the man sitting in front of you. 

for now it is only you and him and all the pink ribbons.

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @tomodachiii @veryfabday @lilmochiandsuga @asasilentreader @mrsnervous @bewoyewo @sharonxdevi @wondipity @gyuguys @raginghellfire @treehouse-mouse @waldau @wonootnoot @hellodefthings @dokyeomkyeom @sourkimchi @bbysnw @hoichi02 @aaa-sia @haneulparadx @minvrsev @zozojella @wonootnoot @kimingyuslover @wntrei @honglynights @jihoonsbbygirl @uhdrienne @bloodcanbehot  @iamawkwardandshy  @icyminghao @heeseungthel0ml @goyangiiwonu @bath1lda @ruurooozz @ny0sang @luuxian @onerubii  @hurrican3-insert-nam3 @mekuiikore @luvseungcheol @thenotoriousegg @yuuyeonie @soffiyuhh @svtficsarchive @hyperdramas @huen1ngk41 @lesuneczka @oc3anfloor @gyuguys @fr-freak @bewoyewo

[miabebe]

Accidentally Kidnapping A Mafia Boss (Yoon Jeonghan)

Reverse Trope Series Installment 2

The cost of one harmless prank? The city's biggest mafia leader taking refuge in your house. And maybe that wouldn't have been such a problem if he wasn't so hot and you weren't such a coward, but apparently, fate just does things for the ✨plot ✨ sometimes...

Pairing - Yoon Jeonghan x afab!reader

Word Count - 70K 29K (please congratulate me, cutting down was the hardest thing I've ever done)

Genre - Strangers to something more I guess? Minimal crack (I had to choose between humour and sexual tension - it was painful, like choosing a favourite child), angst (just a small splash) and smut (loads of it, warnings under the cut)

Warnings - mentions of kidnapping and mafia, one scene where hands are thrown (But just to be clear, this is not like your usual mafia fics - it’s not dark or violent), mention of dub-con in OC's past

Smut warnings - there's a bunch of call girls, masturbation-almost?, voyeurism, multiple smut scenes (3 or 4 idk), exhibitionism (nobody saw them though), fingering, oral (f receiving), protected sex, unprotected sex (please don't be stupid like them), multiple orgasms, oral (male receiving), okay I hope we're done

"You're being a real pain in my ass right now."  "I don't see how it’s an issue since that’s not much of an ass."  Seokmin glared at Seungkwan. "Just because some stupid college club awarded you a silly superlative-" "-best bakery in town is not a ‘silly’ superlative-" "-like once-" "-twice. In a row-"  "-doesn't mean-"  "-absolutely does-"  "Will you two shut up?" You hissed under your breath looking around. "Are you trying to get us all caught?"  Seungkwan clicked his tongue annoyed. "You're acting like we're in the middle of a crime."  Your eyes flickered from Seokmin to Seungkwan before landing on the third guy in between them, the one who was unconscious and being held up with his arms thrown over the shoulders of his friends.  "Last I checked, kidnapping is a crime." You pointed out. Seokmin rolled his eyes. "Prank-ing your friend isn't." "That is if Soonyoung decides he wants to save your sorry ass." "Again, not much of an ass-"  "I swear to god Kwan-"  Groaning you covered your ears to shut out all the bickering.  That night when drunk Soonyoung had pushed your buttons, consequently leading to the events of tonight, you did not think it would be this hard. 

The plan was simple - on Mondays, Soonyoung was in charge of closing the BBQ shop where all 3 of your closest friends worked. His routine was fairly straightforward - first he clears and cleans all the tables, then he closes the kitchen, then changes out of his uniform and finally wraps it up by locking the main door.  That's where you would get him, right as he closed the doors. You were to take him by surprise from the back, cover his face with a black cloth bag, bring him to your apartment and tie him up leaving him immobile, blinded and helpless.  One might wonder why such cruelty when you called him a friend but you would argue that Soonyoung deserved it. After all, last night he hadn't stopped mentioning how boring you were and how your life was so uninteresting and how you didn't have a single exciting adventure while he had a shit ton of them. Well, today you were about to give yourself, and him, a story to tell.

Now things did go according to plan, for the most part. Seokmin and Seungkwan were first reluctant to be a part of this madness but that was until you brought up the prospect of Soonyoung being scared enough to hopefully piss in his pants. Intrigued by the idea, they joined and all three of you waited in the bushes, watching your friend's silhouette moving around the shop, putting things away, cleaning up. Just as he reappeared after changing, hurriedly trying to leave the shop, the three of you got to action, approaching him silently from the back, swiftly holding him by the hands and putting the bag over his face.  What you didn't take into account in this plan was just how much resistance Soonyoung would show, God knows why you didn't consider his adrenaline driven reaction, but man did he put up a fight. It was only natural you retaliate and so instinctively, you landed a smack on his head with the torch in your hand knocking him out, making him buckle into the pavement as the two other boys caught him, looking at you bewildered. That was perhaps just the beginning of your problems because now you had to very un-suspiciously drag a very unconscious man to your apartment in the dead of the night. It would have helped if this neighbourhood was even a little sketchy but being a quiet, painfully uneventful suburb meant even the smallest of things was seen with high scrutiny.  So far, the three of you had somehow managed to make it from the restaurant to your building undetected but it was getting from the first floor to your house that was the real task since the building's resident old woman decided she wanted to feed the stray cats at 2 am. 

"How much longer are we gonna have to do this?" Seungkwan groaned. "He's surprisingly not that heavy but my arm is starting to sleep." "Yeah, this joke isn't as funny anymore-"  "Will you two just keep quiet?" You turned to them annoyed. "She'll be gone in a few minutes and then we can move. Didn't you two say you wanted Soonyoung to shut up for a few days?”  Seokmin mumbled a yes under his breath while Seungkwan nodded hesitating. Hoping for some silence after this, you turned to watch the old woman stroking the cat softly as it slowly nibbled its food. Although your patience was really being tested, something told you if you didn't go through this plan, in another 40 years, you'd be exactly like that old lady - lonely, boring and feeding stray cats. Terrified by that thought, you held it together even though it took a whole 15 minutes for the scene to clear. As the three, no four of you, proceeded towards your apartment, the stray cat watched, licking its paw. 

Seungkwan and Seokmin groaned in relief as they half threw Soonyoung onto the chair you pulled to the middle, rubbing their aching shoulders. Scouring the drawers, you pulled out a rope with a soft “aha” making them turn towards your unnaturally happy self. Soonyoung stirred in his chair. “You're a little too excited about this-”  “Shhh!” You covered Seokmin's mouth with your hand, whispering. “If you talk, he'll know it's us, then it's not scary anymore.” “Frankly, I think the kidnapping and knocking him out cold must have been scary enough already.” “Not enough” You glared as Soonyoung let out a soft groan, letting you know he was coming around. “Quick, take out your phone and open one of those AI apps. We'll type what we want to say and use the bot voice - that way he'll have no idea.”  All three of you huddled, glancing at the phone as Seungkwan typed something quickly, pressing play to let the low toned automated voice echo through the room.  “I cannot wait to see Soonyoung shit his pants.” Seokmin giggled as your lips curled into a pleased smile. Oh, he was surely going to shit his pants.  “And why would I do that?” Soonyoung's voice sounded confused. “Because we-”  Seokmin looked up, freezing mid-sentence, noticing the voice did not come from the person before him.  All three of you exchanged looks realising the same before slowly turning around. Soonyoung  was standing at the entrance like he just walked in, looking bewildered.  Before any of you could process the situation, he pointed over your shoulders, frowning.

“And who's that?”

Oh. 

“And why is he wearing my clothes?” 

Oh no.

You turned back to see the man in question, slowly pull the black bag from over his head, shaking his golden tresses away from his face. Oh lord was he gorgeous.  As he blinked his eyes open, wondering where the hell he was, you were busy running your eyes all over his pretty features and suddenly, in that short span of 20 seconds, you had memorised where every single mole on his face was.  Seokmin and Seungkwan meanwhile, held your arms on either side half hiding behind you which was stupid considering you were the biggest coward in the room.  But somehow, as the man before you looked at all of you with narrowed, accusing eyes and tried to stand up, you swung your arm and smacked him right on the head with the torch again. All three boys gawked at you as the man fell back into the chair again, head rolling to the side, unconscious.  “What the hell mate-” “I'm sorry I panicked!” “Will someone tell me what's happening? Why is he wearing my clothes-” “Shut up Soonyoung.” Seungkwan turned to you looking terrified. “Do you have any idea what you've done?”  “Hey, this can't be just on me, we all thought it was Soonyoung-”  “Me???”  “-how is this only my fault-”  “Because!” Seungkwan raised his voice pointing a shaking finger. “The man you just knocked out again, that's…that's….” “That's…” Seokmin's eyes widened in realisation. “That's the city’s most infamous mafia boss, Yoon Jeonghan.” 

“They aren't picking up.” You sighed, pacing around the room. “Why aren't they picking up??” 

All three boys who were perched on the breakfast bar shrugged, continuing to munch on their chocolate bars.

“Y’all are awfully calm considering the mess we’ve landed in.” 

“The mess you landed us in.” Soonyoung, who had been filled about the situation, pointed out, licking his fingers. “If you hadn’t tried to pull that terrible prank on me-” 

“Okay Kwon, I don’t need this right now.” You rolled your eyes and Soonyoung made a mocking face before returning to his snack. Sighing, you dialed the number again, hoping for a response at least this time. 

“Voicemail. Again!” You squeezed your phone, nearly throwing it across the room, half screaming in frustration. The boys hissed, signaling you to shut up as you bit your tongue and turned towards the elephant in the room. 

Well, not a literal elephant, he was barely one sixteenth its size, the figurative elephant, Yoon Jeonghan. 

He still sat, unconscious and beautiful as ever, only his hands were now tied behind the chair, securing him in place. Seokmin insisted it was necessary considering this would be his second time attempting to try and escape. When you had expressed your confusion, Seungkwan pulled out his phone, flipped through his gallery and showed you a picture he had clicked in the city a few days ago - a poster with Jeonghan’s face on it, a text on the bottom. 

Dangerous criminal Yoon Jeonghan escaped from prison on the 15th of August. Please be cautious and if seen, call the number below. A reward of 20,000 dollars is offered for any incriminating information. 

The moment all of you finished reading, it was like a switch flipped. 

Soonyoung immediately secured Jeonghan's hands, Seokmin darkened the room, turning off all the lights and Seungkwan shut all the curtains, shoving his phone into your hands. You though, just stood frozen, watching all of them getting to work, unable to comprehend the situation. It was only when Seungkwan shook you physically telling you to call that number that you finally came to your senses, quickly dialing it. 

Since then, it had been over an hour and you had called almost 48 times unsuccessfully, much to your frustration but not so much to the boys. They simply continued to raid your snack drawer, chattering away in hushed whispers. You on the other hand wanted to pull your hair out. 

“Why do you look so distressed hon?” Soonyoung looked at you, worried.

“Why?” You raised your eyebrows. “Why?? Can you not see why? Do you not understand how risky it is keeping him here-” You shot the unconscious man a glance, whispering. “What if he wakes up?” 

“Then you knock him out again.” Seungkwan chuckled. “This is not a joke you guys.” You tried to be heard above all the reenacting and laughing. “I get that the 20k offer looks enticing but should we take a risk this big-” 

“You think this is about the money?” Seokmin looked at you almost offended. “He’s a criminal Y/n, handing him over to the cops is doing what’s right! That’s our duty as responsible citizens-” 

“Well this can’t be the only way to go about it? I’m sure there are other ways-” 

“Like what?” Seungkwan frowned curiously. 

“I don’t know.” You bit your lower lip, turning to Jeonghan, hands shaking nervously. “We could go out there and find a cop-” 

“When was the last time you even saw a cop in this vicinity?” Soonyoung raised an amused eyebrow.

“Fine, then we’ll take him to the nearest police station?” 

“That’s almost twenty five miles from here.” Soonyoung pointed out. “What if on the way he becomes un-unconscious-” 

“Conscious.” 

“-then wouldn’t we be in more danger?” 

Sighing, you buried your face in your hands, shaking your head. “Oh god, how did we get ourselves stuck in a situation this terrible-.” 

“Oh come on, it's not so bad.” Seungkwan clicked his tongue. “It's not like we're committing a crime, in fact we are doing the complete opposite of it, you should be proud of us.” 

“I prefer my sanity over pride please, thank you.” 

Soonyoung clapped his hand. “So let's get you your vanity back-”  

“Sanity.” 

“-the more we try to call that number, the sooner we manage to contact the cops and before you know it, he'll be gone and all of this will be over.”

Sighing, you handed the phone to him, gesturing that he try now, sick of hearing the voicemail message over and over again. No sooner after he reached for it, a loud ringtone began echoing in the room making all of you jump cause a. it was really loud and b. it was not coming from this phone…..

All four of you exchanged looks turning to the source of the sound - the pocket on the inside of Jeonghan’s jacket. 

Noticing how Jeonghan was starting to slightly stir, Seungkwan quickly moved closer to him, pulling out his phone, fingers moving swiftly to mute. As it continued to vibrate in his hand, the rest of you gathered around, looking at the screen over his shoulder - Assistant 1, annoying, do not pick up. But before any of you had to make the executive decision whether or not to lift the phone, thank god for the timing, the call ended, allowing you all to take a sigh of relief. 

Trying to catch your breath again, just as you almost moved back to your original position, it rang again, somehow even more loudly this time and like an idiot in his hurry, Seungkwan accidentally lifted the call, making you gasp and almost scream. 

“No, don’t-” 

“Boss.” Though it was barely audible, he sounded exasperated. “Please tell me you’re not with a girl.” 

As Seungkwan put the call on speaker, the boys looked at you, signaling you to talk. Looking lost, you stuttered. “I uh…yes, he’s with me.” 

“Of course he is.” His voice boomed in the room. “I need to talk to him.” 

You hesitated, looking at Jeonghan still sitting slumped. “I’m afraid he can’t come to the phone right now.” 

“And why not?” 

“Cause he’s tied up?” You shook your head fast, when your friends looked at you wide eyed - now was not the time for truths??? “I mean he’s tied up with some work-” 

“Oh please, there’s no need to cover up.” The man sounded amused. “I always had a feeling that this was one of his kinks.” 

You looked at the screen mortified. Did he just say kinks? “I’m sorry what???” 

“No, I’m sorry you’re stuck with that sadist of a man. If you’re free after you’re done with him, I assure you, I could show you a much better time.” 

Gasping inaudibly, you felt the heat in your cheeks rising. “I’m not a…. no, god no. He’s tied up as in, unconscious and tied up. Kidnapped, unconscious and tied up.” 

The boys’ jaws dropped in disbelief. What the hell were you blabbering? 

“Did you just say you kidnapped him?” 

Hands shivering you tried to shove the phone into someone else's hands, only for all of them to quite literally run away. 

“Woman, I’m asking you something. Did you just say you kidnapped Jeonghan? The Yoon Jeonghan?” He paused, as you moved, standing in front of the man in question, watching him carefully. “Do you even know who he is?” 

“I….yes.” You sighed, sweat rolling down your forehead. “Yes I know who he is and look, it's a long story that I can’t explain right now and I’m sorry you had to find out this way but I’m calling the cops and handing him over tonight.”

“You called me to tell me that you were handing him to the cops?” 

“Actually you called-”  

“And for what? That measly twenty k?” He scoffed. “I know what you’re doing here - I’ll give you thirty in exchange for him.” 

And suddenly, all the boys were around the phone. 

“No thank you.” You shook your head. “This isn’t about the money, it’s about doing the right thing and that is to hand him over-” 

“Wow you’re really playing that card?” He sighed. “Fine, I’ll give you fifty.” 

At this point, Seungkwan lunged for his phone, narrowly missing it as you swiftly moved your hand away, surprised. 

“Seventy five?” 

Seokmin tried to reach for it too, but you were too quick for him too, moving away, looking at them incredulously. What the hell were they doing now? 

“Final offer, a hundred thousand or I have other ways-” 

“Done.” Soonyoung, the nimblest of them all, quickly grabbed the phone from your hands talking into it. “Hundred thousand and he’s yours.” 

“Kwon-” 

Seokmin covered your mouth, holding you back. “We want it in cash.” 

“That might be an issue-” The man on the phone let out a tired breath. “-things are tight now, cash will be hard.” 

“It’s cash or he goes to the cops.” Seokmin continued, still holding you back with his strong arms, rendering your struggles pointless.

The line went quiet on the other side. The boys look at each other, worried. 

“Fine.” He finally agreed as they sighed in relief. “But I’ll need about ten days to arrange for it.” 

“We are in no hurry.” Seungkwan added. “Whenever you send the cash, we’ll send him.” 

“And till then?” 

“Till then, he’ll be here, with us.” Soonyoung confirmed, earning a protest from you that drowned out. 

“I hope you remember that the cops are actively looking for him-” 

“We do. Which is why you need to make sure the money reaches us by the tenth day.” Seungkwan pointed out. “Otherwise you know where he’s going.” 

“No don’t….” The man sighed. “There’s no need to make such hasty decisions, you’ll get your money.” 

“Good, keep in touch on this number and let us know when you have the cash ready and….that's all, okay bye.” 

Seungkwan spoke quickly before he cut the call and all the boys looked at each other amazed. When Seokmin finally released you, he shrieked as you landed a few harmless punches on him, hard and fast.

“Are you insane???” You looked around. “Are all of you insane?” 

“Hon,” Soonyoung held you by the shoulders, shaking them. “It’s a hundred thousand dollars-” 

“I thought it was not about the money.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “I thought you wanted to be a responsible citizen-” 

“Oh please it’s always about the money.” Seokmin walked over and fell back onto the couch. “A hundred thousand dollars, wow, I’ve never even heard of so much money in my life.”

“Can’t believe I’m going to be a millionaire.” Soonyoung joined him on, earning an eye roll from you. 

“How exactly?” You crossed your arms. “It’s twenty five thousand dollars a person.” 

“So you are agreeing to be a part of it!” Seungkwan clapped happily, ignoring your words of protest. “We’re all going to be so rich.” 

“Twenty five thousand dollars isn’t exactly a fortune-” 

“It might not be for you, but not all of us have dropped out of college and are running our own freelance business from the comfort of our grandmother’s apartment.” Seokmin pointed out. “We could really use the money.” 

“That’s fair but-” 

“No ‘buts’ now.” Seungkwan raised his hand to stop you. “Come on Y/n, do this for us? All we ask is for ten days. Don’t you remember when you moved to this locality, we were the only ones there for you? For 2 whole years we’ve been with you through thick and thin-” 

Thud.

Seungkwan stuttered to a stop, turning around at the sound. The rest of you shifted around too to see what happened, heartbeat rapidly rising when you realized that Jeonghan was stirring awake..... and more importantly, the knot that “believe me I'm an expert” Soonyoung had tied around his hands had come undone, the rope falling to the floor. 

Wincing, Jeonghan opened his eyes slowly as all of you froze, watching the infamous mafia boss raise his head, blinking in the darkness. 

You panicked, noticing that your one and only weapon here, your trusty torchlight, was far from you, right by his foot. Wondering if it was dark enough, considering the room was only lit by the soft and minimal glow of the streetlights pouring in, you slowly inched towards Jeonghan who still seemed like he hadn't fully come around. Just as you reached him, bending to pick up the torch, Seungkwan, who was inching back to press himself against the wall and somehow blend into it, pressed against the switches, the lights instantly turning on, illuminating the whole room. 

Jeonghan slowly looked up, eyes meeting yours, lips parting softly. 

You opened your mouth to scream or say something, you can’t remember what exactly, instead resorting to just staring at the way his hair beautifully framed his face, long eyelashes touching the curve of his cheeks as he blinked. As you continued to remain frozen, his eyes ran over the features of your face, before his lips curled into a small smile.

“I love you.” 

You snapped out of your trance in a second, jaw dropping. 

“God I really love you.” He repeated, as you quickly grabbed the torch and moved back hurriedly and Seokmin, clearly your most sensible friend, quickly got up, putting himself between you and Jeonghan.

“What did he say?” Seokmin looked at you over his shoulder, mumbling. 

“You’re….” Seungkwan took a small, careful step. “You’re not mad?” 

“My head does hurt like a bitch.” Jeonghan cocked his head at you who was half hiding behind your biggest friend. “But I would have been more mad if I was in jail compared to waking up in….” He looked around again. “.....whatever this is.” 

“My house.” You muttered, gripping the torch as Soonyoung slowly and silently walked around, kicking the rope under the sofa, before he joined you, looking casual as ever.

“Yes, jail would be bad.” He agreed. “But here, you’re totally safe, no stress at all.” 

“And why exactly?” Jeonghan frowned, eyes flickering over all of you. “Obviously you know who I am. Why aren’t you handing me to the cops?” 

“That's um…because….” Seungkwan mumbled, putting his arm around your shoulder, with a firm nod. “Because of her uncle.” 

You blinked at him. 

You had no uncle. 

“M-mine?” 

“Yes, her uncle was….unfairly arrested by the cops last year, they sort of put him away for good so uh….helping you is, in a way, our revenge against this foul legal system.” 

Jeonghan didn’t look even a little convinced. Maybe just a little when he looked at you with an eyebrow raised in question and you hesitatingly nodded. 

“Okay, y’all are clearly a weird bunch but I'm not going to question it since whatever this is, it's helping me out.” He got up, wincing as he held his head. “and now I'll get going-” 

“No!” All three boys screamed, taking both Jeonghan and you aback, ears almost ringing. 

“We mean…” Seungkwan started at a much softer tone. “You can’t go out right now, it’s not safe for you.” 

“I am aware,” Jeonghan patted his pockets as though he was searching for something. “I need to call my people and find them in the city again. Once they arrange a way for me to permanently leave the country, I'll be safe, finally-” 

“You are safe here too.” Soonyoung quipped. “There’s no place better than this neighbourhood - it’s quiet, almost thirty miles from the city, filled with senior citizens who are absolutely cut off from the world - they probably don’t even know who you are.” 

“Most importantly,” Seokmin added. “Because this place is so dull, cops don’t even come here, hell the closest police station is over twenty five miles away.” 

“Huh” Jeonghan looked thoughtful, continuing to slide his hands into all his pockets one by one, mumbling. “I can't find my phone-” 

“It probably fell when you were running around-.” Seungkwan gripped the bulge in his back pocket where Jeonghan’s phone was tucked away. “-now that you can't contact your…gang? it'll be dangerous for you to go unguided.”

“Exactly.” Soonyoung stepped up. “Say you give it some time, maybe 10 ten days or so for things in the city to cool off a little and then you can go, find your people and leave the country?” 

Jeonghan started at the floor as though he was mulling over it, each passing second feeling like almost an hour.

Finally he looked up, slowly nodding, much to everyone's relief. “I guess I could?” He held the bump on his head again, wincing in pain. “First I'm gonna need a shower and a meal.” He looked at you, lips curling into a small smile. “Is knocking people out your only talent or can you whip up a ramyeon too?”

Tearing your eyes away from his intense gaze you mumbled that you could, earning a two finger salute from him before he disappeared behind the door of the bathroom. 

As all of four of you collectively let out a sigh of relief, Seungkwan shoved Jeonghan’s phone into your hands. 

“Keep this safe and keep him safe.” He looked around at everyone. “We need to continue making him feel as though living here for 10 days is good for him, not us.”

“Agreed.” Seokmin hummed. “He cannot, at any cost, know he’s being held for ransom. God knows what he might do then.” 

“I still can’t believe it though.” Soonyoung let out a low whistle, looking around almost proud. “I can’t believe we accidentally kidnapped a mafia boss.”

“Smells fucking good.” 

You bit back a gasp hearing Jeonghan’s voice from behind you, right at the shell of your ear as you stood behind the stove, stirring his meal. Gulping you turned, regretting it immediately when you found yourself inches away from him yet again but this time, he was standing in just his towel, blonde wet hair falling into his eyes, rivets of water running down his smooth abdomen. As your eyes found their way back up again, Jeonghan smirked at you. 

“Strange.” He cocked his head at you. “On one hand you seem so meek and quiet, yet no one has ever really looked at me the way you do.” 

Please don’t say things like that. 

Feeling unnaturally hot, perhaps because you were sandwiched between a boiling pot of noodles and a man this attractive, you turned away, turning off the gas, wiping the sweat running down your neck. 

Jeonghan chuckled. “I need something to wear. Think you got anything?” 

You nodded, setting the pot down, before moving away from him (thank god) and walking into your office room. Jeonghan followed at a distance, shaking off the water in his hair, looking around confused as he stepped in. 

“Aren’t you a bit too old to play dress up?” He pointed at the mannequin in the corner donning a pretty maroon half finished dress. 

“That’s…. My work.” You confessed, going through a stack of clothes in the drawers on the far end. 

“You made that?” 

You nodded softly. “Yeah I’m sort of a freelance fashion designer.” 

“For who, the dead?” He frowned. “Who even wears clothes like these anymore?” 

Trying not to get too offended, you pulled out the pair of pajamas you were looking for and turned to him. “It’s for the main lead of the new Macbeth play. I, uh, custom make clothes for theater productions and stage plays.” 

“Ah.” He nodded looking around at the large table filled with all kinds of measuring tapes and scissors and big shelves stacked with materials of all kinds, two sewing machines lined up against the wall. “Interesting.” 

You're not really sure what he found so fascinating but you cleared your throat, trying to change the topic. 

“I only have this that might fit you.” Walking over, you handed him a neatly folded purple checkered pajama set. “I made it for my…. for someone a few years back but he didn’t like the colour so it's brand new.” 

“I love purple.” Jeonghan grinned, taking it from you, immediately slipping on the shirt. “By someone else, do you mean one of the boys?”

You shook your head. “No, I never make clothes for them, my style is a bit too…. um old fashioned?” 

“You continue to surprise me.” He looked at you thoughtfully. “Old fashioned with clothes but open minded enough to live with three men.”

You blinked stupidly. “I don't live with three men.”

“Oh they don’t live here?” Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. “You four aren't a thing?” 

 “Four? As in all four of us??.….” You looked at him wide eyed and scandalized. “Of course not! How could you even think that, w-what does that even mean-” 

“Okay relax princess.” Jeonghan took a step back, raising his hands. “Even if you were, it’s cool. I don’t judge.” 

Definitely not relaxing, you looked everywhere but at him, heat continuing to rise uncomfortably in your body. 

Jeonghan looked at you amused, biting his lip. “But I will judge if you continue to stand here and watch me wear the pants.” 

Shaking your head and apologising, you practically ran out of there, heart racing in your chest as you leaned against the kitchen counter, hands gripping the edge. The kind of things he said, the way he looked….Please please please stop it. 

Trying your best to push him out of your mind, you got back to the stove, grabbing the pot and placing it on the table. You stared at it for a bit before sighing and pulling out a few of your mom’s sides from the fridge, adding it to his meal. As you poured out a glass of juice, Jeonghan walked up, rubbing his hands, pulling the chair and sitting down. 

“You put sides and all? Sweet.” 

He grabbed the pair of chopsticks and took a large bite, humming in relief. You knew it was burning hot, but he was probably way too hungry to care because the speed made it look like he was inhaling it. 

“Sit.” He looked up mid bite. “I don’t like eating alone.” 

Although you didn't wish to be in his presence for long, you sat down, unable to say no. The entire time, Jeonghan ate quietly, tasting all the sides, drinking the juice in between, loudly smacking his lips after every bite. After devouring it all in less than five minutes, he raised the bowl to his mouth, downing all the soup, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  “That was so delicious princess, I almost wanna stay here all my life.” He got up, stretching as he did. “But unfortunately 10 days is all we have.” 

Silently, you half nodded, gathering all the dishes he had left on the table, taking them to the sink. Jeonghan watched you, please stop looking at me, and when you returned to wipe the table, he leaned in, for the third time tonight, putting his face incredibly close to yours. “You’re a tough nut to crack, but I think I’ll have you all figured out in ten days.” As you tried to move further back, unable to breathe in the proximity, he moved closer, smirking. “Goodnight princess.” 

And with that he walked off, turning into your bedroom, closing the door behind him. 

You simply stared, rapidly blinking, heart refusing to calm down, chest heaving as you struggled to breathe.

And this was just day zero of ten. 

Day 1 of 10 

“Yoon Jeonghan has to go.” 

Soonyoung, Seungkwan and Seokmin looked up from their dinner as you slammed the restaurant door open. Immediately panicked and looking around, they pulled you to their table, shushing you with hushed voices. 

“What is wrong with you-” Seungkwan hissed as Seokmin went over to the only other people in the shop, the two old ladies sitting in the corner, trying to distract them with some free tea. “-you can’t go around screaming his name.” 

“You don’t understand.” Leaning back into the chair, you sighed. “I cannot be around him, I can’t handle it….” 

“What did he even do?” Soonyoung looked at you curiously and Seokmin returned, settling in his chair. 

And then you began to spill the details of all the events, starting from the moment he took over your bedroom last night. 

Yes you lived in a decently sized two bedroom house but with one room converted into your workspace and the other occupied by Jeonghan, you had no choice but to take the extremely uncomfortable couch in the living room. Of course you were already drifting in and out of sleep because of all the pain in your back and like that was not enough……

As though on cue, the lady who lived in the apartment above yours walked in, her pleasant expression turning almost disgusted as her eyes fell on you and you knew precisely why - because of all the obnoxiously loud moaning last night. 

Seokmin watched the two of you, eyes narrowing. “Why is she looking at you like that?” 

Voice shaking, you told them. 

“Wait wait wait.” Seungkwan interjected, jaw dropping. “You’re telling me he didn’t just sleep in your room but also…. also brought home a woman?” 

You nodded. For a hot second, last night you thought you were dreaming or imagining those sounds. As you focused, listening harder you realised they were the moans of an actual woman, coming straight from your bedroom,  followed by Jeonghan’s soft grunts. And lord, the things he was saying??

Are you even trying? Is that the best you can do?

Oh, you feel good? Where are your manners then? Be a good girl and thank me. 

You’ll do anything, won’t you? This is all you’re good for - a set of wet and wanting holes. 

“So you think he brought home a whore-” You winced at the word, making Seokmin immediately change his statement. “-a person, a professional, and had a love making session in your room? On your bed?” 

“I don’t think it, I know it.” You groaned. “And that was no love making, it was loud and-” You gulped, pressing your legs together, trying to ignore the feeling between them. “-and just disturbing.” 

“I understand it’s hard for you,” Seungkwan started. “But if it’s just that one thing-”

“Oh no no it’s not just that one thing.” You sat up, ready with a whole mentally prepared list. “That's what I slept to, guess what I woke up to? A delivery man with nearly 30 packages of all sorts of things he ordered online for his ‘ease’ because he ‘can’t live without them’ and you might wonder what the issue with that is? It is the fact that he had me pay for it and it wasn’t five or ten dollars, I paid seven thousand dollars in the morning-” All the boys' jaws dropped. “-that’s right I paid seven thousand for his things which he, by the way, made me sit and open because his ‘head hurts too much’.”

“Okay, we get it-”

“And he keeps wearing all my clothes! Not mine, I mean the ones I make-” You corrected when the boys looked at you weirdly. “This morning he wore the pure white cashmere sweater I spent hours making for the evil queen in Snow white. Now it sits in my house decorated with polka dots of ramyeon soup.”

“Oh-” 

“And he never cleans up after himself! He expects me to cook, sits and eats and then just leaves when he’s done?! He drops crumbs everywhere, he doesn't put things back in their place, I'm-”

“Breathe hon breathe,” Soonyoung rubbed your back. “He's inconvenient and it sucks, we get it but….but it’s only been a day?” He looked around, pausing as the lady above your house collected her food and walked past, face turned away from you. “What about the rest of the time? Did he bother you in any way?” 

“Not really.” You sigh. “He pretty much minds his own business. He was either sleeping or watching tv the rest of the time…and also going through all my fashion magazines, with potato chip dust on his fingers by the way-” 

“Alright, alright, we get it, he’s a pain.” Seungkwan looked at you a little pleadingly. “But you do know, given our current situation, we don’t have a choice but to house him for another 9 days.”

“Kwan, It’s still not too late to hand him over to the cops-” 

“Please.” Seungkwan pleaded, hands joined, ready to fall to his knees if needed. “We’ll give you a higher share of the ransom if you want-” 

“You think money is the issue?” 

“Of course it’s not, he’s an idiot to suggest that.” Seokmin interrupted. “It’s not about the money Y/n, just…. do it for us? Think about how you could reform the three of our lives. We could go from busting our asses waiting tables here to maybe owning our own little shop. Don’t you want that for us?” 

You stared at Seokmin’s puppy face then at Soonyoung’s big eyes then at…..whatever cute expression Seungkwan was trying and failing to make. If you could help improve the lives of the friends who were closest to you, maybe you can hang in there for a few days? 

You could not. You most definitely could not. And you realised that the moment you excitedly stepped into your house again with a generous amount of packed late night snacks. 

Clothes - Jeonghan’s and a woman’s - were strewn all over the house, right from the main door to the bedroom as though they couldn’t wait for even the five seconds it took to walk the minimal distance. As you heard a guttural moan, you shut your ears, preparing for yet another night of suffocating yourself under your pillow. 

Day 2 of 10 

“I got you some DakGalBi.” Soonyoung raised the familiar black bag of the bbq shop before him as you sighed. 

“I made the same thing for lunch.” 

“You did?” He looked surprised. “I thought you didn’t know how to.” 

“I don't, I watched a few videos; followed a cookbook.” You mumbled. “Jeonghan said he wanted to eat.” 

“Is he still bothering you?” Soonyoung asked concerned, eyes running over your tired features. By bothering if he meant taking over every aspect of your life and not giving you the freedom to breathe peacefully in your own house, then yes, Yoon Jeonghan was absolutely bothering you. Did you tell Soonyoung that though? No, because 1, just yesterday, you had told your friends that you would “hang in there” and 2, you most definitely couldn’t hang in there and were already secretly planning ways to oust Jeonghan from your house. 

The journey to making this decision started the moment you woke up. It was yet again to the sound of knocking except, it wasn’t on your door, it was coming from your home office. Wondering what in the world Jeonghan was doing there, you quickly kicked off the covers and jumped to your feet, walking over. At first glance, you didn’t spot him inside and then your eyes found a complete stranger drumming her fingers on your sewing machine. You stood frozen, fully taken aback as she looked at you, your favorite coffee mug in her hand as she sipped out of it. 

“This dress could use a deeper neck.” She pointed at the one on the mannequin and then at herself. “Like this.” 

You refused to look at her plunging neckline out of which all her….assets were spilling out. God knows why you couldn’t refuse to take her opinion on your work or tell her to get the hell out of your house. Instead, you just continued to stand frozen until you felt Jeonghan’s presence behind you. 

“What are you doing here?” He sounded like he just woke up, voice just a little deep and husky. 

“I was curious what was in here-” 

“I mean what are you still doing here?” He walked up, putting himself between the two of you. “You were supposed to leave after you were done.” 

“It was raining outside, I couldn’t go.” She muttered, looking at him hopefully. “Besides I wanted to see you in the morning before I go-” 

“I don’t.” He cut her off, pointing over his shoulder. “Get going.” 

“But-” 

“Go.” He repeated, more firmly this time. 

Looking mad, she slammed the coffee mug on the table and grabbed her bag from the floor. As she walked up to Jeonghan and tried to plant a kiss on his cheek, he turned his face away, “Don’t cross the line. Get out.” 

Huffing she left, the sound of the front door closing resounding behind her. Jeonghan turned to you, rolling his eyes, looking at you like you’ll understand. “The audacity when she can’t even deepthroat without gagging.” 

You didn’t understand. You didn’t want to understand. You just wanted him to stop saying these kind of things. Please please please shut up. 

When he walked away, yawning and stretching, you grabbed the coffee mug, nearly crying at the sight of a neat brown ring of coffee imprinted on the paper. 

Oh yeah, Yoon Jeonghan had to go. 

Now you would have told all this to the boys but you knew they would tell you to ‘adjust for a few days’ and as always, you'd give in, regardless of the fact that you wanted this man’s entire existence obliterated from your life. So you decided to handle things differently now - you would get Jeonghan out of your house without the boys realising you had a hand in it - that way you'd be free and they couldn't blame you. You weren’t quite sure how to go about this plan but that was until you went to the grocery store in the afternoon to buy some ingredients for lunch. 

The biggest drawback of this suburb was that there was barely anyone below the age of twenty who could help you out with your predicament except for the cashier's grandson, Minguk. Minguk lived in the city, but over the weekends, he came to help his grandmother, greeting you every time you crossed paths. You weren’t really close friends but he was always nice to you, helping you reach things from the higher shelves, offering to carry heavier items to your house. If anyone here could recognise Jeonghan and help you out, it had to be him. 

That’s why when you went to the shop, you told the old lady you needed a big bag of rice, twenty five kgs of it for some big rice starch cloth experiment, asking if Minguk could drop by later and bring it to your house. She agreed happily, stating she would get him to do it the moment he came in the evening and you left, waiting for said evening and said moment to arrive. 

Your prediction for the events that would follow today went somewhat like this - Minguk would come home, notice and recognise Jeonghan, ask you to get behind him while they fought and Minguk would knock down Jeonghan’s skinny ass stick figure, then make sure to hand Jeonghan to the police while you sadly told BooSeokSoon it was unfortunate that things unfolded this way. 

Now for this whole plan to be successful, you needed Soonyoung to get out of the house as soon as possible because Minguk could come any moment now. Hence you resorted to answering all of the former’s questions with short, simple replies, hoping this conversation would end fast.

“No he’s not still bothering me.”  “You sure? You-”  “Absolutely.”  “Again, we’re sorry that this-”  “No worries.”  Soonyoung frowned, confused at your curt answers. “Where is he now?” “Bathroom, showering I think.”  “What did he do before lunch?”  “Waited for lunch.”  “What did he do after lunch?”  “Nothing.” You shrugged. “Claimed he was bored, sat in my home office and watched me sketching for hours together.”  “He was…. just watching you?”  “Not the whole time, he fell asleep in between…”

You recalled how hearing his soft snores, you looked up from your work, eyes falling on him leaning back against the bean bag, drifted off in a pleasant slumber. As you glanced at him, noticing just how sharp his jaw was and how high his cheekbones sat, his lips curled into a small smile. You’re giving me that look again, princess. After that, you didn’t take your eyes off your work even once. 

“I think he fell asleep?” 

“Did you get any sleep?” Soonyoung looked over your shoulder at your bedding still on the couch. “Did he… you know, bring someone last night too?” 

You nodded, but brushed it off immediately. “It’s fine, it’s nothing I can’t handle. I promised you guys 10 days, I’ll deliver.” 

Soonyoung looked relieved, before he glanced at his watch, face morphing in worry. “It’s nearly peak hour, I gotta go back to the restaurant.” 

You agreed to him, assuring him you were fine when he asked you again, waving goodbye as you shut the door behind him. 

Minguk would be here any minute now, and if all went well, you’d finally be free again. 

Day 3 of 10 

All did not go well. 

In complete contrast to what you had imagined, here you were, yet again cooking lunch for Jeonghan, still absolutely sleep deprived and there he was, lying sprawled on your couch, going through your books, just like yesterday. Only difference was, Seokmin was on call, the sound of him chewing his apple ringing in your ears. 

As you moved around to make Kalguksu, Jeonghan’s order of the day, Seokmin spoke into your ear. “So you're saying he's not too bad to live with?” 

Bad? Bad was an understatement. Living with Yoon Jeonghan was the absolute worst. Just this morning, when you had stepped out to check your mailbox, your neighbour coincidentally returned from her morning walk, greeting you with a hard smile, asking why you looked so tired. You told her you had a lot of orders to work on, claiming you had to stay up all night to finish it and to that she said, “Yes, I think everyone in this building can tell what exactly you are doing staying up all night.” 

Never in your life before that statement did you want to be swallowed by concrete. You knew last night must’ve been particularly more noticeable because the women so far were moaners but this one….. Oh she was a screamer; so loud not even your pillow could save you. Thank god she was gone by the morning but so was a very treasured dress of yours, one you gifted by your mother. When Jeonghan woke up, he mumbled something about how her clothes tore, and she grabbed something from your cupboard before he went off to take a shower. 

“Yes, he’s not too bad.” You replied, glad Seokmin couldn't see your sarcastic expression. 

“I had a feeling he was a chill guy from the first time we saw him-” Seokmin continued to loudly chew on call. “-he seems kinda calm and knowledgeable?”

Yes, if only Seokmin heard all the 'instructions' Jeonghan loved to give his lady friends at night, he would know just how knowledgeable this man was. Although he did say something that you were thinking about for a while now…

“Min.” You slid onto the kitchen counter. “Do you think Minguk has a crush on me?” 

“Minguk as in supermart granny’s grandson Minguk?” Seokmin chuckled. “Yeah, obviously, a mega huge one.” 

“What?” You looked at your phone betrayed. “How could you not tell me?” 

“I assumed you knew and didn’t care?” Seokmin sounded nonchalant. “Since you know, he already has a girlfriend?” 

That’s what you had said too, last night when Minguk came over and all did not go well. 

Initially, it was going according to plan though. A few moments after Soonyoung left, Minguk arrived at your door, carrying a huge sack of rice, half panting as he smiled at you. Given that Jeonghan was still in the bathroom, you engaged him in casual conversation, hoping the man who usually showered in under 5 minutes, would finally come out after the two hours he had been holed up in there. Just as you were running out of stupid questions to ask, Minguk looked over your shoulder, forehead slowly pulling together in a frown as you heard footsteps behind you. Finally finally finally, please help me-

“Who is that?” He pointed, looking confused. Did he not recognise….? 

You turned, as Jeonghan approached you, your eyes widening as they landed on him - he had dyed his golden blonde hair into a dark jet black, the length of it also a lot shorter now, the pieces framing his face pushed back in a way even you could barely recognise him. You continued staring as he walked over, throwing his arm around your shoulder, glancing at Minguk.

“And who is this?” 

Tearing your eyes away from him, you looked at Minguk, almost at a loss of words, “T-this is Minguk, he works um in the supermarket nearby, he’s my friend and this is uh….” You gulped, the weight of Jeonghan’s hand heavy on your shoulder. “This is-” 

“Come on, don’t be shy.” Jeonghan laughed. “Hi….friend? I’m the boyfriend.” 

“Oh.” Minguk looked at you just as surprised as you looked at him. “I didn’t know…” 

Neither did you.

“Yeah we’ve been doing long distance for a while now, I just got back recently.” Jeonghan answered like it was a matter of fact when a few days back, you didn't even know of his existence. 

After that Minguk, who always said bye to you with a cheery wave, mumbled that he had to go and left, without sparing you a second glance.

“What an idiot.” Jeonghan chuckled as he let you go, walking into the house. “Men who don’t have the guts to be honest with the woman they like are not worth anyone’s time.” 

“I’m sorry what?” You frowned, closing the door and following him. “The woman they like?” 

Jeonghan looked at you incredulously. “You didn’t know? He was literally making heart eyes, his drool is probably outside on the floor-” 

“He has a girlfriend.” 

“So?” He shrugged. 

“So he can’t possibly like me??” 

Jeonghan looked at you amused. “You’re dense as hell princess, there’s so much I could teach you.” and with that he walked away leaving you baffled, which was not how you expected events to turn out yesterday. 

As Seokmin went on and on about how Minguk wasn’t being fair to his girlfriend, you zoned out, mind wandering on something else entirely. You needed a new, revised plan, one that was guaranteed to get Jeonghan out of your life and this time, you swore you wouldn’t fail.

Day 4 of 10 

Plan B failed just as miserably as plan A. 

You had promised yourself to get Jeonghan out of your life, but all you managed to do was get him out of the house. 

That was part of the plan though, him stepping out was vital but somehow, as though luck loved him and despised you, things worked out in his favour yet again. 

Plan B was a long and elaborate one, one that you worked on really hard, starting from last night. 

Last night, you got into your couch tired as hell, but determined not to sleep, eyes wide open in the darkness. Around 1am, you heard the sound of feet shuffling as Jeonghan’s silhouette walked past you, opening the door, letting yet another girl into your house. As the two of them moved towards your room, bodies and tongues tangled, shutting the bedroom door behind them, you immediately got up, rushing to your office room. Looking up the posters of Jeonghan on the internet, you quickly printed out a bunch of them, silently donned your jacket and a mask and left your house in the dead of the night. It took you nearly 3 hours but by the end of it you had put up those posters along all the streets of the suburb and had barely just returned and got under the covers when the bedroom door opened and Jeonghan’s companion of the night left your house. Confident that by daybreak, everyone in the neighborhood would know Jeonghan’s face and there would at least be someone smarter than Minguk who could look past the changed hair colour, you slept happily, after a long time. 

But you were rudely awakened by the sound of Jeonghan’s voice, whispering right by your ear. 

“Be honest. You don’t actually want me to leave do you?” 

Your eyes flew open only to find his face hovering above yours, inches away. You held your breath as his hand rested on your waist, fingers tracing over the sliver of skin exposed by your shirt having ridden up. 

“You’re scared of what I do to you.” He smirked, lips teasingly close to yours. “But I could do so many wonderful things to you princess.” 

You gasped as you felt his fingers slip under the waistband of your underwear, inching closer and closer to the desperate hot and wet feeling between your legs. You couldn’t bring yourself to stop him…. You didn’t want to. As he slipped a finger in, groaning about how tight you were, your eyes flew open, meeting the cracks on the ceiling above. 

Petrified, you sat up, forehead and neck drenched in sweat as though every nerve ending was on fire. Did you just have a wet dream about Yoon Jeonghan?? 

Oh he had to leave. He had to leave as soon as possible. This plan had to work. 

And you really thought it would when you were going to buy lunch (today he wanted clam chowder which was way beyond your expertise) and he insisted on following you to get it since he was getting bored at home. You thought the entire universe had finally channelised its energy into helping you get rid of him. 

You could not have been more wrong. 

Turned out that in the few hours you had spent happily sleeping, it rained cats and dogs, obliterating nearly every single piece of paper you had put up. Hours of your hard work was quite literally washed down the drain while Jeonghan happily walked out in the open right alongside dozens of people who had no idea who he was. On the contrary, they had a wilder assumption regarding who he might be - apparently your boyfriend. 

The moment you’d stepped into the restaurant, all the old women who were your grandmother’s friends and loved to strike conversation with you, absolutely ignored your existence as they caught hold of ‘your boyfriend’, insisting that the two of you eat with them. You sat across Jeonghan, watching him talking and giggling with all the old ladies as they threw all sorts of questions at him. He answered, stuffing his mouth with food, spinning the most wonderful stories of your relationship, stories that made you almost wish they were true.

After he bid them all goodbye, which was nearly two hours later, he declared he wanted to play football in the big ground where all the ladies had mentioned their visiting grandkids were playing. You took him there, sitting on the sidelines and watching this man twice their height, tackling all the little kids effortlessly, laughing - not sadistically, just happily, enjoying himself. At that moment somehow, he felt so ordinary, like any other normal person, like he could really have been your boyfriend, like this was really your life. You abandoned that thought the moment Jeonghan pulled you from the bench into the field, demanding that you play. Though you despised the idea of running around in half muddy fields, as always, you found yourself unable to say no to him, joining him and the kids in a game that was a lot more fun than you had anticipated. That was until it started pouring rain again, forcing all of you to run back to your homes, drenched from head to toe by the time you reached. The laughter in your chest fizzled out at the sight of Jeonghan shaking the wet droplets of his hair, his wet shirt sticking to his body, the outline of it unnecessarily obvious. 

But I could do so many wonderful things to you princess.

Gulping, you left to dry yourself, heart racing behind its cage, not wanting to think of the dream. The rest of the evening you refused to so much as look at him, focusing on only on the one thing you were supposed to - Plan C.

Day 5 of 10

Plan C was short and simple and it was supposed to work like a charm. 

To be honest, a part of you always had a feeling plan A and B wouldn’t work because BooSeokSoon were right - expecting anyone in this neighbourhood to know Jeonghan was stupid. So if nobody here recognised Jeonghan, you had to bring someone who recognised Jeonghan here. And that’s exactly what you did because just as you were washing the breakfast dishes and Jeonghan was asking for your help with something, there was a loud knock on the door. 

“Police, open up.” 

Finally. 

After you had gotten up in the morning, under the pretext of getting milk, you went over to the closest public phone, calling the one and only police station nearby, the one over twenty five miles away. Trying to keep the message as anonymous and vague as possible, you spoke about how it seemed like something was not right in unit 84, your own apartment. With the fear of being identified, you didn't tell them anything else but clearly your half information was taken seriously because barely half an hour later, they were here at your door. Before you could wash your soapy hands and walk over the door, Jeonghan was already there, opening it.

You held your breath, staying hidden in the kitchen, peeking from behind the wall as the two men looked at each other. The expectation was a dramatic, movie-like scene where both men confronted each other with fists, maybe even guns but the reality, much to your surprise, was the complete opposite - they were both just talking, having a conversation you could barely hear from your hiding place. Could the cop also not recognise Jeonghan? 

The answer was no, he could not. It was Jeonghan’s luck playing it’s hand once again because the moment the cop shook Jeonghan’s hand and left and the latter turned you, you noticed how the entire lower half of his face was lathered in layers of shaving foam rendering half his face completely hidden. You vaguely recalled he was asking you for help to shave, wondering what were the odds that the cop would turn up at this exact moment. Jeonghan’s luck was indeed your biggest enemy. 

Inwardly crying about the fact that not only did he just dodge your biggest weapon, but you still had to continue doing menial work for him, you followed him to the bathroom. As you prepared the razor, he sat on the edge of the bathtub, peering at you curiously in the mirror. 

“Why do you think the cop turned up at your house today?” 

Trying not to let your hands shake, you shrugged. “How would I know?....What did he say?” 

“Someone apparently called to complain about something strange going on in this house.” 

You met his eye in the reflection, thinking fast. “I mean it is a quiet neighbourhood and the people around are really old so, I guess, maybe someone complained about, you know, all the noise at night….” 

“But you don’t use the sewing machine at night?” Jeonghan frowned like he didn’t understand. 

Clearing your throat, you turned to him. “Not me, it's you…and you know all the….” Making vague hand gestures you tried to explain your point. “....when the girls come and…”

“Sex?” Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, half laughing. “What are you, a prude? You can’t say the word sex?” 

Shifting uneasily you looked away from him, mumbling. “I just don't think everything has to be said….”

Jeonghan didn't say anything to that, continuing to look at you just a little amused as you stood between his manspread, holding his jaw and tilting his head up. When his eyes met yours, a strange something flashing behind them, every cell in your body feeling hyper-alert. Gulping you slowly ran the blades along his cheek, your own cheeks heating up under his gaze, one that never left your face. 

When you did a half turn to grab a towel, feet stumbling in the process, Jeonghan’s hands flew to grab your hips, stabilizing you. He didn't let go even after you had found your footing. He didn't let go even after you finished the task at hand. 

“I'm done…” You mumbled, taking a step back and his grip on you finally loosened. Just for a second though, before he suddenly held your hand and stood up, face inches away from yours, eyes still on you the same way. 

“What’s your deal princess?” 

You gulped, looking away confused when he bent down, to your eye level, looking curious.

“You can't even bring yourself to say ‘sex’ but….” He ran his thumb across your lower lip, rubbing away a speck of foam that somehow seemed to have gotten there. “The way you look at me, there's something a lot darker behind those eyes. Which is the real you?” 

You had no idea. 

You really really had no idea.

Which is the real you?

Staring at the ceiling you pondered over Jeonghan’s question. 

Was it the you who was thoroughly scandalized by the things Jeonghan kept saying and doing? Or the you who was lying on the couch wide awake at nearly 1am, trying to pretend like you weren’t listening to the same man absolutely ruin someone in your bed. You told yourself it wasn’t that you liked it, you were simply curious. As for why you had kept your legs pressed together, you had no answer, you most definitely were not turned on, no. 

But strangely the discomfort between your legs only got worse, like a dull, desperate ache. Hesitating, you slipped your hand under the waistband of your underwear, fingers slowly inching downward, terrified of what you would discover. Your digits slid easily, given the fact that you were soaked, eyes shutting tight in embarrassment. This was so wrong and so inappropriate on so many levels….. quickly getting yourself together you rushed over to the bathroom, washing up, throwing cold water on your face to get you back into your senses. Getting it together and patting your face dry with your towel, you walked out, stepping into complete silence. 

Frowning, you turned to the clock -  usually, Jeonghan went on for hours together, giving you some peace of mind only around 3am in the morning - could they have been done already? Confused, you slowly moved towards the room door, pushing it softly, expecting to find Jeonghan fast asleep. Instead, you’re met with the sight of a woman on all fours, her head pressed into the mattress, muffling her sounds as Jeonghan railed her from behind, his hips snapping against hers at a ridiculous pace. 

Now either you should have run away from there, or screamed and then run away from there but you did neither - instead you simply froze, eyes wide and unblinking, unable to move any part of your body. It became a whole lot worse when Jeonghan, whose face was contorted with focus, suddenly lifted his head, his vision finding you by the door. The only good thing that came from this was that somehow, you found your footing again, stumbling back, loudly shutting the door. Not knowing what else to do, you grabbed your jacket from the coat rack and quickly ran out of the house, ignoring the heavy pitter patter of the rain. Thank god the boys are still sitting at the restaurant, gathered around a table, laughing away. You walked in, ready to cry out of embarrassment and dissolve in your embarrassment. 

“Okay, let’s calm down a little.” Seokmin reached for your glass, prying it out of your hands slowly, earning a glare from you. 

“I need it. I need to drown in my sorrows.” You looked over your shoulder at the lady who was sitting at the table alone, hiccuping at her fourth bottle of beer. “Like her.” 

“What’s the deal with that woman?” Seungkwan muttered looking over. “She’s been here for hours.” 

“Something about her crush being kissed by his best friend.” Soonyoung shrugged. “Apparently the other girl dared her to watch.” 

“Ouch.” You grimaced, thoroughly impressed. “God I wish I could be like that.” 

“You are like that.” Seungkwan pointed at all the bottles of soju in front of you. 

“Not her, the other one.” You clicked your tongue, not hearing the restaurant door opening behind you. “I wish I was daring like that. Gutsy enough to put people in their place, to say what’s on my mind, to tell Yoon Jeonghan to stop fucking other people in my bed-” 

“Would you rather I fuck you?” 

You turned quickly, a chill running down your spine as you found Jeonghan right behind, bent over to whisper into your ear. All three boys before you looked with their jaws hung. Turning away from him, unable to meet his eyes, you mumbled something even you didn’t understand. 

Jeonghan smiled. “Doesn’t sound like a no.” 

“I could barely recognise you.” Seokmin looked at the man before him in awe, glancing over his not so new hairdo. “Black hair looks good on you.” 

“I know.” Jeonghan agreed like it was a matter of fact before turning to you again. “The rain just stopped but looks like it might start again anytime soon, you should come home.” 

You shook your head slowly.

“I’m amazed you know how to refuse.” Jeonghan chuckled. “But now’s not the time to; come home.” 

“No.” You stood up, facing him. “I don’t want to go to your home.” 

“Not mine, yours.” 

“Oh yeah.” You looked at him spacey as Jeonghan tried to stop himself from laughing. “That’s my house. My room. My bed. What the hell are you doing there?” 

“A new woman everyday apparently.” Soonyoung muttered, purposely looking away from Jeonghan. 

“What kind of person does that?” You poked his chest, slurring. “A-and the way you talk to them? Who says things like that?” 

“Okay, we can discuss this at home. It’s 3am, get up-” 

“It’s 3???” Seungkwan quickly turned at the clock on the wall. “Fuck, fuck, fuck we have to close up.” 

The boys quickly got to their feet, one gathering the trash, the other stacking the dishes and the other ushering the only other person in the store to leave. She got up, walking towards the entrance, wantonly tripping on her own feet and holding onto Jeonghan. Something in you wanted to smack her right across the head. 

“Hi,” She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “I’m Yuri.” 

“Hi,” Jeonghan pulled his arm from her grip. “I’m not interested.” He turned to you, blatantly ignoring the other girl’s existence. “Let’s go.” 

You watched as the poor woman, looking close to tears, stormed out as you swayed and muttered. “I can’t. I can barely stand, forget walking.” 

“Get on my back.” Jeonghan offered, making you laugh. 

“Have you seen yourself?” You threw your jacket over your shoulders. “If you carry me, you’ll break. Like literally snap in half.” 

“Huh.” Jeonghan inched closer to you, tucking his hands in his pocket. “There’s so much to teach you princess. Lesson number one, size does not matter.” 

Yet again, you found yourself burning under his gaze, words lost in your mouth which was opening and closing like a fish. Sighing, Jeonghan swooped down faster than you could register his movement, grabbing you by the knees, throwing you over his shoulder. Shrieking, you protested, trying to get him to put you down but he simply ignored you, walking away as your friends watched, thoroughly shocked. 

Within minutes he had you in your house, putting you down in your bathroom, letting you sit on the edge of the bathtub as he grabbed your towel. Standing before you, he tilted your head up, softly rubbing the towel into your hair, drying it. You tried to avoid his eye, looking everywhere but him and that small amused smile on his face, only looking at him when he finally spoke. 

“What’s your name?” 

You scoffed. “You lived in my house for 5 days, ate my food, slept in my bed, and you don’t know my name?” 

“I didn’t think it was necessary.” 

“Why is it necessary now?” 

He smiled. “If you want me to fuck you, I need to know your name princess.” 

“God.” You pulled away from him. “I didn’t say I want you to… to…” 

“There we go again.” He sighed. “The celestial prude returns.” 

“I’m not a prude, don’t call me that.” You pointed an accusatory finger at him. “I’ll have you know I have….” You cleared your throat, the volume of your voice considerably lowering. “I have slept with a man before. More than once. In fact, I have also slept with two men at the same time.” 

Jeonghan raised his eyebrow like he didn’t believe it. 

“Okay fine, one of them was just watching…...” You rolled your eyes. “But there were two, my boyfriend - ex-boyfriend - and his friend-” 

“Did you agree to that?” 

Somehow Jeonghan’s voice was a lot harder now, catching you off guard. 

“Huh?” 

“I asked you if you agreed for your boyfriend’s friend to watch?” 

“I….” You stuttered, looking around. “I didn’t say no.” 

“Princess, you never say no.” Jeonghan crouched before you, looking serious. “But that doesn’t mean it's a yes.” 

You stared at him unsure what to say. That was a night you never thought about again - you always thought it was maybe because you were embarrassed but perhaps…..a part of you was trying to forget it ever happened. 

“You asked me who says the kind of things I do in bed, right? I say them because the women I’m with want me to, they enjoy it. But what you just told me,” Jeonghan shook his head. “Did you want that?” 

“I…I don’t know.” You confess. You didn’t ever question yourself like Jeonghan was. “He didn’t ask and I didn’t think I could say no-” 

“You can always say no.” Jeonghan insisted, holding your hands. “If you don’t want something, you should say no. The same way, if you want something, you should ask for it, unashamed.” 

“Then I… I want you..…” You whispered, unsure whether you should say it, not noticing the way Jeonghan's eyes darkened instantly. Taking a deep breath, you continued. “I want you…. to stop sleeping in my bed. I want you to stop wearing the clothes I design. I want you to stop making me cook for you-”

“Okay wow we’re spiraling-”

“I want you to stop making me clean after you, to stop treating me like your personal assistant, I mean what kind of man doesn’t know how to shave-” 

“The kind who’s always had people to do these things for him so he doesn’t really know how to do anything.” He muttered, sighing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think of it too much, I should’ve been more mindful of how I was being…. but now that you told me-” He got up. “-I won’t bother you, and on the off chance that I do, and you wish for me to leave, I will do so immediately, I promise.” 

You nodded slowly, both amazed that you managed to get all of that off your chest and that he took it all really well. He continued to look at you like you were both fascinating and funny. 

“What?” 

“You still haven’t told me your name by the way.” 

Half laughing you did and he repeated it, your name rolling off his tongue in a way that made something in your stomach flip. 

“I’m going to grab whatever clothes of yours I can find.” He walked up to the door, turning to you. “Please change, you’ll fall sick if you sleep in wet clothes.” 

With that he left, and that was the last thing you remembered. 

Day 6 of 10 

Today you woke up in the bathtub. 

The twisted form that you slept in obviously resulted in stiff joints and pains all over but it was falling asleep in drenched clothes that caused the continuous sneezing that followed. Dragging yourself out of the bathroom, you slowly walked into your house, meeting a strange silence - Jeonghan wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Feeling too weak to even wonder where he was, you dragged yourself to the couch, sinking into it, eyes fluttering shut. No more than five minutes later, you were awakened by the feeling of a cold hand on your forehead, making you jump at the suddenness. Jeonghan peered at you shaking his head. 

“Great, you’ve got a fever.” He clicked his tongue. “I was gone for two minutes last night and you fell asleep in the tub.” 

“Should’ve woken me up.” 

“Believe me, I tried but you wouldn’t even budge and it wasn’t like I could just carry you out of there.” He turned away muttering as you raised your eyebrows in faux surprise. “Okay, just carrying you once almost broke my back, so yeah, I admit it, I’m weak.” 

You burst out laughing, doubling over into a coughing fit as Jeonghan handed you a bottle of water, smiling almost fondly. 

“What do you want to eat for lunch?” 

“You’re going to make lunch?” 

“Don’t get used to it, only cause you’re sick.” 

You pondered, leaning back into the pillows. “Something hot and with soup would be great actually.” 

“Can you shower and change out of those clothes in the meantime?” 

You whined, shaking your head, body drained of all its energy. 

“Come on.” Jeonghan pulled you up from the couch, struggling as he did. “Wash up.” 

Stumbling to the bathroom, you did, albeit much slower than usual but a hot shower made all the difference in the world. You didn’t want to leave the warmth and maybe you wouldn’t have if the landline wasn’t constantly ringing. Groaning you wrapped a towel around you, dragging yourself to the phone, picking it up. 

“Where the hell is your phone?” Seungkwan scolded you from the other side. “Why won’t you pick up?” 

“On silent somewhere I guess.” You mumbled, looking around. “What’s wrong?” 

“Just wanted to check if you were okay-”

“I’m okay.” 

“-and also wanted to tell you that your dream shop? It’s up for lease.” 

You immediately straightened out, tiredness suddenly vanishing. “You mean the one down two streets? The one I've been waiting to get my hands on for months?” 

“Yes and yes and the price they’ve quoted is actually manageable.” Seungkwan sounded excited. “If us boys add a few thousand each to your 25K, I think you can actually afford it.” 

Your face softened. “You… you guys would do that for me?” 

“Of course, you’re our best friend Y/n, that’s the least we can do.” Twisting the cord of your phone, you glanced at it fondly. “Besides, you're the one who Jeonghan is living with, it's only fair….”

As though on cue, Jeonghan walked in, hands filled with bags, shooting you a surprised look. You looked back at him, both happy and conflicted. While you had been trying to get rid of Jeonghan behind your friend’s backs, they were so willing to go above and beyond for you. And the Jeonghan you so desperately were trying to paint as the big pain in your life, was here, offering to cook and look after you - did that mean you were the terrible one here? 

As Seungkwan hung up citing he had to go, Jeonghan walked up to you, looking worried. 

“All good?” 

“Yeah I just…. My dream might come true and I don’t know how to react.” 

"Dream come true?"He leaned closer, whispering into your ear. “I don't recall actually agreeing to fuck you…”

He looked at your towel clad body up and down, making you gulp and quickly walk away, gripping the material tight, him laughing behind you. 

When you returned in a fresh pair of pajamas to a Jeonghan who was busy bustling away in the kitchen, singing a song softly, he asked what dream you were talking about. 

“There's this space I've wanted to own for a long time now.” You sat down at the breakfast bar, head perched on interlocked hands. “It's up for lease and I might have the money to finally own it.”

“Congratulations princess.” Jeonghan looked up from his busy stirring, shooting you a smile. “That sounds great.” 

You nodded, continuing to feel all too happy. “I still can't believe it, I think I might pass out.” 

“Yes you might after eating this too.” He looked at you frazzled, “I might have added too much spice.”

“Is it that bad….”

You trailed away when he held out a blob of the marinade on his finger, hand extended towards you. Hesitating, you leaned closer, taking his finger in your mouth, lips wrapping around his digit and pulled off with a pop. Your eyes didn't leave him the whole time, neither did his.  

Clearing your throat, you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

“It's fine actually, I can take it.” 

Jeonghan didn’t reply to that, simply turning back to his work silently. In the remaining 2 hours he spent cooking and flipping through the cookbook pages, he didn’t talk or so much as look at you. Even when the two of you were eating and you complimented his food, he just gave a short nod. It was only when everything was done and he cleared the table that he finally spoke, telling you to rest for a bit. You told him you were behind a lot of projects and orders and had to work, and that’s when he turned to you exasperated, 

“You’re sick, you can take a day off.” 

“There's nothing else to do anyway.” You mumbled. “And I don’t want to sleep again, I just woke up.” 

Jeonghan hummed, putting away the dishes before turning to you. “Wanna build something?” 

You watched confused as he unpacked the remaining bags he brought home earlier, pulling out boxes of Legos. 

“I wanna make a nice little space for Doljjong.” 

“Who?” You looked around, almost terrified. “Please don’t tell me you brought home a cat-” 

He pulled out a rock from his pocket, looking all too pleased. “Doljjong, my new pet.” 

“That’s a rock.” 

“And?” He looked at it, stroking the soft surface. “I found it while playing football yesterday. Even the kids agreed it was perfect.” 

You burst out laughing at his silliness as he continued to insist how it was the perfect pet and how he had found the perfect Lego sets to build it the perfect small home. 

That’s how most of the remaining day went - the two of you building Doljjong’s new residence. Actually, it was mostly Jeonghan at work, insisting that you were sick and slow and should just watch him. So that’s what you did, leaning against the couch, sipping on the hot tea he made you, munching on the snacks he bought, watching him giggle away, making his creation. 

As the sun began to set outside, you looked at him in the soft golden light, at how simple and ordinary he looked. Maybe you could bear him for another 4 days, maybe you didn’t have to feel so terrified around him. Or perhaps you should feel more scared now that you were comfortable around him…. 

Even as you sat next to him snuggling on your couch with afternoon’s leftovers warmed up for dinner, you could only think about how you kinda wished he was here for longer, which was kind of insane - just a day ago you were desperate to have him out of here but now? Now you had to admit to yourself that the only reason left on the long list of ‘Why Jeonghan Must Go’ was the way he made you feel, even when he was just sitting across you, eating and watching tv. God this was embarrassing….

When you finally put your thoughts behind you, getting ready to sleep in your usual place, Jeonghan offered that you take the bed but you refused, mumbling something about not washing the sheets. Laughing, Jeonghan sat back on his end of the couch, settling with a jacket wrapped around him. 

“You're gonna be here all night?” You looked at him surprised. 

“Yeah.” He shut his eyes, leaning back. “Just in case you need anything.”

“Why?” You glanced at him. “I mean everything today, why did you….” 

“I know what it's like to not have anyone care when you're sick.” Sighing, he turned to look at you. “I've always had people at my beck and call but they always worked for me like it was their job, because I was their boss. It never really felt like any of them cared and sometimes, that hurt. But I've come to terms with that, that's just what it's like in this job.” 

“Why….” You hesitated but decided to take a shot anyway. “Why did you choose this profession then? I mean, what compelled you…” 

“Compelled?” Jeonghan chuckled, looking away and shutting his eyes again. “If you're looking for a good-boy-forced-by-circumstances-to-go-bad kinda story I'm afraid I'm not the one for it, princess.” 

“If it wasn't a compulsion, was it your choice….” 

“I've never really been afraid to ask and get what I want.” He smiled. “Somewhere in that process this is who I became.”

“Is it that easy to just…. go for what you want?”

“It usually is when you don't care about the consequences that may follow so yeah, it has been easy for me.” He paused, like he was mulling over something. “So far.”

Before you could ask him what he meant by that, he leaned over, tucking you properly under the sheets. 

“Enough questions for today. You need rest.” He snuggled further on his end, a small smile dancing on his lips. “Goodnight Y/n.” 

“Goodnight…..Jeonghan.” 

Day 7 of 10

Of all the ways you had imagined, one would think you'd wake up to Jeonghan, this was not one of them. 

He was still fast asleep seated on his end of the couch, head leaned back, mouth slightly askew, his breathing soft and deep. Only noticeable thing was his hand on your thigh like a comforting weight - you vaguely remembered him gently patting you as you broke into a coughing fit in the middle of the night. Dragging yourself to sit up, you continued to stare at him, taking in all the beautiful features - he looked just like he did the day you first saw him. Maybe you would've given in to the temptation and run your finger across the delicate angles of his face if the landline didn't ring so loudly, both pulling you back and waking him up. 

Muttering an apology you quickly picked up the call, only to be met by the even louder voice of your mother. 

“You're sick!?”

“Hi mom, yeah, I was sick.” You mumbled frowning. “….how did you know?” 

“Why didn't you tell me? I would've come, brought you some sides, made you something to eat-” 

“Please stop screaming.” You groaned. “I can hear you just fine.” 

“Don't tell me what to do young woman. How can I not scream when I find out my sick daughter is being taken care of by a boyfriend whose existence I'm not even aware of.” 

You immediately sat up. “W-what?” 

“Yeah, imagine my surprise when Minguk's grandmother told me you weren't well but I wasn't to worry because your ‘very caring boyfriend’ is looking after you well.” 

You looked at Jeonghan who seemed to be able to hear everything given the volume your mother was talking in. 

“Mom I can explain-” 

“Save it. I'm coming home.” 

“Mom-” 

And with that she cut the call, sending your heartbeat racing.

“Fuck fuck fuck-” 

“Calm down princess.” 

“You calm down!” You snapped back stupidly, running your hands through your hair. “I'm sorry, it's just, my mom is…. a hawk. She's going to figure things out-”

“You think she’ll call the cops on me?” 

“No, no that. She hates watching the news, I'm sure she has no idea who you are but she’s definitely going to know we-” you pointed between the two of you. “-aren't a thing.”

“Hey I made your supermart boy believe it.” Jeonghan shrugged, leaning back. “And every old woman in a 2km radius.” 

“Yeah well my mother isn't one of those women. She's hella observant and nosy and most importantly, she knows me. She knows I wouldn't be with someone like you.” 

“Wow,” Jeonghan let out a low whistle. “This is starting to become offensive, princess.”

“No…” You turned to him. “No no no. What I mean is, you're not exactly the gentle, sweet boyfriend kind right? I mean… you know what I mean right?” 

Jeonghan smiled at you like he was enjoying this. “No, I don't.” 

“You do.” You muttered, knowing well that he was pushing you into a spot. “The way you’re with women, it isn’t how boyfriends are really, or at least how my mum would expect my boyfriend to be.” 

“It’s not like I’m going to talk dirty to you in front of her.” 

Feeling the heat in your cheeks rise, you looked away. “No I mean… you just seem so much more….bad boy kinds and I’ve never been the kind to date someone like you, someone who’s not-” 

“A prince wearing a shining armor on a white horse who comes to save the day?” 

Yes exactly that, as evident by the many drawings in your childhood journal but Jeonghan did not need to know that. 

“-someone who’s not very gentlemanly?” 

“So what do you want me to do? Bow to your mother, kiss her hand, ask for your hand in marriage-” 

“I said gentle, not archaic.” You rolled your eyes.

“Do you really want that though?” He turned to you, head cocked in question. “A man who is gentle?”

You tried to avoid his gaze knowing he would read your answer to that like an open book.

“Of course. I'm….I'm a suburban girl with a boring, uneventful life. I…obviously want someone who's soft and sweet and-”

“Show me.” 

You turned to him so fast and so wide eyed, you were sure a vessel had burst somewhere. 

“Show me how you want to be loved.” 

Stuttering and at an absolute loss of words, you continued staring at him stupidly. Chuckling softly, like always, Jeonghan leaned close. 

“If we need to convince your mother, then you're going to have to teach me what you like, princess.” 

Gulping you blinked at him, eyes flickering to his lips. He watched you with raised eyebrows as you hesitatingly mirrored his lean, closing the space between the two of you and gently pressed your mouth onto his. 

Uncharacteristically, Jeonghan froze. 

His sudden stiffness instantly brought you back to your senses, making you pull away, ready to apologise and banish yourself into your room forever but before a word could leave your mouth, Jeonghan quickly captured it again, sighing into the kiss, lips moving unnaturally soft. 

“Well,” He muttered as he drew back and your eyes met his. “When I said show me, I meant show me what you wanted me to do to convince your mother about us? I didn’t think this was a part of that-” 

“Good god.” You groaned, burying your face in your hands and yourself in the couch. What the hell did you just do?

“Hey.” Chuckling, Jeonghan pulled your hands away, looking at you keenly. “Be honest with me though, is this really how you like it?” 

For some reason, the question seemed rhetorical, like he knew the answer already. Not entirely honest, you nodded slowly. 

“Huh.” He leaned closer, like he was challenging your answer. “Do you want to know how I like it?” 

“Yes.” 

You’re not really sure how or why that word left your mouth so quickly but clearly, Jeonghan didn’t care. Before you knew it, he ran his hand up your thigh, pulling you onto his lap with an ease you did not expect from him. 

“Are you sure?” He whispered, tucking your hair behind your ear with one hand, gripping your waist with the other. “You don’t-” 

“Please.” You whispered back and that was all it took for him to hold your face and pull you down onto his mouth, lips ravenous against yours. As your hands fisted the material of his shirt, his slipped in your hair, gripping it in a way that surprisingly didn’t hurt. Rather it felt good, like you wanted him to guide you the way he wanted, the way he liked, in any way he needed you to submit to him. As his hand ran down your back, his tongue slipped into your mouth, tasting like a mistake, a scandal and a terrible decision all at once but somehow you couldn’t stop. Even when he pulled back to breathe, you descended upon him immediately, oxygen be damned because for the first time in forever, something in you was truly alive. Smirking against your lips Jeonghan grabbed your ass, rocking you against him, the outline of his hard length evident under you. You moaned very audibly when he broke away, placing a line of kisses down your neck while your hands, out of their own will, began unbuttoning your shirt.

“Fuck princess, I knew you had a wild side.” He muttered against your skin, tongue running along the bruise he had made. 

You had no idea. You had no idea an animal as hungry as this was inside you - the dull feeling that you had been getting between your legs all these days was turning into a terribly unbearable ache. You could not ignore it anymore. 

“I need you-” You gasped, not expecting his mouth on the swell of your breasts. “I need your help, please Jeong-” 

And perhaps he would’ve helped if not for the sound of the lock turning. 

Your mother stood outside, balancing the bags in her hand, struggling to open the door with her spare set of keys. When she had managed to unlock the door and swing it open, she was met with the sight of her child and her apparent boyfriend sitting side by side expectantly. She however did not notice the mismatched buttoning of your shirt, or Jeonghan’s red, flushed expression or your hand awkwardly covering something on your neck. 

“Mom, you’re here, what a surprise.” Smiling wide and fake, you walked up to the woman setting her bags down on the kitchen counter, frowning at you. 

“I let you know I was coming like half an hour ago.” 

“Right.” You mumbled as Jeonghan joined, standing beside you. Getting a hold of yourself, you moved to stand next to your mother putting some much needed distance between you and the man you were practically dying to jump. “This is uh, Jeonghan. He’s… he’s actually…” 

“The boyfriend.” Jeonghan and your mother answered at the same time, taking each other aback. 

“Well, well.” Your mother looked at him up and down in scrutiny before breaking into a smile. “Something tells me you and I are going to get along great, Jeonghan. I want to hear all about how the two of you met.” 

If there is anything you’ve learnt about Jeonghan today, it was that he was an excellent storyteller. Honestly, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he was one of those people who wrote fanfictions on the internet as a hobby because wow did he have the talent for it. 

As you were putting away all the things your mother bought you and he told her the apparent story of how the two of you met, you too listened in awe, stopping your work and staring at him, amazed. Your mother kept laughing, asking why you were behaving like you were listening to this story for the first time when you actually lived it. Laughing weakly you continued to listen, trying to look less awestruck.

You’re not quite sure how Jeonghan learned the idea of romance within minutes because strangely, the story he made up was nothing short of a fairytale, one that had absolutely convinced your mother. 

“Oh Hannie.” She cooed, rubbing his arm. “I’m so glad my baby found you. There could not have been anyone more perfect.” 

As she looked at you fondly over her shoulder, Jeonghan shot you a triumphant smirk. You returned their looks with a hard smile of your own. 

The rest of the day went pretty the same way - Your mother busied herself with making you some soup and dishes for lunch while Jeonghan stood nearby, entertaining her with his words and stories. Neither of them seemed to notice how you were doing. For one, you were feeling extremely hot - it was a cool day yet you were sweating like crazy, your cheeks were hot, and just the fabric of your clothes touching your skin felt weirdly uncomfortable. You were also strangely jumpy - every time Jeonghan so much as passed by you or his hand accidentally brushed any part of your skin, you would react like you were touched by a few hundred volts of electricity. The worst thing of them all was having to sit next to him during lunch - sure it was easier when you didn’t have to look at him eye to eye but the soft kisses on your cheek and forehead??? The wiping of food on the edge of your mouth??? The constant brushing of your hair away from your face?? It was all getting a little too unbearable. 

And it didn’t help that you were already incredibly wet from your little escapade earlier, your panties sticking to you uncomfortable throughout all of this, only getting wetter if that were even possible.

Jeonghan seemed to have finally noticed your situation way too late in the day. 

After lunch your mom took over the entertainment, showing Jeonghan pictures of you as a kid, telling him all your embarrassing stories. Soon, the sun set outside and usually, your mother, who liked to leave before it was too dark, insisted she wanted to have dinner with her daughter’s boyfriend. That was how the three of you found yourself in your usual bbq place with Seokmin, Seungkwan and Soonyoung, all looking at you, wide eyed. 

Perhaps it was the many hours that she spent with Jeonghan today or watching him interact with your three best friends so casually or looking at him play with the cats in the neighborhood, by the time your tipsy mother made it back to your apartment, she could not stop gushing about how Jeonghan was the best thing that ever happened to you. The praises only stopped when she finally resorted to the bathroom for a long, hot shower, leaving you standing and looking out of the balcony, finally alone, finally at peace. 

That didn’t last for long as Jeonghan stood beside you, trying to figure out what you were so intently staring at. 

“Gotta give it to you.” You scoffed. “I was worried my mom would doubt us but you’re a natural.” 

“It helped that it was you.” 

Confused, you turned to him. 

“I mean, the little demonstration of what you pretend to like and what you really like kinda helped.” He smirked.

Knowing he was trying to put you on the spot again, you looked away, “You think you know everything….” 

“I do. You think I haven’t noticed that you’ve been incredibly turned on since our little make out session?” You froze, unable to take your eyes off the empty street. “I could smell the arousal on you all day princess and quite frankly, it’s been driving me crazy.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You mumbled, trying to leave only to be pulled back as Jeonghan trapped you between him and the railing before you. 

His fingers ran down your arm slowly, “Are you telling me if I were to slip my hand between your legs, I won’t find you soaking wet?” 

“Jeonghan please.” You whispered. “Y-you can’t say such things-” 

“You could admit it….or I could check for myself.” 

It was like the words were stuck in your throat, the shame not letting you say anything. To begin with it was already embarrassing enough to come to terms with the fact that you were immensely attracted to this man, you have been since you laid eyes on him, but to admit that he had you desperate for him all day and wanted him in any and all ways possible? That was entirely a whole other level of mortification. 

Jeonghan let out a breath, muttering in your ear. “I can’t help you if you won’t ask me to.” 

You gulped. “So begging really gets you off huh?” 

“Yes, but you don’t need to.” He smiled, his fingers running across the elastic of your bottoms. “You just need to say the word. Say you want this. Say you want me.”

When you didn’t respond to him despite a whole minute passing by, he let out a deep breath, stepping back with an understanding nod. Given how just that minimal distance between the two of you made your stomach drop, you finally cracked, holding him by the hand, pulling him back to press against your back. Holding your breath you dragged his hand, guiding it once again along the elastic of your pants. 

You couldn’t see but Jeonghan looked at you concerned. “Here?” 

“If you don’t touch me right now I might just cry.” You muttered, thankful you couldn’t see what you assumed would be a triumphant expression, pushing his hand further down, past the hem of your underwear. “Please Jeonghan.” 

Two very long and frustrating heartbeats later, he finally angled his hand, moving further down.

“Fuck.” He groaned as his digits met the slick between your folds. “Were you this soaked all day?” 

You nodded, whispering. “Been aching…...” 

“Trust me, not more than I have.” He moved closer to you, pressing against your back, his erection confirming his words. The thought of potentially feeling that inside you made your mouth practically water, as you pressed your legs closer, squeezing his hand in between them. 

Jeonghan’s finger grazed over your clit, making you keen and hold onto the railing for dear life. 

“Please.” That was all you could say with the way his fingers were teasing your entrance. “Please, please, please-” 

Jeonghan covered your mouth with his free hand, pulling you back against his chest, whispering gruffly. “Save the begging for next time y/n.” 

Next time? 

You gulped, body taut with anticipation, mind still reeling over his words as Jeonghan finally pushed in not one but two fingers at the same time, his thumb grazing over your clit simultaneously, your hand reflexively gripping his wrist. Maybe because you’ve been silently thirsting over this man for almost a week now, or because you have been inexplicably horny all day, or because you just realised that the two of you were quite literally doing this out in the open where anyone could catch you in the act but the moment Jeonghan’s fingers pushed all the way in and he pressed on your clit, your walls clamped around his digits, back arching against him, your moan held back by his hand against your mouth. As your orgasm washed over you in waves, you panted against him, trying to catch your breath, the stars in the night sky suddenly swarming in front of your eyes. 

“Did…” For the first time ever, Jeonghan stuttered, like he was confused. “Did you just cum?” 

Your arousal dripped down his fingers, giving him his answer. 

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” He groaned. “or felt, rather.” 

As the pleasurable feeling began to ebb and the embarrassment took over, you tried to pry yourself away from his grip only for him to hold you more firmly, further pushing his fingers in. Overstimulated, your protests came out muffled against his hand, as you unwittingly clamped around him again. 

“Don’t.” He warned, head dipping to the crook of your neck, sighing. “God, you’d feel like heaven around me.” You smiled slightly at his words, just a little proud, making him chuckle. “You like the thought of that, don’t you?” 

Given your new found bravado, you slowly nodded and Jeonghan pulled himself back with resolve. “It’s not very gentlemanly to fuck a woman after making her come just once.” Finally taking his hand off your mouth and sadly also pulling his fingers out you, he turned you around swiftly, pushing you up against the wall behind him. “Give me another one.” He muttered against your ear. 

Although the post orgasm haze and more importantly, the post horny haze was receding and you were suddenly hyper aware that you were out in the open, Jeonghan’s deep voice, as he peppered kisses along your shoulder, “Come on, be good for me.”, made your decision.

 Oh you could be so good for him. 

Threading your fingers in his hair, you pressed yourself up against him, nodding almost too eagerly. Smiling against your skin, Jeonghan slipped his hand between your bodies, sliding his fingers past all the layers of cloth keeping you away from him. You sighed like you were drowning in ecstasy as his fingers found your hole again, wasting no time to push his fingers in, curling almost instantly. When you gasped at the feeling of him grazing that spot, Jeonghan covered your mouth with his free hand once again, pressing you against the wall. 

“Not here.” He warned but his actions seemed to be trying to do the exact opposite, fingers pumping in and out of you fast, your eyes almost rolling back in pleasure. “After this we are going inside and you’re gonna choose where you want to get railed and there, you can scream all you want.” 

You whined, both at the idea of him taking you on nearly every surface of your house and feeling everything inside you tighten once again. Jeonghan’s thumb began circling on your clit once again, making you squirm, knees almost buckling as you gripped his arm hard to steady yourself.

You could hear the sound of a plane flying high above, the beeping of a reversing car from somewhere below, the chatter from your neighbour’s television - somehow all of it exhilarated you. The thought of getting caught with Jeonghan knuckles deep inside you was weirdly, insanely hot…. until you heard the next sound - the bathroom door opening. 

Quickly pulling Jeonghan’s hand from your mouth and pushing him back much to his surprise, you harshly whispered. “My mom!” 

Jeonghan immediately pulled his hand away, giving you just enough time to adjust your pants and smoothen the crinkles on your clothes before your mother walked into the balcony looking for the two of you. 

Yet again, you were both smiling at her, abnormally and unnaturally wide. She frowned but overlooked it, announcing her decision instead. “I’ll need an extra pillow for my back, I’m staying the night.” 

Jeonghan and you exchanged looks at the unexpected news as the older woman narrowed her eyes at the two of you. “Is there a problem?” 

“No….” You tore your eyes away from Jeonghan. “I was just trying to remember where the extra bedding is….” 

“It’s at the bottom of your closet.” He muttered. “I’ll grab it.” 

Jeonghan walked out of there quickly, not meeting your mother’s eyes as she leaned against the railing, looking out, saying something about how it was going to rain like crazy tonight. 

You watched him disappear into the house and were about to turn your attention to your mother when he took a step back, catching your eye. As you raised your eyebrows in question, Jeonghan slipped two of his fingers into his mouth, yeah the two that were inside you moments ago, pulling them out with a pop. Laughing at your mortified expression, he walked away, leaving you with your heartbeat ringing in your ears. 

Tonight was far from over. 

Day 8 of 10 

Much to your disappointment, nothing else happened last night. 

Excusing yourself from your mother, the first thing you did was to shower, hoping you’d feel somewhat less filthy after your escapade in the balcony. Surprisingly, more than feeling scandalized about the madness you had indulged in, you found yourself disappointed that you didn’t get the chance to cum on Jeonghan’s fingers again. Part of you wanted to finish off in the shower by yourself but you knew after Jeonghan, there was no way you could feel the same kind of high in your own - it was him or nothing. 

By the time you had stepped out, Jeonghan had pillows and blankets piled up next to him on the couch and from the room, your mother called out to you. Shooting him a disappointed look which he returned, you retired to your room, sleeping next to her on your bed after a whole damn week. 

That was perhaps why you woke up when it was way past 11 in the morning, body well rested after so long. When you stretched, walking out of your room, you could hear Jeonghan and your mother talking over the sound of what you guessed was them making breakfast. 

“....that experience isolated my poor child.” You frowned hearing your mother’s voice. “After that she quit fashion school, moved away from everything she considered her world till that point-” 

“Mom!” Walking over quickly, you interrupted the conversation. “What are you doing?” 

“Making breakfast.” She shrugged as Jeonghan walked up to you, placing a soft kiss on your temple, rubbing your arm like he sensed you were angry. “And telling Han about that shithead Bohyun-” 

“Mom.” You spoke between gritted teeth. “There’s no need to talk about him early in the morning-” 

“It’s half past 11-” 

“Mom!” Looking at her exasperatedly, you crossed your arms. “Don’t you have to give grandma her medicines, what are you still doing here?” 

“Would you look at that Han?” She looked at Jeonghan, shaking her head. “She’s throwing her own mother out of the house.” 

“What? I’m not-” 

“The disrespect I tell you.” She continued, ignoring you. “When all I wish is the best for her. I told her. I told her back then not to date that boy. If she had listened to me things wouldn’t have been like this-” 

“Okay, that’s it, I’m done here.” Giving up, you turned away, heading to your studio and locked yourself in. You would now do what you always did every time your dreaded ex came across your mind - throw yourself into your work and forget the rest of the world.

In a way, you had to thank your mother for reminding you about that man and consequently pushing you towards your work cause god were you way behind schedule. You knew you were falling behind but you didn’t know it was this bad until you noticed all your deadlines menacingly staring at you from your calendar. Without wasting time, you got back into the mechanical pursuit of your job, the way you usually did when you had a surmount of orders. You only ever stepped out twice, once for lunch and once for dinner, settling for the food your mother had made for you, scarfing it down within minutes before returning to your designs. 

It was only when your shoulders began to miserably ache way past your bedtime that you dragged yourself to the living and found Jeonghan sitting in front of the tv. Surprisingly, you had forgotten all about him in the last many hours, a strange guilt rising in your chest as you sat beside him. Jeonghan did not turn to you as you approached. 

“Are you…” You laughed at the screen. “Are you watching Princess and the Frog?” 

He nodded.

“As a child, I never understood this movie.” You leaned back into the couch. “I always thought the prince was supposed to save the princess. Instead he turned out to be a playboy and dragged her through his miserable fate too.” 

Jeonghan hummed in response. 

“I can’t remember the last time I watched this.” You fiddled with your hands, trying to make conversation. “Seungkwan hates this movie so he never lets us watch during movie nights too.” 

Jeonghan simply hummed again. 

Sighing, you turned to him. “Are you….angry or something?” 

“I’m not angry, just thinking.” 

“About what?” 

“The things your mother told me about you and your past.” Jeonghan let out a deep breath, contemplating for a bit before finally talking. “I don’t understand when people forget themselves in a relationship. It makes no sense to lose yourself in love.” 

“That’s because you’ve never been in love.” You watched the screen as the two animated frogs ran through the forest. “That’s just how it is.” 

“If that’s love then I don’t ever want to be in it.” 

“Yeah well that’s the part that sucks.” You scoffed. “You don’t really get to choose. Love just happens.” 

Jeonghan finally turned to you. “You read too many fairy tales, princess.” 

Smiling at the familiar nickname, you leaned back into the couch. “I did, as a child. I grew up in a world of fairy tales. That’s where I met Bohyun, my ex.” 

Now Jeonghan had all his attention on you. 

“We were re-enacting Sleeping Beauty for a school play - I was Aurora and he was Prince Philip. He was my first kiss, my first love, my first of many things to be honest. We lived in the same neighbourhood, went to the same schools, had the same friends… I even enrolled into fashion school because he wanted to study fashion and I wanted to be with him.” You sighed looking at Jeonghan’s expression. “Yeah I can tell you don’t like that. Honestly, that wasn’t the worst decision I made. I actually really grew to love fashion designing, I can’t imagine myself doing anything else. It’s all the stuff after that I failed to see. Rather, I did see it all but…. I guess I was too much of a coward to do anything about it.” 

Jeonghan waited quietly for you to continue. 

“It started with him disappearing for long hours, then it became days together. On some days he would give explanations and on some days he would in turn scold me for not trusting him? All this went on till the last semester of fashion school when as my mother would have told you, I….found him cheating on me.” 

Jeonghan looked like he expected that outcome. 

“The crazier thing was, I actually begged him to leave her and come back to me. It took a while but he eventually did and I thought everything was back to normal again but something had changed. I refused to see it but he became strangely controlling. He would want to have a say in who my friends were, he didn’t like me hanging out with people he didn't get along with, he became more demanding about….” You gulped, voice dropping a little. “...sex. It was like he knew how much I needed him, like….” 

“He knew you didn’t know how to say no.” Jeonghan completed for you, and you nodded. 

“But then he cheated again, and came back again and then cheated yet again and I took him back again and it just kept going on and on until…. one day he asked me for a lot of money, to help kick start his new business.” You sighed. “Do you remember that dream space I told you about? It was originally my grandmother’s old kimbap shop, one that she gifted me, so I could open my own boutique there one day. I uh sold it, to get him the money he wanted and….he used it to buy his other girlfriend a house.” 

Jeonghan’s jaw tightened like he was mad. 

“After that blow, I quit school and moved away from that neighbourhood to this place, my grandmother’s apartment. Everyone thought I was done with him and was trying to move on but…. I was honestly running away. Because I knew if he came back….”

“You still wouldn’t be able to say no.” 

You nodded. “I am pathetic, aren’t I?” 

“Yeah, a little.” Jeonghan scoffed. “I don’t understand love, and I’ve never been in it, but one would have to be a fool to not be in love with you.” 

You looked at Jeonghan, slightly taken aback. 

“The world is harsh and cold and selfish Y/n. No one thinks about anything beyond themselves. And there’s you, putting the person you love above everything. It’s both pathetic and noble.” Jeonghan turned off the movie as the credits began rolling. ��But you cannot put your self respect on the line for assholes like him, you deserve much better than that.” 

“I know.” You sighed. “I wish I knew how to.” 

“By speaking your mind.” Jeonghan stated like it was obvious. “By refusing the things you don’t want. By asking for the things you do want. By talking about how you feel…. Not just when you’re drunk but also in all your senses.” 

Recalling that drunk night in the bathroom you laughed softly. He wasn’t wrong. Things between the two of you had changed drastically since that conversation. A strange gratitude swelled in your heart towards Jeonghan and how though he had been with you for barely a week, he had understood you better than anyone had. Turning him to you, you placed a soft kiss on his mouth, muttering a heartfelt “Thank you.” 

Jeonghan, though, rolled his eyes. “Y/n, I’m not even kidding, my grandmother kisses me like this.” 

You laughed as he reached for you, attempting to pull you into his lap yet again but you beat him to it, clambering in yourself, tucking your hair behind your ear. 

Jeonghan smiled at the sight of you above him. “Hey.” 

“Hi.” 

“Is there something you want?” 

“Yes.” You whispered, taking his face in your hands and kissing him again, this time, slipping your tongue in his mouth. Jeonghan’s lips curled into a smile as he pressed back, breaking free only to softly bite on your lower lip. Sighing dreamily, you rocked your hips against his, guided by his hands. You softly mumbled, holding back a moan. “We didn’t get to finish…. whatever we were doing last night.” 

“And what was that?” 

“.....you know what.” 

“Use your words princess,” His voice went low and gruff, sending a tingle across your groin. “You were far from shy with my fingers inside you.” 

“Don’t….” 

Jeonghan’s hands sneaked under your shirt, more than pleased to not find the hooks of a bra. “Bedroom.”

You shook your head slowly, muttering. “Too far.” 

Chuckling Jeonghan leaned back. “You want me to take you right here?” 

“You said I could choose next time….” 

“I also asked you to beg next time.” He whispered, tongue running over his lower lip, hands dragging you hips along his length. “So tell me you want me to fuck you with my fingers again.” 

“Please.” You gasped. “Just fuck me…  with anything.” 

“Anything…” He repeated amused, before pulling your shirt over your head. No sooner did the material leave you, his mouth descended on your boob, pulling you in, towards him. Threading your fingers in his hair you gripped it as a moan slipped out of you - never in your life had you ever been this obscene but something about doing it with Jeonghan felt like this was the big catharsis of your life, waiting to happen. 

With a swift movement he flipped you onto your back, laying you on the couch, hovering over you. Without wasting any time, you unbuttoned his shirt, fingers moving nimbly, thank god for fashion school. Jeonghan laughed as you attempted to push the fabric off his shoulders, holding your hands by the wrists, pinning it to your chest. 

“Eager aren't we?” He looked at you in a way that could only be described as mocking. “If only you were honest with me from the start we could have been doing this for so long.” 

“I'm sorry-” 

“Shhh.” Head raised, you watched him drag his mouth down your chest, inching closer to your abdomen. “I hate apologies. You either own it or fix it.” 

“How can I fix it?” 

“By telling me what you really want.” Pulling your shorts off your legs, he hovered right above where you were aching once again. 

“I…I don’t know.” Falling back onto the couch, you stared at the ceiling. “I really don't. I just know that I’ve been weirdly winded and uneasy for a long time and it feels like you’re the only one who can help- oh my god.” 

Your eyes widened as you raised yourself on your elbows to see Jeonghan right between your legs, his mouth pressed onto your panties right there. 

“Like this?” He grinned before peppering small kisses on the inside of your thigh. 

When words refused to leave your dried up throat, you nodded slowly, not looking at him. Leaving your hands Jeonghan hooked his fingers on the elastic of your underwear, “Up.” and pulled it down your raised hips. As it joined the rest of your clothes somewhere on the floor, suddenly you were hyper aware of the fact that you were completely bare while Jeonghan was still almost entirely clothed. Reflexively, your legs tried to squeeze shut, but Jeonghan’s hands stopped them, pulling them over his shoulders instead. 

“I wish you could see yourself from my eyes Y/n.” He looked at you, eyes darkened in desire. You probably looked like a flushed, panting mess, completely missing the admiration etched on Jeonghan’s face. 

Aware of Jeonghan and his ability to tease and especially his affinity for begging, you opened your mouth to do just the same but what left it was an unholy moan as Jeonghan descended upon you like he was ravenous. As though just his mouth on your clit wasn’t making you lose your mind, his digits too slipped in, pumping slowly. He must’ve liked it when your fingers automatically threaded into his hair because his groan reverberated against your core making your back arch off the couch in pleasure. 

Oral was completely new territory - you had never gotten or given it, god knows why considering this was clearly the best thing that has ever happened to you. As discussed yesterday, you let every sound leave your mouth freely, unbothered about the neighbours or people living around. Frankly it could be the end of the world and you wouldn’t care, not with what Jeonghan’s tongue was doing inside you. He too seemed to enjoy your audible reactions and the way it told him just how you liked it, his fingers and mouth taking turns to manhandle you. 

“Jeonghan fu-fuck, right there.” You nearly sobbed as his fingers found your sweet spot, the one that made your toes quite literally curl. 

“Don’t cum Y/n, I don’t want to be done just yet.” 

Well then he should have behaved like it because seconds after he said that you felt that tightening coil in you snap as you embarrassingly loudly, came on his tongue, riding it out against his mouth. Licking his lips Jeonghan pulled himself away from your legs, hovering above you once more, kissing you again. The taste of you in his mouth felt sinful but you let yourself be carried away by it as his hand ran up your thigh seductively before grabbing your more petite hand, placing it right where he was rock hard. As your mouth practically watered at how long and heavy he felt in your hands, Jeonghan buried his face in the crook of your neck, leaving little bite marks of red. 

“I thought gentlemen didn’t make a woman cum just once.” You muttered, gripping his erection the best you could in that angle and over his sweats. 

Jeonghan hissed, his voice dropping an octave. “I thought you didn’t want anything gentle?” 

“I….I don’t.” You confessed out loud for the first time. “Do whatever you want, I can take it.” 

Jeonghan raised his eyebrows both pleased and impressed as his fingers toyed with the slick dripping between your folds. Eyes shut tight, you waited to feel him ravage you once again instead, you were met with the sound of a loud knock on your door. 

Both Jeonghan and you looked at each other wondering if that was just imagination till another knock pulled you to your senses. 

“Please don’t tell me that’s your mother again.” Jeonghan quickly sat up, hands moving to button himself up. 

“I hope not.” You got off the couch hurriedly, grabbed your clothes from the floor and quickly threw them on, smoothing out your hair. Jeonghan walked up to the door, waiting with his hand on the handle for you to look decent as you and your wobbly self tried to keep it together. The moment you pulled your shirt over your head and adjusted your shorts, Jeonghan opened the door and your heart dropped to your stomach. 

Standing at the entrance was a young woman dressed in an unbelievably tight black dress, her hair held up by a high ponytail as she blew her baby pink bubblegum. She looked up from her phone at you then at the door number as though she was confirming if she was in the right place. You knew exactly why she was here and for whom. 

Unable to comprehend how exactly to react in this situation, you grabbed your jacket from the stand and walked past Jeonghan, harshly pulling away from his attempt to hold you back. Not even glancing back, you disappeared into the night doing what you did best - running away. 

“Y/n.” 

When you opened your eyes you were met with the sight of Jeonghan’s face high above, upside down. 

“Oh my god.” You gasped slowly. “Your mouth is on your forehead and your eyes are on your chin.”

“And you’re clearly drunk. Again.” He walked around, lying down on the grass beside you. “Which means it's time for both stupidity and honesty.” 

You turned your head towards him. “Did you just call me stupid?” 

Jeonghan mirrored you. “I also called you honest.” 

“Hmm. Then I'll be honest. I don't want to talk to you.��� 

“Do you want me to go then?” 

“No.” You sighed. “I don't want you to go… to her.” 

“She's gone. I sent her away the moment you left.”

“Why did it take you so long to come to me then?” You pouted as Jeonghan laughed. 

“I thought you'd be at the restaurant. I didn't expect to find you lying in the middle of the football field.” 

In all fairness, that was a valid point - you didn't want to face the boys right now so you purchased a few bottles of soju from the supermarket which were now lying empty around you. 

“Why did she come?”

“I didn’t call anyone today.” He sighed. “It’s just, the instruction was for a new one to come every night. They came the last two nights too, I sent them away, just like I did today.”

“Why?” 

“Because…. Because we,” Jeonghan cleared his throat. “I mean you and I-” 

“Why do you need a new girl every night?” 

“I'm not sure.” Jeonghan turned away, staring at the stars. “I guess I'm just…  looking for a human connection with someone.” 

“Like that?” You scoffed. “By sleeping with someone new everyday?” 

“I don’t know Y/n, I don't even know how what I’m searching for feels. Perhaps I’m just looking for someone who makes me feel….. Normal? Like I’m worthy of being cared for.” 

“Did you manage to find anyone…. who makes you feel like that?” 

Jeonghan turned to you with a small smile, eyes roaming over your features. “Yes but ironically, not by sleeping with them.” 

You hummed, pausing for a silent minute. 

“Did you never want to try and find that with me?” Eyes big and curious you turned to him. “Did you never want to sleep with me?” 

“I did. From the moment I laid my eyes on you.” Jeonghan recalled the first ever words he said to you. I love you. Maybe he didn't just say it out of relief. Maybe a part of him subconsciously knew this was it. You were it. “But you quite literally kept running away from me. Hell, you couldn't even say the word ‘sex'-”

“I want to have sex with you.” You sat up in a flash. “Jeonghan I really do want to have sex with you-” 

“You're drunk.” Jeonghan chuckled. “Sober you may not want the same thing-” 

“It does. Every me wants this. Jeonghan-” To his complete surprise, you climbed onto him, straddling him around the waist, palms planted on his chest. “-I'm serious. Didn't you say I was honest when I'm drunk?” 

“I also said you were stupid when drunk.” He tucked your hair behind your ear fondly. “It won’t be right to do anything now.” 

“Fine. I’ll be sober by the morning and ask you first thing when I wake up, do you promise to fuck me right here?” 

“Out here? Ok that’s a bit much even for me.” Jeonghan laughed. “You’re a lot wilder than I anticipated, princess.” 

“Ugh.” You groaned, lying down on his chest, eyes fluttering shut from the tiredness. “I think you bring out the worst in me.” 

“But somehow you bring out the best in me.” Jeonghan stroked your head softly. “I can't remember the last time I felt this free and happy. Strangely, I think I've grown to like this little domestic life with you. The cooking, the shopping, the grandmas, the kids, your mom…..does it all have to end in 2 days?” 

When he didn’t get a response, Jeonghan glanced down only to find you fast asleep, mouth slightly open. Laughing silently he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close against his chest as he too dozed off into a peaceful slumber.  

Day 9 of 10 

You woke up to the feeling of harsh sunlight on your face which was not unusual given you always slept next to the window. What was unusual was waking up in the middle of the football field wrapped in Jeonghan's arms.

You're fully awake in the blink of an eye, mortified by the thought of people having seen the two of you, although no one seemed to be around as far as the eye could see.

“Good morning princess.” Jeonghan yawned, slowly waking up, his arms loosening around you. Taking the chance you slid off him, mumbling a small “morning.” in reply.

Jeonghan snickered, glancing at you. “Someone's definitely sober.” 

“We should go….before someone sees us.” 

As you looked around trying to spot any unwelcome viewers, Jeonghan raised himself on his elbow, looking down at you. 

“Last night you didn't seem to care.” 

“Jeonghan….” His finger traced down your arm seductively. “Please let's go home.” 

Reading into your urgency, Jeonghan nodded, pulling you up to your feet. As the two of you walked away, his hand was still interlocked in yours. 

The streets near your house somehow looked more alive today. Suddenly everyone you knew was out on the street, waving you hi, wishing you good morning, smiling slightly at the sight of the two of you walking hand in hand. Seokmin, Seungkwan and Soonyoung, who normally only turned up in the evening for their shift after classes, were also standing outside the restaurant, looking at the two of you quizzically. As Jeonghan spotted them he let your hand go, greeting them with a nod before glancing at the convenience store. 

“I’m gonna grab breakfast.” He stepped back. “We’re going to need our energy for what’s coming.”

As he walked off with a wink and you tried to suppress your excited smile, the boys jogged up to you, gathering around. 

“Did I just see you two hold hands?” Soonyoung poked your arm with a smirk. 

“Soonyoung later.” Seungkwan shut him up. “Y/n, you have Jeonghan’s phone right?” 

“H-his phone?” You shook your head. “Not right now. It’s in the drawer of the tv cabinet…. I think?” 

“Well we gotta message that guy, assistant 1, remind him to keep the money ready.” 

You blinked like all the words he said just went over your head. 

Seungkwan looked at you pointedly, “Tomorrow is the tenth day Y/n, remember what we’re doing all this for?” 

“Are you okay?” Seokmin glanced at you lost in thought. 

No, no you did not think you were okay. 

“No.” 

That was the first word that left you the moment you entered your house and Jeonghan closed the door behind you. 

“I mean, you were right. Sober me doesn’t want the same thing.” 

Jeonghan looked at you trying not to show the surprise and confusion on his face. You, on the other hand, finally had clarity - this was Jeonghan. Mafia boss Yoon Jeonghan. The man who was on the run from the cops, the man who you were in fact holding for a ransom, the man who will be gone in a day. This wasn’t you - sleeping with a man because you couldn’t keep it in your pants. You had no idea why you were behaving like this. 

“Jeonghan, I'm a relationship kind of girl. I can’t sleep with someone who…. Who isn’t a permanent part of my life. Who’s just…. in it for one night.” 

“What?” 

“Jeonghan you’re the kind who needs a new woman every night and I’m not interested in being a part of that long list-”

“Did you not hear a word I said last night?” 

“You told me to learn how to say no.” You raised your hands. “I’ve learnt it and this is me saying no. “ You let out a deep, determined breath. “I don’t want this.” 

Jeonghan stared at you for a minute before his eyes fell to the floor. 

“If that’s what you want.” 

And with that he walked past you, finishing everything just as easily as it started. 

Strangely, the rest of the day, Jeonghan didn’t behave any differently than he usually did. You expected him to be mad or at least upset but quite frankly, he seemed unbothered. You did notice though that he ordered his own food for lunch and seemed particularly cautious about how he was around you in your personal space. Gone was the Jeonghan who liked to lean in to say the simplest of things. 

His lack of botheration though, particularly bothered you. From the things he had said and the way he had behaved, it seemed like he wanted you as much as you wanted him so how was it so easy for him to put so much distance between the two of you when it was excruciatingly painful for you to stay even a foot away from him? How was he able to be so calm and casual, like you didn’t just completely cast him aside? How did it not matter to him that you didn’t want him to be a part of your life? 

It was because of all this consistent overthinking that you could only manage to keep yourself away from Jeonghan for about five hours, till around sunset. Finding a pack of condoms in the bag of food he brought from the supermarket was probably what finally set you off. 

“What is wrong with you?” You threw the pack onto the couch beside him.

Jeonghan glanced at the pack, then at you. “Based on last night’s conversation, I assumed certain things about today, so I thought that was a sensible purchase.” 

“Exactly, why aren’t you more upset?” You crossed your arms. “I told you I wanted to last night, you even prepared for it, then in the very last second, I said no-” 

“That’s exactly why I’m not upset.” Sighing, Jeonghan stood. “Y/n, I’m glad you said no. I’m happy you learnt to say it. I couldn't care less that I’m the first victim of this newfound voice, I’m just happy you found it.” 

You blinked at him.

“I know you’re thinking about the future and that’s fair. I don’t know how long I can be here or if I will be forced to be on the run again, or what really is in store for me but I’m just happy that even if I’m not there, you will be able to respect yourself the way I do. That you won’t compromise with what you want for what others want from you-” 

Strangely overwhelmed, you pulled him by his shirt and claimed his breath with a kiss. Almost instantly, Jeonghan kissed you back, hands gripping your waist, mouth ravenously capturing yours like the five hours you were apart were unbearable for him too. 

“Wait.” He pulled back when the loss of breath somehow brought him back to his senses. “Y/n what-” 

“Fuck me Jeonghan.” 

“Didn’t you say-” 

“I take it back.” 

“Y/n.” Jeonghan pulled away, holding you at an arm's distance. “Don’t do things you’ll regret.” 

“But I want this.” You kissed him again, muttering against his mouth. “I want you.” 

Jeonghan clearly, if anything, was a man. The moment you whispered a soft please, grinding your hip against his, he smashed his lips onto yours again, refusing to break away even though the two of you could barely find footing as you stumbled to your room. He only parted when the back of his knees hit your bed, forcing him to sit down and he looked up at you between the tresses falling into his eyes. You pushed it back, running the back of your hand along his cheek. 

“I wish the world looked at me the way you do.” 

“If anyone else looked at you this way,” Jeonghan raised his eyebrows. “I’m afraid it's going to be the last thing they ever look at.” 

You laughed rolling your eyes. “A little admiration isn’t a crime.” 

“If admiration is what you want, then I shall bend the will of every man in the city into doing so.” He smirked, attempting to bite your fingers lingering by his lips. “Let me properly show you mine first.” 

As he tugged on your shirt you obediently pulled it over your head as he stripped out of his own. It wasn’t the first time the two of you were seeing each other shirtless but there was a strange charged energy rippling between you now, one that was almost impossible to ignore. As you bent down to kiss him again, his hands found the hooks of your bra, unclasping them as you quickly dragged it down your arms, tossing it somewhere. His hand ran up the insides of your thigh, a jolt running through you when his fingers grazed over your clit. As you gasped, he took the chance to pull you closer by the leg, running his mouth below your belly button. 

“Jeonghan, haven’t we had enough foreplay?” You sighed, throwing your head back as he marked your skin, slowly pulling both your shorts and underwear in one go. “We’ve been doing this for days, let’s just get to it please.” 

“To what?” Feigning innocence he smirked, running his tongue along his teeth. 

“Fucking.” You pushed him back into the bed. “Fuck me Jeonghan. Properly. Your dick inside me kinds.”

Jeonghan raised himself on his elbows, laughing. “Look at you, using your big girl words.” 

Kicking off the rest of your clothes, you attempted to straddle him when he pulled you into the mattress and in a flash, you were lying on the bed and he was towering over you instead. Sticking his hand in his pocket, he pulled out a condom and threw it at you. 

“Open it.” 

Holding the wrapper between your teeth, you ripped it open as fast as you could, earning a tutting noise from Jeonghan. 

“Y/n, you could make a hole like that.” 

You stared at him blankly, like you were supposed to understand what he was saying when he was standing there with his pants discarded, stroking himself. Your mouth was in a strange combination of being dry but also somehow almost drooling. Almost the same way you wanted him both in your mouth and rearranging your organs down under, all at once. Jeonghan chuckled at your inability to function as he gently grabbed the latex from you and rolled it over his length. You shouldn’t have expressed so much eagerness to have him fuck you - you could’ve felt every vein and ridge you were seeing in your mouth first but that thought dissipated the moment Jeonghan hovered over you, grabbing you by the jaw. Almost reflexively, your mouth opened for him, allowing him to slide his thumb in as you earnestly sucked it, hoping his smirk would turn into the hunger to feel your lips around him. As much as Jeonghan did tell you to ask for what you want, you had a feeling if you told him just how desperate you were to have him fuck your mouth, he would never let you live it down. 

“I know what you want.” Jeonghan spoke under his breath as his hand trailed down your body, slipping between your legs. “But I want this a lot more. Is that okay?” 

Okay? You nodded immediately - it was absolutely okay. You just wanted to be full of him one way or another. Jeonghan shook his head.

“Words baby.” He slid his thumb in, almost embarrassingly easily, as he stared at his finger disappear inside you. “Although this is telltale, we will do whatever you want.” He leaned over, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’ll give you whatever you want.” 

“You.” You breathed out, “However, wherever-” 

And the words died on your tongue when he swiftly pulled his finger out and immediately entered you, gently pushing in till he bottomed out. Chest heaving, you could feel yourself panting as your body tried to adjust to his girth. Jeonghan groaned into your ear as your walls fluttered around him, still getting accustomed to the stretch. 

“I knew you’d feel good.” 

“Y-yeah?”

“You feel fucking perfect.” Jeonghan pulled back just a little, his hips setting a slow rhythm. “I could be in you forever.”

Before a proud smile could even fully form on your face, Jeonghan picked up the pace, making your lips part with a moan. 

“I….Oh god.” You whined, trying to find your words in between his continuous strokes. “I….. didn’t think you were a missionary kind of guy.” 

Jeonghan chuckled as he ran his hand down your leg and pulled your knee up so he could grip your thigh. “I want to see you cum.” Sighing, he bit on your lower lip, tugging it between his teeth. “I want to see how I make you feel.” 

“So fucking good.” You muttered against his mouth, finding your hips moving against his on their own accord. You wanted to make him feel good so you wrapped your legs around his waist and ran your nails down his back and wow did that work like a charm because Jeonghan’s rhythm instantly faltered, as did his grip on your thigh, surely bruising it. 

“Oh Y/n,” He slipped his hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit when you groaned at the touch. “I can play the game too.” 

“Whatever you do, just- fuck.” You squirmed as Jeonghan seemed to have the perfect combination of thrusts and rubbing circles. “Just don’t stop.” 

“Never.” He groaned, continuing to make you fall apart as you felt your back arch off the mattress, toes curling in pleasure. Jeonghan latched his mouth on your bared neck, muttering, “Yes, yes cum for me.” 

And you did, finally, after days of desiring to be railed by this man, you came around him, body keening under his weight, eyes nearly rolling back. As you slowly panted back to reality, Jeonghan, who had long pulled out of you and rolled off you onto his side, was looking at you intently. Embarrassed that this was not the first but the second time he managed to break you in minutes, you covered your face with your hands, earning Jeonghan’s laugh. 

“Why are you hiding?” He tried to pry your hands away, only to fail. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to look more pretty but fuck you looked so beautful when you came.” 

“Jeonghan please….”  

“Please what?” He chuckled, shifting beside you. “I’ve seen all there is to.”

You shook your head, choosing the darkness over meeting his eyes when suddenly, you felt him crawl between your legs and his mouth descend on you as he spread them apart. Considering how sensitive you were, your hands immediately flew to his head, eyes widening as he licked your arousal, looking at you victoriously. 

“I can’t….” You muttered and he pulled away, licking his lips, sitting back on his heels. Eyes running over his flushed face and body, you noticed the marks of your nail on his bicep, and also the fact that he was still hard as ever. 

“You didn’t finish.” You sat up, crossing your legs, only just realizing.

“I usually need a lot more than a few minutes to finish.” He pursed his lips but you knew he was trying to hold back a smile. A mocking one, at how easily you seemed to cum. 

“Then let’s go again.” You cocked your head. “…. On one condition.” 

“And what is that?” 

You let out a deep breath. “Take off your condom.” 

Jeonghan’s eyebrows shot up. “You can’t be serious.” 

“Considering you sleep with a new woman every night, I’m guessing you always use protection.” 

“Always, that's an unsaid rule” 

“But I’m not them, so their rules can’t apply to me.” It was your turn to smirk. “We’ll see how long you last when you fuck me raw.” 

“Look at you, challenging me.” Jeonghan smiled like he was proud. “But it's not safe Y/n-” 

“What’s life without a little recklessness?” You rolled your eyes earning Jeonghan’s laugh. “Besides, that condom probably already has a hole from my teeth so-” 

“So I’ll grab another one.” 

“Yoon Jeonghan, if you leave this bed, this ends.” You crossed your arms. “Your choice.” 

“You’re not giving me much of a choice really.” 

“I know.” You grinned. “Now might also be a good time to add that though I might not be one of your regular nightly encounters, you should know that I heard you almost every night.” You let your voice go softer. “And I liked it….. A lot.” 

Finally, finally, Jeonghan’s expression darkened the way you wanted it to. “I suspected.” 

“And I’m confirming.” You shrugged. “And by the way, I also have an IUD so I’m not sure what you’re waiting for.” 

Jeonghan paused for a minute before he finally spoke. “On your knees.” 

You shook your head, extending your hand and pulling his condom off, tossing the latex in a nearby bin. “In my mouth.” 

“I don’t think so, princess.” Jeonghan not so gently pushed you back into the mattress, your back barely hitting it before he flipped you over and pulled you onto your knees. “I prefer blowjobs as a wake up call. This time of the night, I like to prove bratty girls wrong.” 

You laughed, looking over your shoulder. “But I want to see your face when I prove you wrong.” 

Knowing exactly what you wanted, Jeonnghan sighed before lying down on his back next to you, allowing you to move over and straddle him. 

“My bet is 9 minutes.” You ran your hand down his chest. “I don’t think you can last till double digits.” 

“We both know you won’t last even half of that Y/n-” He smirked. “-given your track record.” 

Deciding to prove him wrong with actions not words, you aligned his tip under you and sank down his length with a slow, deep moan. The stretch in this new angle felt different but it also let you take him further in, deeper than you had even imagined it was possible. 

Maybe Jeonghan was right about you breaking first. Given the way he made you feel so full, the way you felt every inch of his bare length in your insides, you knew it was only a matter of time. 

Or maybe not. Evidently, this was the first time Jeonghan was ever fucking someone raw. You could tell by the way he sounded with every drag of your walls against his dick - the struggling breathy moans that he was trying not to let out as you picked up the pace. 

You knew if you chose to grind your hips against his, it would help reach those spots in you a whole lot better, sending waves of pleasure through your body but you were determined to make Jeonghan cum first. That’s why you supported yourself with your palms on his chest, moving your hips up and down along his length and momentarily, Jeonghan gripped your waist tight, encouraging you to move just like that. At least until he realised he was getting too close to cumming and too close to losing. Changing strategy, he grabbed and squeezed your boobs instead, trying to ignore his own approaching high. When you responded with a whimper, satisfied, he dragged his hand down, bringing attention to your ignored clit. 

“That’s cheating.” You panted, throwing your head back, feeling the coil tighten in your stomach. 

Jeonghan snickered, shaking his head, refusing to stop his ministrations. If there was one thing he always took pride in, it was his ability to capitalize on every woman’s weakness - her clit. 

Though you were feeling your legs shake and your arms were struggling to hold your weight, you didn’t stop, ignoring your breaths which were getting fast and shallow. 

Jeonghan however, immediately picked up on it, reaching for your wrist and pulling you, making you fall over, onto him. 

“Hey,” He tried to get a good look at your face. “You okay?” 

“Tired.” You mumbled. “I’ve never been on top.” 

“Let me.” He whispered, dropping a kiss on your cheek as you nodded. 

Grabbing your ass with both his hands he raised it, guiding your movements and snapping his hips up at the same time. You on the other hand, let him have his way with you, busying yourself, alternating leaving marks all over his neck and shoulder and moaning sweetly into his ear. Both things seemed to rile him effectively as his pace became merciless and erratic, pounding into you the way you had only dreamed of for days. With a few more rough thrusts, you felt your walls tighten around him as the coil in you finally snapped and thanks to your tight constriction around his length, Jeonghan too came inside you, ropes of white filling you as he groaned in your ear. 

As the two of you slowly came down from your high, Jeonghan wrapped his arms around you, dropping a sweet kiss in your hair. You snuggled into his neck, ignoring the feeling of your mixed releases leaking out of you. 

“That was definitely more than 9 minutes.” Jeonghan pointed out. 

“I lasted more than half.” 

“So neither of us won?” Jeonghan hummed.

You pulled yourself up, looking at him. “Or maybe…. we need round three to decide.” 

“You read my mind.” He smirked, quickly flipping you onto your back, ignoring your shriek of surprise as he hovered over you. The night was still so so young.

Day 10 of 10 

By the time you came around, the night had passed and the sun had begun to rise. No wonder it felt a whole lot warmer even though you were butt naked, covered by just a thin blanket thrown over you. It was the morning sun and also Jeonghan, who was comfortably snuggled in your arms, his breath soft against the crook of your neck. As you shifted from him just a little, trying to glance at his beautiful face, he pulled away, grumbling as he rolled onto his back, still fast asleep. Raising yourself on your elbow, you glanced at him. 

Last night was…..something. You never really admitted to yourself in the last few days that you had thought about sleeping with Jeonghan a few hundred times, but now you did and you also had to admit that it was nowhere how you thought it would have gone. Maybe rounds two, three, four and how many ever that followed did match up to that but somehow, it was round one that was playing in your mind. The unexpected softness from him, the way he was looking into your eyes….. It all felt a bit strange. Like it was something you would do. 

On the other hand, the wild person you expected Jeonghan to be, ended up coming out of you. The kinds of things you said? The kinds of things you did? It was so uncharacteristic yet….. It didn’t feel wrong. In fact, in a very long time, you were feeling strangely liberated. Like there was no fairytale ending written for you and surprisingly you didn’t mind that. 

But speaking of happy endings…..

You determinedly pulled away your blanket covering Jeonghan, glancing at how his boxers were on again. Maybe he put them on after you had promptly passed out last night, completely worn out and exhausted, just the way he seemed to have cleaned you up before tucking you in. Pulling your hair up into a bun, you got between his legs, pulling down the elastic of his underwear, taking his dick into your hands. Surprisingly, Jeonghan didn’t stir awake, or even move an inch so you promptly began stroking it, quickening your movements, especially when you slowly felt him harden under your touch. It was only when you spat in your hand and began to jerk him off more steadily that he finally came around, eyes slowly blinking open. 

“First thing in the morning?” He smiled sleepily. “You’re insatiable.” 

“Rise and shine.” You grinned. “Someone said something about a wake up call.” 

“I said I’d like your mouth.” He tucked his hand below his head looking at you with what you could only comprehend as a mix of lust and fondness. 

Smiling, you got down on your stomach, wrapping your mouth around his tip eliciting a shaky breath from him. You pulled back with a wet pop and the lick of the lips. “And it's all yours.” 

Jeonghan chuckled, whispering, “You’re going to be the end of me princess.” 

Little did he know.... you actually were. 

The warm water on your skin was much needed after an unexpectedly long morning. Actually, it was very much expected considering the way you woke Jeonghan up. It was only natural that he would return the favor to the best of his abilities and that somehow spiraled from one thing to another, causing morning to turn into afternoon. Your stomach let out a low rumble, reminding you that you were hungry and that you should have put water to boil so you could make some ramyeon for lunch. You knew Jeonghan particularly enjoyed soggy noodles and it was also the quickest meal you could have given how much energy was exhausted in the last 12 or so hours.

As you stepped out of the shower, dried yourself and slipped into a comfortable pair of clothes, conspicuously leaving the top two buttons open, you found Jeonghan standing in the kitchen behind the stove. 

“You put the water to boil?” You smiled relieved. “Thank god-” 

“You kidnapped me?” Jeonghan turned to you, eyes flashing the pain of betrayal. In his hand was his phone, the one you had safely stashed in the drawer and on the screen was a message from his assistant. One that said the money in exchange for Jeonghan was ready. “All these days, you let me stay in your house because you were holding me for ransom?” 

“Jeonghan I know what it looks like and I can explain-” 

“All this for what? To buy your grandmother’s shop again?” 

“No….” You stepped up shaking your head. “I didn’t even know about the shop till you were with me. Jeonghan, I didn’t do this for money-” 

“I should have known when your mother said she had no brother.” Jeonghan shook his head like he couldn’t believe himself. “Keeping me here as a twisted revenge for your incarcerated uncle, why did I overlook how stupid that was?”

“Okay that was a lie, but I didn’t make it up.” You tried to hold his hand, but he pulled away hurtfully. “Jeonghan, it was the boys…. I just went with whatever they told me to do. Things just turned out this way, none of us planned for it to happen and…. I wasn’t going to go through with this plan anyways, I was going to call it off today-” 

“Why?” Jeonghan looked at you impassively. “What changed in 10 days?” 

You blinked at him, words lost. “I….. I got to know you. I saw who you could be if you distanced yourself from all that crime and lived a normal life. I always believe people deserve a second chance and I thought so do you. And we didn’t even get a first chance-” 

You turned at the sound of the doorbell before glancing at the clock. A part of you wanted to ignore it and clear the air with Jeonghan but when it rang urgently again, you sighed, turning to him. 

“I think it’s the boys, I’m sorry, just give me a second.” 

Rushing, you half ran over to the door quickly opening it, shaking your head. “Guys, things are a mess-” 

But it seemed like the bigger mess had in fact just arrived. Standing before you was the one person you did not want to see, especially now - Bohyun. 

“W-what are you doing here? And how did you even find me?” 

Uninvited, Bohyun stepped in walking past you. “Your mother….” He turned to you, clearing his throat. “I assumed when you left that you had gone overseas, to Paris maybe, your dream city. But your mother said she met you and your new boyfriend so I figured you were in town and considering how your grandmother moved in with your mom, I guessed that you would be here.” He looked at you painfully. “Is… Is it true? Do you actually have a boyfriend now?” 

“Bohyun….” You ran your fingers through your hair stressed. There was too much going on at once. Your past and your potential future were at crossroads you had never imagined. “I don’t know what to tell you-” 

“Maybe try telling the truth Y/n.” Jeonghan walked out of the kitchen, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Don’t you think it’s time?” 

“You….” Bohyun’s eyes widened as they fell on Jeonghan and he immediately stepped back, pulling you behind him. “You’re Yoon Jeonghan.” 

“Finally.” Jeonghan scoffed. “Someone knows.” 

“Y/n, I don’t know what this man has been telling you but he is a criminal.” Bohyun looked at you over his shoulder. “His posters are all over the city, he’s wanted by the cops-” 

“She knows.” Jeonghan's voice shook, just a little. “She knows exactly who I am and exactly what I’m worth.” 

“Jeonghan please-” 

“You know?” Bohyun turned to you, shocked. “You know who he is and you chose to be with him?” 

“Bohyun…. y-you have no idea what’s going on here.” 

“Oh I do.” He let out a breath like this was all ridiculous. “You’re so desperate for a man, that you would throw yourself at literally anyone-” 

And before he could ever complete that sentence, Jeonghan turned him by the shoulder and landed a hard punch straight at his jaw.

“Jeonghan!” 

As Bohyun stumbled, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, he snarled at the other man, throwing a punch on his own, straight in his midriff, making him buckle over. As the two men furiously threw hands, bruising and bleeding, you stood frozen, unable to watch them or stop them. Before you knew it though, within minutes, Jeonghan had Bohyun on his knees, the latter struggling to keep his eyes open, just one blow away from being knocked out. As Jeonghan raised his hand, you quickly put yourself between the two men. 

“Jeonghan no.” 

“Did you not hear the way he spoke about you?” He looked uncharacteristically furious, breathing hard. “How dare he-” 

“That’s between Bohyun and I. You shouldn’t have come in between.” 

Jeonghan lowered his hand, looking at you like he was jolted. Standing up staggering, Bohyun wiped the blood from his mouth, hissing.

“You heard her. Clearly, she picks me.” He smiled victoriously. “The only place you belong is in jail, you bastard, where the fuck is my phone-” 

“Y/n, after all he’s done to you, you’re really siding with him?” 

“Jeonghan, I think you should leave.” Your voice left you in a soft whisper as he looked at you unbelievably hurt. “Please just…. it’s best that you go.” 

Tearing his eyes away from you, Jeonghan let out a shaky breath before slowly nodding. “If that’s what you want.” 

And with that, without so much as sparing you a glance, he walked past you and out of your house as you watched him disappearing from your sight. When you finally let out the breath you were holding, Bohyun put his arm around your shoulder. 

“I knew you still loved me.” He rubbed your arm. “You and I were always meant to be, sweetheart.” 

Tongue in your cheek you sighed before removing Bohyun’s arm from around you. Turning to him, with everything you had in your being, you slapped him right across the face. Bohyun stumbled at the impact, looking shell shocked. 

“The only thing you and I are, is over.” You spat, the words bitter in your mouth. “How could you even think of coming back to me?” 

“Babe-” 

“Don't call me that.” You pushed him away. “You're right. I always did choose you. I always put you above me, but you? Forget loving me, you didn't have the minimum decency to respect me.”

“Y/n, I said sorry, I really am sorry.”

“Me too.” You stood your ground. “I’m sorry to myself. I'm sorry I gave you the chance to push me around like this. I'm sorry I didn't stand up for myself sooner. But I'm done now. I won't be making the same mistakes.”

“Y/n….” Bohyun held your arm softer than he ever had in the many years you were together. “I know I was wrong. The last few months without you weren't the same, I realised how bad I was to you and how much I need you please don't do this. Please come back…..what we had was so good-” 

“Good for you Bohyun, but not good enough for me.” You pulled your arm away. “I won't take you back this time, or ever. We're done for good.” 

Bohyun stared at the floor, coming to terms with your words.

“It's because of Yoon Jeonghan isn't it?” His voice turned into a nasty snarl. “You would choose a criminal over me-”

“You still don't get it, do you?” You looked at him with disbelief. “It's not him I choose, it's myself.” 

“But-” 

“I'm done explaining. I don't owe you anymore conversation, I didn't even owe you this.” You sighed, walking up to the door, holding it open. “Get out of my house.”

Bohyun tried to meet your eye as he slowly walked up to you while you refused to so much as look at him. When he realised you were not going to change your mind, he stepped out of the house and you closed the door behind him with a resounding slam. Holding your racing heart you leaned against it, unable to believe what you just did. 

Something in you felt free yet your heart was strangely heavy - you got rid of Bohyun but you lost Jeonghan in the process. Unwilling to give him up, you quickly grabbed your jacket and phone and rushed out of the house, calling your friends. Hopefully he hadn't gotten too far. 

You needed to see him again. You needed to tell him everything truthfully.

As the night sky darkened, you walked into your apartment slowly, finding yourself alone in it after days.

You didn’t find Jeonghan anywhere. When you told the boys about all that happened, they were beyond understanding, immediately helping you look for him too. But alas, he was nowhere to be found. 

As you sank into the couch, heartbroken over how things ended between you two, Seungkwan's message popped on your phone screen. 

Y/n, I think you should see the news.

Panicking, you grabbed your remote and turned on the TV only to see your worst nightmare - Jeonghan being handcuffed and led away by the cops. 

“Mafia criminal and mastermind Yoon Jeonghan surrendered a few hours ago to the city police force after nearly 15 days of absconding. The precise reason for why he turned himself in and where he was all this while is unknown but the police are investigating the case. Yoon Jeonghan escaped prison on the 15th of August after tricking two security guards with a severe stomach ache and requesting for medical assistance…..” 

The rest of the words faded away as you watched the footage of Jeonghan being escorted away. The pain of betrayal was still flashing in his eyes. Everything was truly over.

10 days later. 

Jeonghan leaned against the wall of his cell, staring into the darkness. He knew it was well into the night but sleep wasn't coming to him as always. Every time he closed his eyes, he could only see you, every time he opened them he instinctively looked for you - you refused to get out of his head. 

When Jeonghan saw you for the first time, admittedly he thought you were incredibly beautiful but he saw you as more of a conquest - you had that sweet, innocent expression but there was something darker lingering behind your eyes. It made him want to tease it out of you, expose you for what you really were but with each day, when he saw how simple and soft you were, that desire in him died. In his world everything was as corrupt as could be and you were so good to him, Jeonghan knew that little uncommon goodness had to be preserved, remain untouched. That's why though he itched to get under your skin, he tried his best to keep his distance.

That was of course until you decided to kiss him - after that Jeonghan knew keeping his hands off you was the hardest thing he ever had to do. It wasn’t just because he was uncharacteristically attracted to you, normally it was girls in skin tight leather pants and low neck dresses that caught his attention but because he……liked you. He liked watching you work, he liked spending time with you, he liked the idea of a quiet, uneventful life with you. He had spent all his life chasing something that made him feel complete, not even knowing what it was, until those 10 days with you - that was what he wanted. 

But clearly you didn’t want him. Though he was unable to accept it at the moment, eventually, he believed you when you said it was never your intention to kidnap him. When he discovered his ringing phone in the drawer due to his assistant’s consistent calling and found out that his price was a hundred thousand dollars Jeonghan was beyond hurt. But you were right - you didn’t know about your grandmother’s shop until the last few days. His assistant too confirmed that it was more the boy's plan than yours and that it was definitely not intentional because it was so poorly made that thanks to his phone, his assistant knew Jeonghan's location the whole time - he was only letting the boys get away with it so Jeonghan had a safe place to hide till things fell in place.

Regardless of everything that happened, it still didn’t mean that you wanted him. Especially when that ex of yours came into your life yet again and you so easily asked him to leave - Jeonghan received the message loud and clear. He was not wanted. 

By you at least. The city police definitely wanted him and he knew he had to be on the run yet again but with a part of him left behind in your home, he didn’t know how he was supposed to move away and move on. All he could do was hopelessly wish that you had left a part of you with him too and didn’t always just appear before him like a figment of his imagination. Even now his eyes were playing tricks, showing him the image of you crouched outside his cell bars. You were wearing a police uniform though - Jeonghan softly chuckled. Roleplay was a new element in his imagination. 

Or not. 

Because as Jeonghan stared harder, expecting the mirage of you to disappear, you smiled at him with a small wave and the whisper of his name…..You were actually here. 

Panicking, Jeonghan quickly got to his feet rushing towards you. As his fingers touched your face, confirming your presence, he shook his head. 

“Oh no…. Y/n, what are you doing here?” 

“Hello to you too.” You chuckled. “And what do you mean? I’m here to rescue you.” 

“Rescue me?” 

You nodded. “We’re gonna break out of this prison.” 

“You’re insane.” You grinned as Jeonghan looked at you with disbelief. “You shouldn’t even be here and I can’t run away from here-” 

“You did it last time.” 

“Precisely why. The security is at an all time high, they’re not going to let the same mistake happen twice.” 

“You think I don’t know that?” You raised your eyebrows at him. “Why do you think it took me 10 days to come to you? I was doing my research and figuring out how to get you out of here, and I have found a foolproof way.” 

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes. “And what is that?”

“Just follow my lead.” You pulled out a pair of keys from your pocket, opened his cell door and thrust a package into his hand as you walked in. “Change into this quickly. We only have 17 minutes till the security footage is on loop. We need to get out of here before that.” 

As he confusedly dressed himself, you pulled out a can of spray paint from your pocket and scribbled a message on the wall, one that Jeonghan could barely read thanks to the dimness of the cell. Tossing the can aside, you too quickly stripped out of your uniform and changed into clothes similar to Jeonghan’s.

“Don’t stare, Yoon.” You smiled, pulling your hair into a bun, tucking it under the hat. “This is not the first or last time you’re gonna see me naked.” 

As Jeonghan tried to process all the information, you quickly gathered all the discarded clothes with one hand and held his hand with the other, rushing out of the cell. At the end of the corridor was a cleaning cart in which you promptly dumped all the clothes and asked him to follow you. As you led the way to the washrooms cautiously, keeping an eye on the patrolling security, Jeonghan realised the two of you were wearing the uniforms of the cleaning staff. Finally, you led him to a ladies washroom, promptly locking it behind you. 

“Y/n, what are we doing-” 

“Look, that’s the cleaning supplies closet, inside it is a door that leads to the older wing of this prison that is now undergoing renovation. This door was supposed to be locked from the other side but I already broke it open in the morning.” 

“Morning?” 

“I came in with a bunch of medical volunteers for the camp but I never left the premises - I’ve been hiding here all day. Now we’ve to get through this door and cross the construction site without being seen by the patrolling guards in-” You glanced at your watch. “-8 minutes where the boys are waiting with transport. If we don’t, the guards are gonna figure out you’re missing and security will tighten and we will never be able to get out. If you have any other questions, I promise I’ll answer all of them once we get in the car, okay?” 

Letting out an unsure breath, Jeonghan nodded, following through with your plan to the T. In all the years Jeonghan had been in crime, he had drawn up several heists and master plans but this….. This was probably the most meticulous and well thought out plan he had ever seen. It was to the point it actually both impressed and terrified him that you, the girl who was hiding behind her three friends the first time he tried to talk to you, were the one who came up with it. When the two of you finally stepped out of the last fence, Jeonghan looked back at prison in awe - he thought this time, he was back here for good but when you called out his name and he turned to you, Jeonghan knew the only place he belonged was with you. 

As the two of you trudged through the woods, hand in hand, sirens began to go off in the prison behind you, making you pick up speed, only stopping at the sight of a white car and a white bike beside the very stressed Seokmin, Seungkwan and Soonyoung. The boys sighed in relief as the two of you approached, quickly giving you two a new set of clothes to change into, ushering you into the car. As the two of you began to do so yet again, Jeonghan looked at you intently. 

“Come on Jeonghan, the faster we move from here the better.” 

“Why did you do this? Why did you save me?” 

“Why did you surrender?” 

“Because….” Jeonghan sighed. “I didn’t want your ex to have the power over you with the information that you were housing a criminal. But if I was already in their custody, they wouldn’t really care about where I was on the days I was missing.” 

You smiled at him softly. “So much from a guy who didn’t understand what it meant to put others before yourself.” 

“I told you, you bring out the best in me.” He laughed. “Evidently, I do bring out the worst in you. This was the most badass thing ever, I would’ve never imagined you would do it.” 

“Well, someone did tell me I shouldn’t be afraid to ask or go for what I want.” You leaned back against the door. “I’m done sitting and taking whatever life hands me with the hope that it will be my fairytale ending. I’m gonna take things into my own hands now.” 

“Successfully you mean.” Jeonghan smirked at you. “You had been trying to take things in your hands for quite a while. Like the first few days you tried so hard to get me arrested again?” 

“You knew about that??” 

“It was cute, how you were trying to do the right thing. I should have known you would have never held me hostage for money.” 

“I was going to tell you about it before things spiraled. I had to get you out of my house first so you were at least safe from Bohyun, even if that meant you hated me.” 

“I don’t hate you.” Jeonghan confessed. “I never can. You showed me what I truly wanted from life.” 

“As did you. Which is why I ended things with Bohyun once and for all and now I’m here with you, for whatever adventure it is that’s ahead of us.” 

“Adventure?” Jeonghan looked at you surprised. “What do you mean?” 

“I managed to track down your assistant when I received the papers that I apparently own my grandmother's shop again.” Jeonghan returned your accusatory expression with a sheepish one. “He told me that the last many days, he had been working on liquidating your assets. He also managed to arrange for you to get out of the country and go elsewhere.” You smiled at him. “And I convinced him to let me tag along with you."

“No…..” Jeonghan shook his head. “No you’re not leaving behind your life here and following me around-” 

“Jeonghan, I have no life here.” You sighed. “I always thought I was the kind who wanted something safe and secure but you made me see that deep down I’ve been craving for something more, something stimulating and exciting. I genuinely do want to go with you.” 

“Your mom?” 

“Is more than happy to learn that her daughter is going to Milan to explore her fashion dreams and that my grandmother can move back to her old apartment.” 

“You….. You’re really sure?” 

“Never been more sure.” You reached for his hand, holding it. Jeonghan stroked the back of your hand softly, a smile growing on his face. It did seem like he wanted to say something, until Soonyoung knocked on the window urgently, ushering you out. Putting on the last of your clothes, the two of you stepped out. 

“If the guards send people out to look for Jeonghan, we might get caught here.” Seokmin tapped his foot nervously. 

“Yeah, we need to leave as soon as possible.” Seungkwan added, looking equally scared. 

“Relax,” You rolled your eyes. “They’re not going to find us. They’re not even going to try to look.” 

All four boys looked at you skeptically but it was Jeonghan that spoke up, “Y/n, What did you write on that wall?” 

“Fool you once, shame on you. Fool you twice, more shame for you.” You shrugged, quoting yourself. “I basically wrote in short that if they knew what was good for them, they would keep their mouth shuts and allow the public to think you were still in their captivity rather than admit that you fooled them twice in the span of a month and they are incapable of keeping their prisoners in check. I might have also added that you will not be creating any trouble anymore, rest assured, this secret is best buried in the walls of the prison itself.” 

As your friends stared at you with hung jaws, Jeonghan laughed like he couldn’t believe his ears. “Who are you?” 

“You should’ve seen her the last 10 days.” Soonyoung mumbled. “All the planning, the plotting, she even stitched all these uniforms from scratch, it was low-key terrifying.” 

“I want to know all the details of this master plan.” Jeonghan looked proud. “Every single one of them.” 

“And you will, we have a long journey to Italy.” You clapped your hands, then held it out to Seugnkwan. “Bike keys.” 

“You don’t want the car?” 

“Bike is more fun.” You said casually, reaching for the helmets. “And I’m going to drive.” 

Jeonghan raised his eyebrow impressed, “So the princess is going to rescue me on her big white…. bike.” 

“Guess we got our fairytale ending after all.” You laughed, getting on as your friends rolled their eyes and got into the car. Pulling Jeonghan closer, you finally kissed him, before mumbling against his lips. “Or I guess this time, I’m really kidnapping a mafia boss.” 

a/n - I cannot explain how much trouble the 1000 blocks per post limit caused. I hope the spacing inconsistency was overlooked oops! Don't forget to leave you thoughts and opinions about the story! This one took a lot of time and effort to make :)

[seungcheorry]

jeonghan sighs happily as he lays himself on top of you, face burried where your neck meets your shoulder. he doesn't move, just breathe peacefully as your fingers brush his skin underneath his grey shirt. his long hair tickles your chin a bit, but the nice smell of shampoo is enough to make you resist moving around.

"is this what you wanted?", he murmurs, voice muffled by your skin.

"yeah", you sigh. "thank you."

having jeonghan's weight on top of you sometimes help with your anxiety, or the feeling of being out of control, or the feeling of being depressed, or the feeling of floating around and not being inside your own body...

it just helps - and he knows that. so whenever you ask him to lay on top of you, he doesn't even question anymore. he either tells you to wait in bed or the couch, or he pulls you towards one of them, quietly nodding at your request.

"anytime, love", jeonghan says, pressing a kiss to your neck. "you wanna talk about it?"

"no", you shake your head. "just being like this is enough today."

"okay."

and so he doesn't talk anymore. jeonghan just stay there, trying not to move anymore neither, until you tell him you're good to go. he could easily sleep on top of you - like he has done before -, but something tells him to stay awake this time, to just wait for your word and not leave you.

but honestly? it isn't that hard. jeonghan could never, ever leave you.

[saythenametotheworld]

You Are In Love | y.jh (18+)

A life-changing event caused you to escape to the countryside—a coastal village with a small population of mostly old people and women. It was there that you found peace in your turbulent life and an unexpected connection with Yoon Jeonghan.

Genre: mistaken identity, strangers to lovers, smut Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x afab!Reader Warning: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+), NOT PROOFREAD! Canceled out the angst bcs, just bcs. Notes: 19k words, song prompt was You Are In Love by Taylor Swift. I miss Hannie sm. Why can't he be like jaehyun and taeyong who appear in public from time to time? jk, obviously. I'm not complaining (I am). Guys it's been a while! Although, I'm sure you're already used to me popping in and out randomly. Just wanna let yall know that I see your asks all the time and most of them make me giggle. I'm just a little shy so I don't interact much. I'll try tho :> Disclaimer: I do not know them, nor do I claim they would ever act irl the way they are portrayed in this story.

Playlist: You Are In Love - Taylor Swift, Star Blossom - Doyoung x Sejeong, Magnets - NIKI, Starlight - Taeyeon Enjoy~

After four hours on the road, you finally passed the sign marking the entrance to the small town. The coastal highway had felt endless, a stretch of asphalt lined with rolling hills, but now, the ocean breeze was carrying the freshness of the countryside and the faint scent of salt. You drove through gentle hills before reaching the heart of the village, where a few modest establishments lined the narrow streets.

You knew what was waiting for you—a small, idyllic town—but even so, the retro charm of the downtown area caught you off guard. No buildings rose taller than four stories. It was like a pocket of time frozen in place, with shopfronts displaying modern signs over worn wooden frames. The colors faded but were still vibrant in the afternoon light.

You drove past the last few storefronts, through rows of homes and wide open fields until you reached the guest house. It looked much like the other houses in the neighborhood—simple and unassuming, save for the bright red roof and the wooden signpost by the gate.

The gates were open, so you let yourself in, taking a moment to soak in the quiet surroundings. The house had a traditional Korean setup, with a low table outside, a shed of large clay crocks (probably holding kimchi or fermented soybean paste), an outdoor cooking area, and other signs of daily life scattered around.

Then, the front door swung open, and a petite elderly woman stepped onto the porch, dressed in a floral blouse and loose pants. Her silver hair was neatly pinned back, her sharp eyes scanning you before she broke into a warm smile.

“You must be the city girl,” she said, hands on her hips. “Took you long enough.”

You blinked at her bluntness but caught the teasing glint in her eyes. You smiled apologetically. “I know, I’m sorry. Something came up, so I had to delay for a day. Is the room still available?”

“Of course! We don’t get many guests here. Haven’t had a single one this year until you.” She waved you inside. “Come. I don’t usually take in long-term guests, but I liked the way you spoke on the phone. You seemed polite.”

Inside, the house was warm and lived-in, wooden beams stretching across the ceiling. Something was cooking in the kitchen, filling the space with a savory aroma.

“You must be starving. Lunch is almost ready,” she called from the kitchen.

“Thank you. I’ll just grab my things from the car,” you said, pointing toward the door.

She nodded. “Ah, right. Let me help you with that.”

“No, it’s alright—”

“Hannie!” she called out, ignoring you. “Come out and help our guest with her luggage.”

A moment later, a figure appeared at the doorway. Tall, dark soft-looking hair trimmed just above the shoulders framed her delicate features—a straight nose, lips, and sharp, striking eyes with long lashes that would make anyone jealous.

There was something boyish in the way she moved. Her stride was quick and heavy, her clothes were loose and simple. A plaid button-down over a plain white t-shirt,  and pair of dark sweatpants. Not exactly the dainty look you might’ve expected from someone with a face like that, but it suited her.

“Hannie,” the elderly woman called again, motioning to the car outside.

She only hummed in response before stepping down from the porch and heading straight for your trunk. You followed after her, popping the trunk open just as she reached it.

“Thank you,” you said. “I can get the heavier ones,” you offered, out of habit more than anything.

Hannie barely spared you a glance before hauling out your largest suitcase like it weighed nothing. “It’s fine.”

You blinked. Okay, strong girl.

A small duffel bag dangled from her other hand as she turned back toward the house, moving easily despite the weight. You had to admit, you were a little relieved to know there was another girl your age in the house. You’d expected to spend most of your time with elderly folks—nice as they were, they didn’t quite offer the same kind of connection. But with Hannie here, at least you’d have someone to talk to.

Shutting the trunk, you grabbed the rest of your bags and followed her inside.

The first three days passed uneventfully. You quickly became familiar with the routine in the house: the sounds of cooking from the kitchen, the fluttering of old curtains in the breeze, and the occasional gathering of the elderly ladies just outside the gates of the guest house. You had been expecting peace, but this was something else entirely—a rare kind of mundanity, where time seemed to stretch and slow down. You loved it more than you had anticipated.

Hannie, the granddaughter of the house, was always present in some way but never fully there. She rarely spoke, her gaze slipping past you instead of meeting your eyes, and she was gone for long stretches of the day. You sometimes wondered where she went—perhaps to town, perhaps somewhere even quieter than here—but it wasn’t a question you felt the need to ask. It didn’t seem like she would answer, anyway.

When you did cross paths, the interactions were brief. A polite nod from her, a quick greeting from you. Occasionally, you’d catch her in the kitchen, stirring something at the stove, or stepping onto the porch with a towel slung over her shoulder, hair damp from a shower. Once, when you mumbled a sleepy “good morning” while rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you thought you saw the corner of her mouth twitch upward before she disappeared out the door.

You assumed she was just a little shy. Maybe reserved. That was fine with you. It was oddly nice having another girl around who didn’t expect constant conversation.

The guest house owner—Gram, as she liked to be called—was warm and thoughtful, though she saw your lack of movement as odd. She often encouraged you to explore, to go into town, to at least take a walk.

“Most people get restless after a day or two,” she said one morning, watching you sip your tea at the low table outside. “You, though, you act like you’ve been waiting your whole life to sit still.”

You grinned. “Honestly, Gram? I have.”

She clicked her tongue, unconvinced. “Hannie, why don’t you take her into town today? Show her around. The store won’t burn down without you for a day.”

At the mention of her name, Hannie, who had been quietly peeling fruit by the water pump, finally glanced at you. Her expression was unreadable, but her head tilted ever so slightly, as if sizing you up. Then, just as quickly, she shrugged. “Sure.”

It wasn’t exactly an enthusiastic invitation, and you didn’t want to force anything. “Thanks, Gram, but I promise, I’m fine. I’m enjoying myself.”

Gram sighed, shaking her head. “If you say so. But if you change your mind, just tell Han.”

You nodded, and across the table, Hannie met your gaze again, her lips pressing into something like a faint smile before she went back to peeling.

Still, Gram refused to let you be completely idle. Every day, she gave you a small task—flipping sun-dried herbs at noon, covering them before sunset. It wasn’t much, but it made you feel like a part of the household rather than just a passing guest.

Hannie never commented on your meandering presence in the house. Sometimes, she’d walk past you on the way out, sometimes you’d catch sight of her returning in the late afternoon, looking effortlessly graceful yet somehow boyish in the way she moved. 

As the days passed, little things about Hannie started catching your attention—details that didn’t quite match the soft-spoken, delicate image you’d formed of her at first. Her voice, though quiet, had a low, steady timbre. Occasionally, she’d roll her shoulders or rub the back of her neck in a way that felt oddly... rugged. There was something in the way she leaned against doorframes too, hands stuffed in her pockets, with a relaxed posture. And yet, she still looked as graceful as ever, dark hair soft against her skin, her features almost too pretty. 

The contrast was interesting, but you didn’t think much of it—so what if she was a little rough around the edges? Plenty of girls had tomboyish sides.

Strong, you thought idly one afternoon, watching her haul in a sack of something from outside. Strong for someone so pretty.

But you didn’t dwell on it. More than anything, it was just nice having another girl around. She wasn’t unfriendly, but she wasn’t exactly inviting either. It wasn’t awkward, though. If anything, it suited the peacefulness of the guest house. You weren’t looking for company, and Hannie didn’t seem eager to offer it. But of course, living together would make people grow closer.

One morning, you found yourself at the kitchen table, lazily flipping through a magazine Gram had left lying around. Hannie stood by the sink, rinsing a handful of freshly picked persimmons.

“Do you eat these?” she asked.

You looked up. It was the first time she’d spoken to you without it being a response to something you said first. “I like them, but I never really had them fresh like that,” you admitted.

She grabbed a towel and started drying one. “They taste better chilled.”

“Oh?” You watched as she set a few aside and placed the rest in the fridge. “So you like them cold?”

She shrugged, placing one on the table in front of you. “Try it later.”

After that, you noticed other little things.

When you forgot your slippers outside one evening, you found them neatly placed by the door the next morning. The first time you struggled to lift one of Gram’s large water jugs, Hannie walked past, muttered, “You’ll hurt your back,” and hoisted it up with ease before you could protest.

“Thanks,” you said, surprised.

Gradually, your paths started crossing more. If she was already outside when you went to dry the herbs, she’d sit nearby, scrolling through her phone while you worked. If you ended up in the kitchen at the same time, she’d slide you a cup of whatever she was drinking without a word.

The conversations stretched a little longer, too. One weekend morning, you found her on the porch, sitting quietly under the sun. Without thinking, you sat beside her, stretching your legs out and basking in the sunshine.

“Gram says you haven’t gone to the beach yet,” she said.

You raised an eyebrow. “She’s been trying to get me out of the house since day one.”

Hannie smirked slightly, eyes still on the road. “She’s not used to people who like sitting still.”

You laughed. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

You talked about the weather, the best place to buy snacks in town, how the local stray cats had more attitude than city ones. They weren’t deep conversations, but they were comfortable.

Hannie still wasn’t overly talkative, but she started meeting your eyes more, responding with more than just a nod. And sometimes, when she thought you weren’t paying attention, you’d catch a small, amused smile on her lips.

It wasn’t much, but you were getting used to each other.

On a cool Saturday afternoon, you sat cross-legged at the low wooden table outside, with a basket of vegetables sitting between you and Hannie. Gram had roped the both of you into helping with dinner, which, in her words, “would taste better with young hands working on it.”

You didn’t mind. It gave you something to do.

Hannie, across from you, was peeling potatoes efficiently. You, on the other hand, were going slower, carefully stripping the skin from each one with a small knife.

“How long have you been staying here?” you asked.

Hannie didn’t look up from her task. “I live here.”

“Like, since birth?”

“Maybe,” she said, lips twitching.

You gave her a flat look. “That’s not a real answer.”

She considered for a second before finally saying, “I wasn’t born here, but I grew up here. I left a few years ago, but I came back.”

You nodded, filing that away. “Where did you go?”

She flipped a potato in her hand. “Seoul.”

“You lived there?”

“For a bit.”

“You’re very specific,” you said dryly.

She smirked. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“Of course. I have to know who I’m living with.”

“Mm.” She switched to peeling carrots. “Your turn, then. I have to know who I’m living with, too. That’s fair, isn’t it?”

You rolled a potato in your hands. “Depends on the question.”

Hannie shot you an amused glance but didn’t push. “Why’d you come here?”

You shrugged. “I wanted a change of pace.”

She peeled another strip from the carrot. “That’s a vague answer.”

“The specifics are boring,” you said through gritted teeth, unwilling to divulge anything.

She let out a small huff of laughter. “Fair enough.”

For a while, neither of you spoke, just continuing your work. The sun had begun to dip lower in the sky, and you were realizing once again why they called this guest house The Sunset House. The smell of something simmering in the kitchen drifted through the air.

“What do you do all day, anyway?” you asked, breaking the comfortable quiet. “I always see you coming and going, but you never say where you’re headed.”

Hannie hummed. “I go to work at the grocery shop.”

You nodded. “So you’re not just freeloading off your Grandma, then?” you teased.

She snorted. “I have my own money and I know how to work for my meals.”

“Okay, but I have a real question,” you said, squinting at her. “What’s your skincare routine?”

Hannie blinked at you, clearly caught off guard. “My what?”

“You have really nice skin,” you said matter-of-factly. “Like, it’s annoyingly flawless. I need to know what you’re using.”

She chuckled. “I just use whatever’s around.”

You frowned. “Liar.”

“It’s the truth,” she said, looking far too entertained.

“No fancy routine? No expensive products?”

“Nope.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, but she just kept peeling, smug as ever. You huffed. “This is so unfair. Your skin is prettier than mine and I have like, a ten-step skincare routine.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

You grabbed a potato and chucked it at her arm. She caught it easily, shaking her head with a grin.

The conversation continued, flowing from one topic to another with no real direction—just small questions, half-answers, and the occasional amused remark. It wasn’t deep, but it didn’t need to be.

By the time you finished, the basket of peeled vegetables was full, the sun had lowered into a deep orange, and you had learned just enough about Hannie to know there was still more to figure out.

It was hard to ignore the nagging thought in your head ever since you arrived in town. While you tried to brush it off, convincing yourself that you deserved this break from your turbulent city life, the anxiety that you should be doing something more productive lingered in the back of your mind. 

It was probably because your mind and body were so used to being on high alert all the time, functioning at full capacity every day for the last several years that you start getting anxious when you’re not doing anything and just relaxing. You could feel an odd sense of suspicion, nagging at the back of your mind like, “Shouldn’t you be doing something?”

Watering Gram’s garden plants was enough to push away all these thoughts, though.

As you stood under the gentle heat of the morning sun, you maneuvered the hose expertly, a result of doing the chore every day for the last few weeks. You let out a slow breath, feeling oddly content with the simplicity of it.

“Are you planning to drown my plants?”

You startled slightly as Gram’s voice rang out. Turning, you found her watching you with a hand on her hip. “Come here,” she said, beckoning you over to the low wooden table. “I have a better use for those hands.”

You shut off the water and wandered over, only to be greeted with a rice cake shoved into your hand. “Would you like to come to the beach today?” she asked.

“The beach?”

“There’s a new teacher at the daycare center. Seola, a very lovely lady. She arranged a picnic with the elderly and the children.” Gram gave you a pointed look as she patted your hand. “You should come. You need to socialize with someone your age before you forget how to hold a conversation.”

Before you could respond, Hannie stepped out onto the porch in her usual shirt-over-tee combo and denim jeans, brushing her hair back with her hand, she slung a bag over her shoulder, acknowledging you with a brief nod before passing by.

“Gram, I’m off,” he said.

“Alright, see you later,” Gram replied. She waved him off before giving you another look. “Han will be there too, so you don’t have to worry about being around people you don’t know.”

Not that you needed much convincing. You had already planned to explore town today anyway. You finally had enough of the idle days, and you were now ready to see and experience the quaint charm of this small town.

So at noon, just before lunchtime, you drove to the beachside with Gram, the car packed with the food she had heartily prepared all morning.

The beach was lively with old and young voices, laughter, conversation, and the sound of waves rolling against the shore. You helped Gram set up the food, spreading it out on the picnic blankets as she introduced you to the small group already gathered there—a few elderly folks, some parents, and a handful of kids darting around with beach toys and shells. It felt like stepping into a family reunion, where everyone knew each other and shared years of memories you could only imagine.

Gram introduced you as a temporary resident. “She’ll be here for six months,” she explained, smiling as curious eyes turned your way. “Let’s all be nice to her. She’s from the big city.”

“Ah, so that’s why you look so pale,” an older woman teased, squinting at you. “You need some sun on you, dear.”

“She should eat more, too,” another one chimed in, eyeing you like she was already planning to pile food onto your plate.

“You’ll love it here,” one of the older women assured you. “Life moves slow, but there’s always something to do if you know where to look.”

Another joined in with a chuckle. “A bit of gossip now and then, a trip to the market, a walk by the coast… it doesn’t take much to stay busy here!”

They were warm, welcoming, and funny, and their playful remarks had the same lightheartedness as Gram’s. You found yourself smiling more than expected, caught up in their conversation as they asked about your stay. You also met Seola, the new daycare teacher who moved to town just two months ago. She was the same age as you were, and you felt a sense of kinship with her as someone who came from the big city yourself.

At one point, a little boy ran up to you out of nowhere, his face bright with excitement as he held out a shell. “Look! This is the best one I found today!”

You knelt down, taking the shell from his hands to admire it. “Wow, this is a good one,” you said, humoring his enthusiasm. He beamed, launching into a detailed explanation of why it was superior to all the others. You nodded along, half-listening—until something just past his shoulder caught your eye.

Out by the water, Hannie emerged from the waves, hands pushing through his soaked hair, slicking it back from his face. Droplets clung to his skin, sliding down sharp cheekbones and along the lines of his jaw. You blinked, something about the sight snagging on a thought you couldn’t quite place.

Then she stepped fully onto the shore, reached for the hem of her wet shirt, and pulled it over her head. And your mind went blank.

Time seemed to slow as your eyes registered the defined shoulders, the abs, the arms that clearly belonged to someone used to physical labor. The sunlight played across his skin, highlighting every line and shadow. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. All you could do was stare.

Hannie wasn’t just a little masculine. Hannie wasn’t just oddly strong. Hannie… was a man.

Your breath caught in your throat, and an unexpected heat rose to your cheeks. The boy in front of you was still talking, but you couldn’t hear a word of it anymore.

How could you have missed this? It was as if every little sign from the past several days were suddenly lining up like pieces of a puzzle. The deeper voice, the way he carried himself, the fact that he had never once actually referred to himself as a girl. And then there were the times Gram had mentioned her grandson—the one you thought you’d never met, yet had been living with all along. He had never corrected you. And you? You had been so sure—so certain you knew exactly who you were living with.

As you stood there, still absorbing the shock, two teenage girls approached you excitedly.

“What’s it like living with Jeonghan?” one of them asked, practically bouncing on her toes.

“Who?” The name threw you off entirely.

“Yoon Jeonghan,” the other girl chimed in, as if it were obvious. “You’re staying at Gram’s guest house, right? Isn’t he amazing? He’s like the pride of our town.”

Jeonghan. The name sounded foreign to you, yet as you watched him crouch down to help one of the kids collect shells, it suddenly seemed to fit him perfectly. 

“I thought his name was Hannie?” you asked, though the moment the words left your mouth, you realized how foolish they sounded. Hannie—it wasn’t his name. Just a nickname, something his grandmother must have been affectionately calling him.

The girls giggled, exchanging amused glances. “That’s just what the grandmas call him.”

One of them leaned in, lowering her voice like she was sharing a juicy secret. “He’s kind of famous, you know? We run a fan page for him—it’s almost at 100k followers.”

“He gets a ton of idol trainee offers. Some people even come all the way here just to see him,” the other added. “But he always turned them down. Now, he works at the store downtown. Everyone loves him.”

Jeonghan. Jeonghan. Yoon Jeonghan.

You blinked, still grappling with the idea that the quiet, elusive Hannie was actually Jeonghan, the town’s golden boy. Before you could think of what to say, Gram’s voice called out, interrupting the conversation.

“Lunch is ready! Come here and eat!”

The girls scampered off toward the picnic mat, giggling about something you couldn’t quite catch. You turned to follow, but your thoughts were still spinning.

“Kids! Hannie!” Gram called again, waving him over. “Come on, let’s eat!”

Jeonghan straightened, brushing sand from his hands before jogging up the beach. The sunlight glinted off his skin, drawing your gaze before you could stop yourself. Heat crept up your neck again.

He reached the mat and, without hesitation, plopped down next to you, his damp hair falling casually over his shoulder.

“You’re here too,” he said, smiling at you before grabbing a bottle of water. He seemed completely at ease, oblivious to the turmoil running through your mind.

Lunch was a lively affair, the mat spread under the shade of a large tree, bowls and plates of food passed around as conversations overlapped. The elders were particularly chatty, most of their attention—unsurprisingly—focused on Jeonghan.

“You know, our Hannie here was top of his class in university,” one of the grandmothers boasted, nudging the woman beside her. “Always so clever.”

“And so hardworking,” another added, her tone exaggerated in a way that felt suspiciously rehearsed. “Had all sorts of offers after graduation. He even worked in Seoul for a bit.”

“Really?” Seola, the teacher, perked up with interest, chopsticks pausing midair.

You, however, narrowed your eyes slightly. There was something oddly deliberate about how they were talking about him, as if… as if they were trying to sell him.

Jeonghan, sitting beside you, seemed completely unfazed. He took a sip of water, then casually met your gaze. “What are you thinking so hard about?”

You blinked, realizing that you had been staring. “I was just wondering why they’re talking about you like you’re a prized cow.”

Jeonghan nearly choked on his drink, turning away with a cough. Beside him, one of the elders clapped her hands together, unaware of your remark. “And! He’s very good with children,” she announced, nodding toward the group of kids playing nearby. “They all adore him.”

Seola chuckled. “That’s rare. Most guys aren’t patient enough with kids.”

“Exactly!” The older woman beamed. “That’s why any girl would be lucky to have him.”

Your eyes flickered to Jeonghan, curious as to how he’d react, but he was busy picking the green onions out of his soup. As if this whole matchmaking attempt had nothing to do with him.

You stifled a laugh. “You seem very popular, Jeonghan.”

“Mm,” he hummed in agreement, finally looking at you. “Are you convinced?”

“Of what?”

“That I’m a catch.” He tilted his head, the corner of his lips twitching up just slightly.

Your chopsticks hovered over your plate. The way he said it was so casual, but something about his tone—low, smooth, just teasing enough—made your stomach flutter. 

You masked it with an eye-roll. “I don’t know. You don’t seem that impressive to me.”

Gram clicked her tongue, shaking her head as she picked up a piece of grilled fish and placed it onto your plate. “Clearly, you need to spend more time with him.”

“Gram?” you questioned, genuinely perplexed by the insinuation in her tone.

The lunch continued in the same direction, the elders throwing more praises, Seola responding with polite interest, and Jeonghan humoring them without ever actually engaging. It was almost funny how unfazed he was—until you caught a few of the older women exchanging glances as if they were mentally taking notes on how both you and Seola were responding.

Oh god. They weren’t just selling Jeonghan. They were matchmaking him.

You needed some air.

As the meal wrapped up, you slipped away from the group, stepping onto the shore where the waves lapped at your feet. The realization of the past hour was still in your mind—not just about the elders’ intentions but also the fact that your whole perception of Jeonghan had shattered today.

And, of course, just as you were attempting to collect yourself, he appeared beside you. “Escaping?”

You glanced at him. “You too?”

“Sort of.” Jeonghan walked alongside you, hands in his pockets, letting the wind ruffle his damp hair. “Figured you’d need company.”

You hesitated before blurting, “Why didn’t you tell me you were a guy?”

Jeonghan stopped mid-step. “What?”

“The whole time, I thought you were a girl, maybe a little masculine or a lesbian, but biologically, a girl. I’ve been calling you ‘Hannie,’ but that’s not even your real name. Your name was Jeonghan. You never corrected me.”

His expression shifted from confusion to pure shock. “Wait.” He turned fully to you, blinking rapidly. “You thought I was a girl?!”

You crossed your arms. “You’re really pretty with equally pretty hair. Your grandma calls you Hannie.”

Jeonghan ran a hand down his face, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “Oh my god.”

“I mean, can you blame me?” You gestured vaguely at him. “Look at you.”

His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down at himself as if seeing what you saw. Then he exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

You smirked. “I think it’s kind of funny.”

Jeonghan shot you a look, smirking. “I bet you do.”

You basked in the comfortable silence as you continued walking. The waves were cool against your feet, and the voices behind you grew distant. Every now and then, you caught Jeonghan glancing at you, as if still processing what you had just confessed.

Finally, he sighed, shaking his head. “A girl.”

You grinned. “I’d say I’m sorry, but…”

“But you’re not.”

“Not even a little bit.”

Jeonghan let out a sharp laugh, the kind that came from deep amusement rather than disbelief this time. You got the feeling he wouldn’t let this go anytime soon.

The next morning, Jeonghan was heading downtown for an errand, and Gram suggested you go with him. “You should get out more,” she said, nudging your arm. “Let Han show you around. It’ll be good for you.”

You didn’t see a reason to refuse. The town was still unfamiliar, and a trip to the market sounded more productive than another slow morning at the guest house. Plus, you figured you might as well start your car after letting it sit idle for so long.

Which was how you found yourself in the passenger seat, watching as Jeonghan adjusted the mirrors before smoothly pulling out onto the road. He drove leisurely, one hand resting on the wheel, his other elbow propped against the window.

By the time you reached the market, the streets were busy. Stalls lined the sidewalks, vendors calling out to passersby, with the scent of fresh produce, grilled food, and sweet treats. Jeonghan was greeted warmly at every turn, engaging small talks with vendors who seemed genuinely happy to see him. He was polite, smiling when an elderly woman at a vegetable stand patted his arm and called him “our handsome Jeonghan.”

Then she turned to you. “And who is this?” she asked with a teasing smile. “Have you finally brought a girlfriend home, Hannie?”

Before you could react, Jeonghan laughed. “She’s not, but she wished she was.”

“No, I don’t!” you exclaimed.

“No need to be shy, dear,” the vendor said, grinning. “If I were a few decades younger, I’d wish I was his girlfriend too.”

You groaned while Jeonghan bit back a laugh, handing over the money before gently steering you away.

“I can’t believe you have fans in every age group,” you scoffed.

“Well, it’s a small town,” he replied, chuckling.

After finishing the errand, Jeonghan led you to a small café tucked between two shops. The place had a cozy charm—wooden tables, hanging plants, and an old vinyl player in the corner playing soft jazz.

A man behind the counter beamed when she saw him. “Jeonghan! It’s been a while.”

“Hi, Joon. I’ll have the usual,” he greeted, then turned to you. “You?”

You looked up at the menu hanging overhead, wondering what to order or if you wanted coffee at all.

Joon’s gaze flicked to you. “This must be the pretty guest Gram was talking about.”

You glanced at him, curious. Jeonghan waved a hand. “Yeah. She doesn’t get out much. I’m showing her around town.”

“You should come more often. We make the best coffee in town,” Joon said proudly. “Not that there are any other coffee shops around,” he added, chuckling. “What can I get you?”

“Uh, I’ll have what he’s having,” you said, smiling politely at him.

“Coming right up!”

Jeonghan led you to a vacant table by the window. “You come here often?” you asked.

“Now and then.” He pulled out a chair and sat across from you, resting his forearm against the table. “The owner, Joon’s mom, used to sneak me free pastries when I was a kid. I feel obligated to keep giving her business.”

Your lips quirked up. “Bribed into loyalty. Classic.”

He just laughed, watching you for a moment before asking, “What do you think of the town so far?”

You thought about it and then shrugged. “It’s charming and peaceful. Everyone seems to know each other. It’s kind of nice.”

He hummed, stirring his drink lazily. “It has its charms.”

“Well, they seem to adore you,” you noted.

He shrugged. “I’m very likeable,” he said smugly, making you laugh.

Minutes later, Joon set two iced drinks on your table before slipping away. You took a sip and raised a brow. “Oh, this is sweet. Vanilla latte?”

Jeonghan nodded. “Decaf. You don’t like sweet?”

“I do,” you admitted. “But I didn’t peg you as the type.”

Jeonghan took a sip of his own drink. “And what type did you peg me as?”

You tilted your head, pretending to analyze him. “Black coffee. No sugar. Maybe a shot of espresso if you’re feeling adventurous.”

He gave you an unimpressed look. “Do I look like I hate myself?”

You laughed. “No, but,” you shrugged, making him smirk.

“I’ll have you know I like nice things. Why would I suffer through bitter coffee when I could enjoy this?” He lifted his drink in emphasis.

You smirked. “So you have a sweet tooth.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Do you care what about I think of you?” you asked back, narrowing your eyes playfully.

Jeonghan just took his drink and looked out of the window, ignoring your question entirely. You didn’t press, enjoying the coffee instead and the nice ambience of the cafe.

Before heading home, Jeonghan made one last stop at the grocery store. It was bigger than you expected, with stocked shelves and a steady flow of customers.

“You work here?” you asked as you followed him inside.

He nodded. “I own it. Well, not really. It was my grandpa’s. After he passed, someone had to take over.”

Something about the way he said it made you pause. “Is that why you came back?”

Jeonghan didn’t answer right away. He picked up a basket, taking his time as he strolled past the produce section. “You could say that,” he said eventually. “I came back because Gram would be lonely by herself. She’s old now, someone has to be here and make sure she’s alright.”

You glanced at him, noting how his expression didn’t change, but something about his voice softened.

“She still works at the pear farm,” he added, shaking his head fondly. “She said she’d go crazy if she had nothing to do, so someone has to be around to make sure she doesn’t overdo it.”

Hearing that made you feel like you understood them both a little more. The quiet life they had here, the small routines that kept them moving forward—it all made sense now. You became more curious about them, but you didn’t want to pry, so instead of asking, you just took what he told you and left it at that.

As you trailed behind him, your gaze landed on the skincare aisle. “Alright, spill. Which one is it?”

Jeonghan followed your line of sight, then let out a dramatic sigh. “Are you still on this?”

“You’re ridiculously pretty,” you said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s only fair that I find out how.”

He gave you an unimpressed look, then reached out, grabbed a random product, and handed it to you. “Here.”

You examined the label. “This is a body wash.”

“Exactly.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re lying.”

He smirked. “You’ll never know.”

“And if I sneak into your bathroom later?”

He stuck his tongue in his cheek, then smirked before saying, “I guess I'll see you there, then. I take really long showers at night, you see.”

You blinked rapidly, surprised at the sudden turn of the conversation. Clearing your throat, you put the bottle back and turned away. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”

The days that followed were more eventful than the previous ones. You still helped Gram around the guesthouse, still found time to sit outside with her in the afternoons, listening to the occasional stories she decided to share. But now, there was something different about your days—Jeonghan.

He wasn’t just around anymore. He was in your space, in your routine, slipping into your life as if he had always been there. Like how he took it upon himself to be your unofficial tour guide, showing up outside the guesthouse just as you were about to head out.

“Where are you going?” he’d ask.

“I’m not sure, but I’m going around town again today,” you’d say, tossing your bag over your shoulder.

His eyes would glint with amusement. “You’ll get lost.”

“No, I won’t.”

But you always did. Turning one too many corners in the winding streets, ending up somewhere you hadn’t planned. And somehow, Jeonghan was always there, lounging by a store or leaning against a wall like he’d been waiting for you the whole time.

“You have a terrible sense of direction,” he’d say, grinning.

“And you have too much free time,” you’d shoot back, but you never minded when he fell into step beside you.

He took you everywhere. To the best lookout point in town, where the cliffs met the endless blue of the sea. To the hills, where wildflowers bloomed in untamed clusters, swaying lazily under the afternoon sun. To the pear farm, where you met Gram’s friends—hardworking women who took one look at you and started teasing.

“She’s the one staying at the guesthouse?” one of them asked Jeonghan, squinting at you. “You’re showing her around, aren’t you?”

“Something like that,” Jeonghan replied, glancing your way with a smirk.

“Ah, what a handsome pair,” the woman sighed dramatically. “You look great together. You’d make the most beautiful babies.”

You choked on your own breath while Jeonghan just laughed, handing you a pear like nothing happened.

There was also the day he dragged you onto a boat. It wasn’t planned. You had only gone to the dock to look around, but Jeonghan had other ideas.

“Ever been boating?” he asked.

You eyed him warily. “No.”

“Great.” That was your only warning before he pulled you toward a small boat, casually untying it from the dock.

“Wait—what if I get seasick?” you protested.

“You won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“We’ll find out when we get there,” he chuckled, offering a hand to help you board the boat.

You hesitated, but you took his hand anyway. He had never done anything to disappoint you so far, so you trusted him. And despite your initial wariness, you had to admit—it was nice. The air was crisp, the water was calm, the reefs below were beautiful, and the silence between you was comforting.

At one point, Jeonghan leaned back against the edge, stretching his arms. “You like it here, don’t you?”

You glanced at him. “I do.”

He smirked. “I’d bet fifty bucks you never leave.”

You scoffed. “Never leaving is a stretch. Maybe I’d never want to, but I will anyway because I have to.”

Jeonghan flashed a mischievous smile as if you had just challenged him. “A hundred, then. You will never want to leave, and you never will.”

You rolled your eyes. “Now you’re making me want to leave just so I can take your money.”

“Are you gonna play or not?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I don’t need it.”

Jeonghan sighed nonchalantly. “Fine. But I know I’m right.”

You weren’t sure when it happened, but somewhere between stolen pears and getting lost in town, between late afternoon coffees and spontaneous boat rides, you had started to enjoy his company. And maybe he had started to enjoy yours, too.

That afternoon, as you and Jeonghan strolled back home, he glanced at you and asked, “You free tonight?”

You arched a brow. “Why?”

“It’s Joon’s birthday,” he said. “He’s having a small party at the café. Just us and some friends. He invited you too.”

You hesitated. “He did?”

Jeonghan smirked. “He mentioned it the other day. You probably forgot.”

You did remember Joon casually saying something about it, but you hadn’t thought much of it at the time. A small celebration at the café didn’t sound bad, and truthfully, you weren’t opposed to seeing other people your age, too. Most of the people you’d seen around were old enough to be your grandparents.

“Alright,” you said. “I’ll come.”

“Good. We can go together.”

Later that evening, you followed Jeonghan to the café, which was livelier than usual. Warm lights glowed from the ceilings, the scent of coffee still permeating the air though none of it was being served now. All you could see on the table were bottles of soju and beer, spicy and fried food, and a cake sitting at the center.

The small space had been rearranged to fit a gathering, with a handful of tables pushed together. A few people were already there, chatting, laughing, clinking glasses. Most of them seemed around your age, and it didn’t take long to notice that many of them were couples.

“Jeonghannie hyung!” Joon’s voice rang out the moment you stepped inside. He grinned, wiping his hands on a towel before pulling him into a quick hug. Then he turned to you. “And look who actually came. Finally.”

You scoffed. “Happy birthday, Joon. And I do go outside, you know.”

“Only because Jeonghan drags you everywhere,” he teased, earning a snicker from Jeonghan himself. “Come in. Let me introduce you.”

You met a few of Jeonghan’s friends. You barely remembered their names, but it didn’t take long to notice that most of them had grown up together—and many had ended up marrying each other. Seola was also there, curled up beside a guy, her arm draped lazily over his.

“You made it,” she said, smiling when she saw you.

“I did.” You nodded toward the guy beside her. “Boyfriend?”

She nodded. “I’m glad you came,” she said. “Joon said he invited you, but I wasn’t sure if you’d actually show.”

You shrugged. “Figured I should experience the town’s nightlife at least once.”

Seola laughed. “This is about as lively as it gets.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “So, you and Jeonghan, huh?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not this again.”

“What? You don’t like him?”

“He’s fine, but he annoys me a lot.”

She laughed. “That’s how you know he likes you.”

Before you could protest, Joon clapped his hands together. “Alright, drinks are on me tonight. Eat, drink, have fun!”

“Happy birthday, Joon!”

The evening unraveled in a blur. There was food, laughter, and lots of conversation. At some point, someone turned on music, and people started to sway along. Jeonghan stuck to your side for most of the night, occasionally teasing you, occasionally offering you bites of his cake as if you didn’t have your own. You didn’t realize how late it had gotten until a few guests started nodding off in their seats, the conversations had grown louder, and the laughter became more unrestrained over the clinking of bottles and half-finished drinks.

Joon was already passed out on the table by the time you and Jeonghan decided to leave. His friends—still rowdy despite the late hour—bid you both a noisy farewell, slurring words and waving exaggeratedly as they walked you out the café doors.

The night air greeted you like a sigh of relief, cool against your warmed skin. You stretched your arms above your head, exhaling contentedly. “It’s nice out.”

Jeonghan hummed in agreement, stuffing his hands into his pockets as the two of you strolled down the quiet village road. “Yeah. I should thank you for coming tonight. Because of you, I wasn’t assigned to take care of Joon. He gets drunk so quickly and I have to clean up after him most of the time.”

You laughed, tilting your head toward him. “You’re welcome? I guess? I thought he could hold his liquor because he kept insisting he could outdrink everyone.”

“Well, he’s also the best liar among all of my friends too, so…” he replied, making you chuckle. The alcohol had settled pleasantly in your system, making it easy to laugh at whatever nonsense he spewed.

“You held your liquor pretty well,” he remarked, side-eyeing you with a smirk.

You grinned. “I have a high tolerance.”

“Almost as high as mine.”

“Almost?” You scoffed. “I was drinking at your pace all night, and I’m still standing. Do you see me stumbling into ditches or tripping over my own feet?”

Jeonghan smirked, challenging. “Well, not yet.”

You gasped, feigning offence. Eager to prove him wrong, you stepped ahead, turning to walk backward easily. Arms spread wide, you gave him a smug grin. “Look at that. Not tripping.”

That made him laugh and shake his head fondly as he beckoned you back to his side. “Alright, fine. You can walk.”

“I’m not even drunk at all,” you said, falling into step beside him.

“Yeah? How’s your balance?” he asked just before bumping his shoulder into yours, playful, teasing.

You almost tripped over yourself, but regained your balance in time. Scoffing, you nudged him back. He nudged harder, almost making you lose your footing again. Huffing, you shoved him, but he didn’t budge. Before you could react, Jeonghan caught you by the shoulders, pulling you flush against him. 

The sudden closeness sent a jolt through you—not from surprise, but from the unmistakable heat of his body against yours.

And you didn’t pull away.

Maybe it was the alcohol making you more uninhibited, or maybe you simply wanted this too. You weren’t sure, but you didn’t want to think about it too much.

Neither of you spoke,as you both continued walking. His hands remained firm on your shoulders, like it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. And you basked in the warmth of it, not even noticing that you were gradually leaning closer against him.

But then a sharp bark split through the silence, making you flinch and pull away from him. A dog stood behind a fence nearby, watching you both with wary eyes, still growling slightly. You held your breath, staring back at it. Then it barked once more, and you squealed.

“Run,” said Jeonghan, but you were already bolting.

The two of you raced through the empty streets, feet pounding against the road, breathless laughter echoing into the night. He nearly overtook you, but you darted ahead at the last second, reaching the guesthouse gate just before he did.

Panting, you turned to gloat—only to freeze when you realized how close he had stopped. Face-to-face, no, face-to-chest with Jeonghan, who was also catching his breath. You stood there, chest rising and falling, staring at each other in the dim glow of the streetlamp. 

He looked ethereal under the yellow light, his hair slightly tousled from the wind, his lips parted as he exhaled. There was something almost dreamlike about the way he gazed at you, his eyes dark and unreadable, as if he were seeing something in you he hadn’t before.

The cool night air did nothing to ease the heat creeping up your skin. You were still drunk, or maybe just lightheaded from the run, but it was hard to focus on anything except how close he was—how easily he could reach for you if he wanted to.

“You’re staring,” he murmured.

Maybe you were. But you were also a little drunk. And he was very, very handsome.

So you said it. “You’re so handsome.”

This wasn’t the first time you’d told him that, but this time, he didn’t laugh like he usually did. Instead, he stared at you with a soft expression on his face. Then, slowly, his eyes dipped lower, stopping on your lips. You did the same, your eyes landing on his plump lips, so pretty, so inviting.

For the first time, the thought crossed your mind.

What would it feel like to kiss him?

Would he be slow about it, teasing? Would he pull you in lazily, like it wasn’t anything special? Or would it be something else—something that would leave you breathless and light-headed?

“We should get inside,” he said, eyes still fixed on your lips.

You nodded. But neither of you moved. He didn’t touch you, but you felt it anyway—the intensity of his gaze, the way he stared at your lips.

Would he kiss you if you leaned in first? The thought was dangerous. But you couldn’t help it, not when he looked at you like that, like he was thinking the same thing.

Jeonghan exhaled deeply, like he had just come to a decision. He took a slow step toward you to close the distance and your entire body awoke with anticipation. Just as he was about to reach for your face, the gate rattled loudly.

Both of you jumped as it swung open, revealing a very awake, very confused Gram. “What are you two doing standing there?” she asked, peering at you both suspiciously.

Jeonghan, ever the smooth talker, recovered first. “We were just about to go inside, Gram.”

Gram squinted at him before clicking her tongue. “If you’re gonna flirt with our guest, at least do it inside where it’s warm.”

Your face heated instantly. “We weren’t—”

“Mm-hmm,” she cut you off, unimpressed. “Come on in, it’s late.”

She turned, leaving the gate open for you to follow. You swallowed, glancing back at Jeonghan who was watching you with a knowing glint in his eyes. Then, with a slight smirk, he gestured toward the door.

“After you,” he murmured.

You weren’t entirely sure what had just happened between you. But you had a feeling it wasn’t nothing.

You had barely finished setting down Gram’s breakfast tray when she sighed and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “I swear, I feel fine,” she insisted, but the slight rasp in her voice and the warm touch of her skin told a different story.

“Gram, you have a fever.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “A slight fever never kills anyone.”

“Should I take you to a clinic?” you asked, but she shook her head.

“No need. I just need some rest,” she said, patting your hand. At that moment, Gram’s friends arrived with hearty chatter and warm smiles.

“How are you feeling?” one of them asked, squinting at Gram sprawled on the couch.

“I’m fine, but I’m worried about Hannie. He’s at the farm handling the inventory today, but it’s too much for one person,” Gram said, sighing almost too dramatically.

“Oh no, the poor boy,” said another who turned to you with a suspicious grin on her lips. “You should go help him.”

Another grandma agreed. “Oh, my. Yes, dear. You should.”

You hesitated. “I don’t wanna leave Gram alone—”

“She won’t be alone. We’re here,” said another, already nudging you out of the way.

“Go on, dear. Fret not.  We’ll take care of her. We’ll make her soup.”

“She’ll be fine. You think we don’t know how to take care of one of our own?”

You hesitated, looking back at Gram, but she only chuckled weakly. “Go on. You’ll be more useful there than fussing over me.”

So you went. Jeonghan looked genuinely surprised when you arrived at the farm. He was sitting on a crate with a clipboard in one hand and a pen on the other. He took one look at you and cocked his head.

“Hi. What are you doing here? How’s Gram?”

“She’s fine her friends came over. She sent me here to help,” you said, brushing past him. “Said you had too much to do alone.”

Jeonghan snorted. “Did she now?” He leaned back, arms crossed. “Was it her or the other women?”

You frowned. “Um, all of them? Why does it matter?”

He smirked. “You’ve been tricked.”

“Tricked?”

“They’ve been trying to marry me off for years. This is exactly the kind of thing they’d do. Trick a poor, unsuspecting woman into spending time alone with me."

“Excuse me?” You blinked, thrown off. “And you just… let them?”

“They mean well. Just desperate to see me settled. Been at it for about four years now. And there’s not much I can do.” He shrugged, tapping the pen against the clipboard. “Besides, it doesn’t happen often. There aren’t that many women around my age who are still single. So when someone new shows up, they start getting ideas. Poor Seola kept getting baited on her first week here.”

That sent a rush of heat up your neck. You looked away, pretending to inspect the baskets of pears stacked nearby. “Well, sorry to disappoint them, but I’m only here to help.”

“Right,” he said, his voice laced with something teasing. “Strictly business.”

You nodded, clearing your throat. “Strictly business.”

“You’re not here thinking about how you almost kissed me a few nights ago.”

“Excuse me?” you gasped, indignant. You pointed a finger at him. “You almost kissed—” then pointed the finger at your chest— “me. Get your facts straight!”

Jeonghan chuckled but didn’t push it further. Instead, he handed you a clipboard and gestured toward the stacks of wooden crates. “If you insist on helping, you can double-check these counts while I finish up the rest.”

You huffed but took the clipboard anyway, moving toward the crates while he returned to his own work. The quiet stretched between you—not uncomfortable, but filled with a hyper-awareness that had been there for days now, ever since that one drunken moment outside the guest house.

You focused on counting and scribbling notes, but every so often, you caught glimpses of Jeonghan moving nearby. He worked with efficiency, sleeves rolled up, hands deftly sorting through the inventory. The sunlight filtering through the trees left patterns over his skin, making him look almost too picturesque for a man just organizing pears.

At one point, you were so absorbed in pretending not to be aware of him that you lost your footing, nearly stumbling over a crate. Jeonghan glanced up from where he was standing, just as you had steadied yourself.

“Careful,” he said, smirking. “Wouldn’t want Gram’s ‘strictly business’ helper to break something.”

You shot him a glare. “I tripped over a crate. Nothing to break here.”

He smirked. “Still, I’d be devastated if you got hurt on my watch. What would the old ladies say? Probably accuse me of mistreating my future wife.”

You groaned. “Can you not bringing that up?”

“Why? Does it bother you?”

Yes. Maybe. A little. You weren’t sure. But instead of answering, you tossed a pear at him. He caught it effortlessly, turning it over in his hand.

“You’re very defensive,” he mused, biting into the pear.

“And you’re very annoying,” you shot back, before returning to your clipboard.

The work continued. He teased you every  now and then and you’d retort but mostly tried to drown him out. By the time you finished your part of the task, you felt the kind of exhaustion that wasn’t just physical.

Jeonghan stretched, rolling out his shoulders. “I think that’s good for today.”

“Great,” you said, setting down your clipboard. “Then I’ll—”

Before you could finish, rain started falling. It was so sudden that you both stood there for a second, blinking up at the sky as the cool droplets hit your skin. Soon, you realized it wasn’t stopping, and Jeonghan nudged your arm.

“Run to the warehouse,” he said, pointing to the warehouse which looked so far away. “Go,” he repeated, and you started running.

You reached it in no time, but not without getting soaked. Inside, the space was dry, the scent of cardboard boxes and ripened pears filling the air. You wrapped your arms around yourself, shaking off the water clinging to your skin. Jeonghan leaned against the doorway, watching the rain with furrowed brows.

He glanced at you a few moments later. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied, rubbing your arms. “The weather was so nice today. I didn’t think it would rain.”

“Well, the weather likes to be unpredictable sometimes,” he said, gaze drifting over you before he reached for something on a nearby shelf—a folded blanket. He tossed it over your shoulders without a word.

You blinked. “Where did that come from?”

“Emergency stash,” he said simply. “Most of the workers here are old women. They prepare for anything and everything.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, pulling it tighter around yourself.

Jeonghan just hummed, still watching the rain. And for a while, neither of you spoke. The world outside was misty and gray, but in here, it was warm and quiet. The warehouse was fairly large, but the space between you felt small. And it may be because the place was packed with endless crates of pears and shelves of pear products.

You weren’t sure how long you stood like that before he turned toward you fully, head tilting slightly as he studied you.

“You really don’t mind being here, do you?” he mused.

You frowned. “Well, I didn’t but if I had known it would rain, I wouldn’t have come up here at all.”

He chuckled. “No, I meant in this town. At the guesthouse. Helping out on some pear farm.”

You thought about it, about the slow mornings, the sense of peace you’d been trying to chase, the way you’d felt so much more at ease these days.

“I don’t mind,” you admitted, leaning back against the wall. “It’s… nice. No deadlines to chase. No stuck-up superiors breathing down my neck. No endless stack of workload to bury my face in.” You sighed in relief, smiling absentmindedly. “It’s really nice.”

“What happened?” he asked, joining you in your corner. “Back in the city?”

“It’s nothing,” you shrugged. “I’m just taking a break from corporate life.”

“I see,” he replied, unconvinced but knew better than press for answers you weren’t ready to share.

The rain was coming down harder now, drumming against the roof of the warehouse and soaking the ground outside. You could hear the soft trickle of water running off the edges of the roof, pooling into the dirt. The crates of pears sat forgotten outside, and you wondered if they’d be fine, though seeing Jeonghan not worrying about it made you assume they would be.

You noticed how Jeonghan shivered slightly, damp clothes clinging to his skin. “Cold?” you asked.

He shook his head, but you could tell he was lying. You scooted closer to him and draped the blanket over his shoulder, too. It was then that you realized that it was a small blanket, just enough to wrap around you but too small for the two of you.

Jeonghan chuckled. “Thanks, but I don’t think this is helping.”

“Right?” you replied, chuckling.

He shifted slightly, lifting one arm and draping it over your shoulder. You hesitated at first, but you let him pull you closer, letting the warmth of his body seep into yours. He rubbed your arm with his hand, squeezing gently in an attempt to fight the cold against your skin. It worked, though not well enough.

���How long do you think this rain will last?” you asked, slowly leaning against his chest.

Jeonghan hummed, and you felt his chest vibrate. “Not too long, I think. An hour at most. Maybe half.”

“My car is just below the hill. I should have driven it all the way up here,” you sighed, closing your eyes.

“You didn’t know this would happen,” he said, rubbing your shoulder. “Did you see my pickup down there? I didn’t drive up, too.”

You chuckled, pulling away to look at him. You were gonna say something, but the way he was looking at you made you hold your breath.

His gaze was steady, searching, as if something was fascinating about your face. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything. He just looked, and something about it sent a slow, burning heat in your chest. Your gaze drifted lower. His lips were slightly parted, and you knew—just as you had known that night outside the guesthouse—that this was going to happen.

You weren’t sure who moved first. One moment, there was space between you; the next, Jeonghan was leaning in, and your fingers had curled against the fabric of his shirt. His lips met yours. A slow, quick peck. Barely a kiss at all—just a taste. But then you exhaled, and he was kissing you again, properly this time.

Soft and lingering like he was savoring the moment, like he had thought about it and now that it was happening, he didn’t want to rush. His lips were warm, even with the cold outside. You responded without thinking, tilting your head, pressing closer. Your fingers tightened in his shirt. He hummed against your lips, low and pleased, his other hand finding the small of your back and pressing you closer. The blanket slipped from your shoulders, but you barely noticed.

Jeonghan angled his head, his hand sliding up to your jaw, thumb stroking just under your ear. His tongue brushed against yours, coaxing you into parting for him. A quiet sound escaped you, something between a sigh and a gasp, and that was all it took for him to press you back against wall, his body flush against yours.

The heat between you burned hotter than the cold rain. His hands roamed, brushing over the curve of your hips, slipping under the hem of your shirt to find the warmth of your skin. You gasped against his mouth at the sensation, fingers tightening in his shirt.

He took that as encouragement. His lips left yours only to trail lower, to your jaw, and down to your neck. You shivered—not from the cold, but from the way he touched you. Your own hands moved, pushing beneath his damp shirt, palms pressing against his stomach. He let out a quiet, surprised laugh before he kissed you again, deeper, hungrier.

The rain outside blurred into nothing. It was just him. His lips, his hands, the heat of him against you. But then, he stopped, pulling away just enough to look at you. His fingers flexed against your waist, as if holding himself back. 

He pressed his forehead against yours, exhaling sharply as he asked, “Is this okay?”

The words sent a jolt through you, cutting through the haze of heat and desire clouding your thoughts. Your pulse pounded in your ears, and for the first time since kissing him, you could hear the rain again—the steady downpour, the distant rumble of thunder.

Reality came crashing in, making you pull back slightly with a shaky breath. Your hands gripping his shirt loosened. His gaze searched yours, unreadable but patient. He was waiting.

“I…” You swallowed, looking away. “We shouldn’t.”

There was a second of silence, Jeonghan’s hand leaving your waist and reaching up to tuck stray strands of hair behind your ear. Then he planted a soft kiss on your forehead and said, “Okay.”

You weren’t sure if the cold you felt now was from the rain or from something else entirely. But it was gone as soon as he pulled you into a hug.

“But we can do this, right?”

You chuckled lightly, closing your eyes and basking in his warmth. “Yeah,” you replied, wrapping your arms around him too. “Yeah, we can.”

You tossed and turned all night, replaying every moment at the warehouse. The way his lips felt against yours, the way he touched you with veneration, the addicting heat that had consumed you. All of it.

It was just the heat of the moment, you told yourself. Just a fleeting lapse of judgment, nothing more. But the longer you lay there, the more you realized you were lying.

You wanted it. You liked it. And you liked Jeonghan.

It wasn’t just your imagination. You didn’t imagine the way your heart raced when he kissed you. You didn’t imagine the sparks of pleasure dancing on your skin when he touched you. You didn’t imagine the way you melted in his arms when he held you close until the rain stopped.

You were still trying to come to terms with it when you heard faint voices outside. Curious, you pushed yourself up and peered through the window.

Outside, it was the early hours of dawn. In the dim dawn light, Jeonghan stood with Gram by the shed, lifting the lids off large clay crocks. Even though you couldn’t hear them, it wasn’t hard to guess what they were doing—Gram was transferring kimchi into a large container, with Jeonghan helping her.

As if sensing your gaze, he suddenly glanced up and caught you watching. You froze when his gaze met yours. But Jeonghan just smiled and raised a hand in a lazy wave, which you returned sheepishly.

Then he sent kisses your way, gestured that it was still too early, and mouthed that you should go back to sleep. Clearly, he had no idea you hadn’t slept a wink yet.

You huffed but nodded anyway, and just as you pulled back from the window, you heard Gram say something. Jeonghan turned to her, his head tilting in mock innocence, and you could imagine her scolding him for slacking off. Smiling to yourself, you shut your window and crawled back into bed.

As expected, you woke up late the next morning. It was almost noon, but it was the weekend, so you knew Jeonghan and Gram would be home all day. But he was nowhere to be seen.

Gram told you over lunch that he had gone to the city to visit his parents. You only nodded in response, pretending it didn’t affect you. But as the day stretched on, you found yourself missing him.

Which was stupid.

He was just a guy—a good-looking guy, yes, but that didn’t mean anything. Good-looking guys had a way of making you think you liked them when you really didn’t. Besides, liking Jeonghan wasn’t part of the plan. You had come here for peace and quiet—to breathe and to heal, not to get swept up in whatever this was.

So you spent the day distracting yourself—helping Gram in the kitchen, reading in the shade, taking a walk along the shore. Anything to push thoughts of him away. The more you did, the more you convinced yourself that you didn’t like him that much.

You weren’t that attached to him. You didn’t care that he wasn’t around, didn’t notice the way the day felt quieter without him. You weren’t thinking about the way he always leaned too close when he talked or how he made even the dullest moments entertaining.

Would he be back today? Tomorrow? Would he have texted you if you had exchanged numbers?

Stop it. This wasn’t you. You didn’t get flustered over a guy. You didn’t sit around waiting like some lovesick idiot. You were better than this.

You were fine. Your thoughts kept circling back to him, but you were fine. You just needed to reset. Get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, you’d be back to normal.

So you sat outside on the porch after dinner, telling yourself you weren’t waiting for him. You were just enjoying the evening air after a hearty meal. You weren’t glancing at the road every few minutes. You weren’t hoping he’d arrive before you ran out of reasons to stay outside.

Then, as if answering an unspoken wish, Jeonghan’s pickup came rolling into view, kicking up dust along the quiet road. The second you saw it, the day seemed brighter, and your heart felt lighter, warmer.

Oh. 

So this was it. This was what it felt like to really like someone.

Jeonghan parked his truck and hopped out, already smiling from ear to ear as he walked over to where you were sitting on the porch. “Waiting for me?” he asked, opening his arms as if he was waiting for you to jump into them.

You scoffed, crossing your arms defensively. “No. I’m just getting some air.”

Jeonghan raised his brows. “You could’ve just lied and said you were. You’re hurting my feelings here.”

“I— what?”

He sighed, pouting. “I’m hurt because you’d been on my mind all day, and I couldn’t wait to come home and see you again.”

You blinked, suddenly feeling too warm despite the cool night air. The way he said it so smoothly, so easily, like it was just a simple fact, left you scrambling for a response. But nothing came.

Neither of you spoke.

Instead, you just stood there, staring at each other in the warm porch light. He didn’t even try to laugh it off or take it back so your heart thudded a little harder, unsure what to make of this.

Then, the front door creaked open, and Gram stepped out. “Hannie, you’re back so soon,” she greeted, eyeing him up and down. “Have you had dinner yet?”

“I did,” he answered, stepping back slightly. “I picked up something to eat on my way here.”

Gram huffed. “You should get some rest, then. You must be tired. Why didn’t you just spend the night at your parents’ house? Driving back and forth like that—” She gave him a knowing look, voice lilting with mischief. “It almost seems like you were excited to come home for some reason.”

You caught the implication immediately. Jeonghan did too, if the way he smirked was any indication.

“You’re right, Gram,” he said without missing a beat. Then, with a glance at you, he added, “Actually, I was wondering if I could take the reason out for a stroll.”

Gram barely spared him a glance as she waved a hand dismissively. “Do whatever you want.” She turned back toward the house, muttering, “Young people these days. So forward. Too liberated.”

And just like that, she was gone. You, however, were still standing there, completely dumbfounded.

You turned to Jeonghan, who was watching you with an all-too-pleased expression. He tilted his head toward the road.

“So? You coming?”

You walked in silence for the first few minutes. You were expecting Jeonghan to start the conversation because, obviously, he should be the one making conversation. There were plenty of things he could start with, like clarifying what he meant when he implied that you were the reason he chose to come home right away despite the long drive.

“Don’t you have anything to say to me?” he finally asked, leaning down slightly to peek at your face.

You turned away. “No. What would I even say to you?”

Jeonghan straightened up, huffing. “I practically spelled it out for you, and you have nothing to say?”

You stopped in your tracks, exhaling sharply as you ran a hand over your nape. “Okay, what the hell is this? How about communicating clearly and more openly like grown adults  instead of whatever this is?”

Jeonghan turned fully to face you. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was light when he said, “I like you.”

For a second, your mind went completely blank. You opened your mouth, then closed it, then let out a breath. “Are you sure?”

His brows furrowed. “What kind of question is that?”

“I mean—” You gestured vaguely. “It’s not just because of yesterday? Maybe it’s a momentary lapse of judgment. We kissed, and there was…” You hesitated to say it. “...a moment, and now you think you like me because of it.”

Jeonghan tilted his head, then asked, “Are you drunk?”

“No.” You shot him a look. “Jeonghan, I’m serious.”

He chuckled, but when he spoke again, he was serious. “No, it’s not just because of yesterday. I don’t pull something like that on just anyone. I’ve liked you for a while now.”

“Why?”

He grimaced, like he couldn’t believe you had to ask. “What do you mean why? Because I do. You’re pretty and nice. You’re smart. You’re good with kids, good with elders.” His voice was steady, without hesitation. “I’m not in love with you or anything. Not yet, at least. I just think you’re… amazing. And honestly, I wasn’t planning to act on it.”

You frowned. “Then why are you?”

“Because,” he said, watching you closely, “I think you like me too.”

Your pulse quickened. “No, I don’t,” you lied, shamelessly.

Jeonghan’s was menacingly confident. “Yes, you do.”

You rolled your eyes and walked ahead, heading straight for the beach. He followed closely behind, undeterred. “Come on, I’m being honest here.”

“Well, what do you want me to do about that?” you asked, not even glancing back.

“Nothing. Just—” He caught up to you and slipped his hand into yours. “At least tell me you heard what I said.”

“I did.”

“So? What do you think?”

You sighed, pulling your hand back. “I haven’t thought about it yet.”

And truly, you hadn’t. You liked him too, yes. But what to do about it? You hadn’t thought that far ahead. Did you want a relationship with him? Were you going to act on your feelings or pretend none of this ever happened? You haven’t decided yet.

That didn’t seem to discourage him, though. If anything, his smile turned triumphant. “So you’re gonna think about it?”

“Even if I do, there’s no guarantee that—”

“It’s alright,” he cut you off, grinning. “I know I can change your mind.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re making me want to reject you just to spite you.”

Jeonghan laughed, his head tipping back as he did. “You can try, but you wouldn’t want to.”

That made you laugh, too, though you weren’t sure if it was because it was funny or because he was right. Either way, it didn’t matter. You shook your head, exhaling sharply. “You’re really confident, huh?”

Jeonghan shrugged. “It’s not confidence. I just know I’m right.”

You scoffed, lightly kicking sand at him. He dodged with a laugh, but you caught the way he was still looking at you—like he already knew what you’d decide.

You weren’t sure exactly when Jeonghan decided to start his little mission, but once he did, it became impossible to ignore. Maybe it was when he started showing up more often, always finding excuses to be around you. Maybe it was when he started helping you without being asked—fixing the latch on your door when it got stuck, carrying things before you could, slipping you an extra slice of fruit without a word.

Or maybe it was when he stopped being subtle about it.

“You’re really going all out with this, aren’t you?” you asked him one afternoon when he took the heavy bag of groceries from your hands. One moment, you were struggling with the weight, and the next, he was lifting it effortlessly—like he’d been waiting for the chance.

“This isn’t even half of it.” He flashed you a smile. “Date me for real, and I’ll show you what all-out really means.”

At first, it was playful, something you could brush off. Jeonghan was naturally charming; he knew exactly what to say and how to say it to fluster you.

“If you keep staring at me like that, I might get the wrong idea,” he’d tease whenever you so much as glanced his way.

But then there were moments when the teasing fell away, leaving something else in its place.

One evening, after a long day, you sat on the porch, stretching your legs and watching the sky change from gold to deep blue. Jeonghan appeared beside you, holding two cups of tea. He handed you one without a word, then sat down beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed.

You took a sip, the warmth spreading through you. “Did you make this?”

“I did,” he said, propping himself on his hands. “Gram told me you liked this kind.”

You turned to look at him, but he was already watching you. The usual mischief in his eyes had softened into something else. You looked away first.

But if his actions weren’t enough, he made sure everyone else knew he liked you, too.

It wasn’t over the top—no grand declarations or dramatic gestures. Jeonghan was smoother than that. He let people assume what they wanted and simply confirmed it with a smile. He wove it so naturally into conversations that it left no room for argument.

“You’re a good boy, Jeonghan,” a man at the market told him one day. “I should introduce you to my niece. She’s a lovely girl—smart, well-mannered—”

Jeonghan barely let him finish before shaking his head. “Ah, that won’t be necessary,” he said, glancing at you. “I already have someone I like.”

The man’s gaze flickered between you both before he let out a knowing laugh. “Oh, I see. You two make a nice couple.”

Before you could open your mouth to correct him, Jeonghan sighed dramatically. “I know, right? But she’s making me work for it.”

“Well, keep at it then.”

You groaned, moving to another stall before he could make it worse. But it didn’t stop there. As you browsed through vegetables, another vendor—a woman in her forties—raised an eyebrow at you. “You two seem close,” she said knowingly. “Are you finally together?”

Jeonghan sighed again, this time heavier, as if burdened. “Not yet. She’s making me suffer.”

You turned to glare at him. “Oh my god, stop saying that.”

The vendor laughed. “Smart girl. Make him work for it, dear.”

You let out an embarrassed chuckle. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

At the market, the vendors chuckled and nodded approvingly when he sighed about how hard he was working to win you over. At the café, the barista raised an eyebrow when Jeonghan ordered your drink before you could even say it.

“He’s already ordering for you,” she mused, sliding the cup across the counter. “Boyfriend privileges?”

Jeonghan took the cup and handed it to you without missing a beat. “Not yet, but I’m working on it.”

You swatted his arm. “Why do you keep telling everyone that?”

“What? It’s true.” He looked at the barista. “She is making me work for it.”

The barista laughed. “Sounds like you’ve got a good shot.”

“Exactly.” He flashed her a grin before steering you toward a table.

Then there were the aunties. The older women in town had a habit of doting on Jeonghan whenever they saw him, always fussing over how handsome he was, how polite. And, naturally, they always tried to set him up with their nieces or granddaughters.

“You’re not seeing anyone, right, Hannie?” one of them asked one afternoon as you both helped carry groceries to her house.

“No, but I’m trying,” Jeonghan replied.

The auntie’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Well, dear, you should consider it. He’s a catch.”

Jeonghan turned to you, smirking. “Hear that? I’m a catch.”

You rolled your eyes and walked off, pretending not to hear the rest of their conversation.

But despite all his teasing, despite how easy he made it seem, you could tell he meant it. The way he always lingered close, the way he took things from your hands without asking so you wouldn’t have to carry them, the way he looked at you—warm, steady, reassuring. He wasn’t playing around.

Soon, three months had passed and the town’s founding anniversary festival came. The celebration took place at the townhall by the beach, with tables stretched across the clearing. The scent of grilled fish and food blended with the salty breeze, and children ran barefoot across the sand, shrieking as they chased each other. It was the kind of gathering that felt timeless, a tradition that was part of the town itself.

You watched from the shade of a large tree, with a cup of cold barley tea in your hands. The scene before you was lively, familiar now, yet something inside you was restless.

Jeonghan was at the center of it all.

You weren’t sure when you lost track of him, but now, across the clearing, you spotted him with a group of aunties fussing over him. One of them reached up to pinch his cheek, scolding him for not eating enough, and he only laughed, throwing an arm around her shoulder and promising to come by for dinner next week. Not far from them, a group of kids tugged at his sleeves, demanding that he join their game. He let them drag him off with a grin, playfully ruffling a boy’s hair as they ran.

He was so at home here. And a strange feeling twisted in your chest as you took it all in—the way people naturally gravitated toward him, the way he moved through the crowd like he belonged, because he did. He had a place here, something his, something permanent.

And you… you were just passing through. A guest in their steady everyday life.

Strong breeze rustled the trees overhead, and you exhaled, as if trying to shake the thoughts away. It shouldn’t matter. You knew from the start that this was temporary, that eventually, you’d have to leave. Which was why the idea of starting something with him felt so selfish.

Across the clearing, Jeonghan’s gaze caught yours and the smile that tore across his lips made your heart melt. You smiled back as he chased the kids away and started jogging toward you.

“Why do you look like that?” he asked as soon as he was sat next to you.

You blinked. “Like what?”

He carefully grabbed the cup from your hand and took a sip. “Like you’re about to cry.”

You huffed, smiling sheepishly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jeonghan crouched beside you, resting his forearms on his knees, watching you carefully. “You’re thinking too hard about something,” he said. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing.” You looked away, but he reached out, gently tucking your hair behind your ear.

“You’re a bad liar.”

You sighed. “It’s just… it’s really nice here,” you admitted, gesturing toward the gathering. “You’re really part of this town, aren’t you?”

Jeonghan tilted his head. “Of course. I grew up here.”

“Exactly.” You let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. “You belong here, Jeonghan. This is your home. And I’m just a guest.”

He studied you for a second, then said, “Is that what this is about?”

You shook your head, but it was unconvincing, even to yourself. Jeonghan exhaled, then reached up, lightly flicking your forehead. 

You winced. “Ow—what was that for?”

“For being stupid.” He rested his chin on his hand. “You think just because I’ve lived here longer, that means I belong here more than you?”

“You do, though,” you muttered.

“Maybe.” His gaze softened. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came. Because wasn’t that the problem? No matter how much you loved this town, it wasn’t yours. And if you started something with him, would it really be fair, knowing you’d have to leave eventually?

Jeonghan must have sensed your hesitation because his lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “You’re thinking too much.”

“I can’t help it,” you chuckled.

“It’s okay.” He reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Just don’t talk yourself out of liking me.”

Shaking your head with a grin, you said, “I’ll try.”

“Good,” he replied, still holding your hand, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your skin.

You were staring at each other when someone called your name. “Enough with the eyes! Come help us with the lanterns,” one of the women called, waving you over to where a group of ladies sat beneath a pavilion.

Jeonghan rose to his feet, patting his knees as he said, “Go on, then.” 

But before you could pull away, he leaned in to press a quick peck to your cheek. Your skin burned as a chorus of delighted gasps and giggles erupted from the women.

“Oh my,” someone cooed.

You turned to glare at Jeonghan but he was already walking away with a satisfied grin. “I’ll see you later,” he said casually, hands in his pockets like he hadn’t just done that in broad daylight, in front of an entire audience.

You inhaled sharply, willing your face to cool before reluctantly stepping toward the pavilion. It didn’t help that all eyes were on you, their smirks making it painfully clear that you were about to be teased the moment you step under that shade.

“Oh, look at her,” one of them teased, nudging another. “Her face is all red.”

“About time, don’t you think?” another woman drawled, folding the paper carefully over the frame. “They’ve been at it for weeks now. It’s a wonder why they’re not dating yet.”

“You’re not?” asked one, turning to you with curious eyes.

You blinked, chuckling awkwardly as you sat down. “No. We’re not.” 

You glanced around at the lanterns in progress, carefully folded and held together with thin wooden frames. “So how does this work?” you asked, steering the conversation elsewhere.

“Ah, you’ve never done this before?” one of them asked, already making space in front of you. “Here. let me show you.”

“Flying lanterns are part of the festival. Every year, we make these, light them up at night and send them out to sea,” another explained, demonstrating how to fasten the frame together. “Most people make wishes on them before letting them go.”

You nodded, watching her hands. “That’s nice.”

“It is,” she agreed. “Some people write their wishes down, but most just send them off and let fate handle the rest.”

The conversation wandered after that. The women shared stories about past festivals, about childhood memories, about their work, their families. Some had left the town for a time but eventually returned. Others had never left at all and found both their purpose and their love in this small town.

“Isn’t it funny how life works?” one of them mused. “Some of us spend years wanting to leave, only to realize later that there’s nowhere else we’d rather be.”

A few nodded in agreement, their expressions wistful. You listened quietly, fingers tracing the smooth paper of your lantern. 

You never thought about staying, not once. This town had been an escape, a peaceful pause in your fast-paced life. But somehow, it kept drawing you in. You used to feel like a visitor passing through, but then there were mornings spent sipping tea with Gram, evenings watching the fishermen return with their catch, and nights when laughter—yours and Jeonghan’s—echoed through the town. Eventually, it got to a point where when you looked up, the sky was no longer unfamiliar. The people here weren’t strangers anymore.

And Jeonghan…

“You know,” another woman started, glancing at you with a knowing smile, “there’s a popular myth about these lanterns.”

That got your attention. “A myth?”

“It’s probably just that, a myth with no truth to it,” she said lightly, her hands expertly tying a knot, “but it’s been passed down longer than anyone can remember. They say that you can make wishes when you send out a lantern, but if you send one with your lover, it’s a wish to stay together forever.”

You smiled, finding it unsurprisingly typical but interesting nonetheless. “That’s… romantic.”

“That’s why couples always do it together,” another woman added, grinning. “It’s tradition.”

The first woman turned to you again. “Has Jeonghan asked you to send one with him yet?”

You blinked, caught off-guard by the question. Then again, you should have expected the conversation to take this turn. Before you could answer, another woman let out a laugh. “Of course he has! He wouldn’t miss the chance.”

You pressed your lips together, knowing there was no way out of this. If you admitted that Jeonghan hadn’t asked, they’d tease him mercilessly. If you denied everything outright, they wouldn’t believe you. So instead, you focused on your lantern, pretending to be engrossed in aligning the edges.

The women continued chatting around you, discussing the upcoming lantern release, while your thoughts drifted.

Jeonghan hadn’t asked you to send one with him. Would he?

And if he did… would you say yes?

You waited for him to ask. Maybe it was foolish, but as the day stretched into the night and festivalgoers started making their way to the beach with lanterns in hand, you kept expecting Jeonghan to turn to you and say something. An invitation, even a playful one—anything that would suggest he wanted to go together.

But he never did. And somehow, you still ended up going with him. Not that you were expecting to go with someone else.

There was a mini talent show by the beach, with townsfolk participating by singing or dancing. Jeonghan had simply taken your hand and led you away from the main stage, settling on a low stone wall far from the noise of the crowd. From where you sat, the music was still within reach but the space around you was quiet.

He left to get food and returned not too long after, making you raise an eyebrow. “That was quick.”

Jeonghan handed you a skewer with a smirk. “Don’t ask, just eat.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but you still took the food. You talked over the hearty food. He complained about how long the lines were, you accused him of cutting them. He neither confirmed nor denied it, only smiled in that way that said maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.

At some point, his gaze drifted to the lantern resting beside you.

“Did you make that?”

You hummed, nodding. “Where’s yours?”

He stretched his legs out, leaning back on his hands. “I don’t need one.”

You glanced at him. “Why not?” You instinctively pushed the lanter away from him. “You are not taking mine.” 

He frowned. “Are you saying you don’t want to send one together?”

You stared at him, heat creeping up your cheeks. “W–What are you talking about?”

Jeonghan smirked teasingly. “So you already know the myth?”

You blinked but didn’t say anything. He turned his head toward you. “You’re not gonna make me go light one alone, will you?”

You scoffed. “Is this how you’re gonna ask me to light one with you? Surely you can do better.”

“Asking is for people who don’t get what they want.”

You let out an incredulous laugh and rolled your eyes. “Have fun lighting one by yourself then.”

He hummed, seemingly satisfied. For a moment, the conversation paused, the music from a young girl singing a ballad echoing through the cool night air. The warm glow of festival lights flickered over Jeonghan’s features as he watched you eat quietly and watch the show.

Then, in a quieter voice, he said, “What would you wish for?”

That made you glance at him, looking away just as quickly when you saw the fond look in his eyes. You cleared your throat. “I don’t know. Peace, maybe.”

Jeonghan chuckled. “Like world peace? That’s so generic.”

“No. Peace in my own life,” you corrected, scoffing.

He hummed. “That’s not what most people wish for.”

“Yeah? What do most people wish for?”

He leaned back on his hands again, gazing toward the dark sea. “Love, money… fame?” He smirked. “A kiss under the fireworks.”

You chuckled. “That last one sounds oddly specific.”

“Does it?” His tone was light, but his eyes flickered back to you, holding yours for a second too long.

You looked away first, exhaling. “I think peace is a good wish.”

Jeonghan didn’t reply right away. “Is that why you left the city?” he asked eventually.

There it was, the question about your life and choices. Somehow, it didn’t feel as jarring as the previous times he tried to bring it up. Maybe because you wanted to tell him this time.

You pressed your lips together before answering. “I got fired for exposing a senior executive who sexually harassed one of my coworkers. Long story short, the company protected him and I got fired. I sued for wrongful termination but my own lawyer told me to back down, said the fight wasn’t worth it. They were too big and I was too small.”

Jeonghan’s expression hardened slightly. “So you gave up?”

“I didn’t at first,” you murmured. “But they made sure no one else would hire me. There spread rumors about me. That I leak information to rival companies. None of it was true, but in my field, something like leaking information is a big deal. It was enough to ruin me.”

Jeonghan didn’t say anything at first, but his jaw clenched. “That’s bullshit.”

You let out a breath of a laugh. “It was. But I had no choice so I took the settlement and left. I just… wanted to be somewhere far away. I needed a temporary escape.”

“Temporary?” he echoed.

You glanced at him, only to find him still watching you intently.

You hesitated, fingers curling around the wooden frame of the lantern. You thought about the town, about the people who had unknowingly made space for you in their world. About Jeonghan who had secured a place for himself in your heart. And about you who had slowly started to belong here.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I think I’m starting to change my mind.”

Jeonghan didn’t speak, just watched you, his gaze steady in the lantern-lit dark. Then he leaned in, slowly. You weren’t sure if you moved too, only that suddenly he was too close, his eyes flickering to your lips. His fingers brushed over yours on the cool concrete, squeezing as he continued leaning closer.

And just when your lips were about to meet, a loud boom echoed the air, and the sky erupted into colors.

You were startled, glancing at the sky as fireworks exploded in bursts of gold and red, reflecting in your eyes. Beside you, Jeonghan chuckled. “You wished for a kiss under the fireworks, didn’t you?”

You burst out laughing. “Shut up.”

He grinned, jumping down the ledge and nodding toward the crowd gathering by the beach. “Let’s go. They’re starting.”

You scrambled to grab your lantern and get down the wall. But Jeonghan was already lifting you by the waist and setting you carefully on your feet. Then with your fingers intertwined, he led you down the sandy path to the beach where people were starting to light their lanterns.

And for the first time since arriving in this town, staying sounded like a really good idea.

The drive up to the pear farm was quiet, but not in a way that felt empty or awkward. Jeonghan’s hand was warm against yours, his thumb absentmindedly tracing the back of your palm as he steered with his other hand.

When the lanterns started floating into the sky, he had leaned down to whisper, “The view is better from up the hill.” 

And before you could even respond, he was already tugging you toward his truck, grinning like he knew you wouldn’t say no. And you didn’t.

Now, sitting on the rooftop of the warehouse, you could see what he meant. From here, the town stretched below, the coastline shimmering with lanterns drifting over the sea like golden fireflies. It was breathtaking.

For a while, neither of you spoke. It was much quieter than the festival down below. Up here, it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away. Jeonghan sat close, one arm over your shoulder as you rested your head against his chest, his heartbeat steady and soothing. You turned your head, wanting to say something, only to find that he was already watching you.

He smiled. “I really, really, like you. You have no idea.”

“Well,” you breathed, smiling back at him. “I really, really, like you too.”

He smirked. “I knew it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Boy, bye,” you muttered, moving to stand up but he stopped you.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, looking nowhere near sorry at all. “Don’t go.”

His fingers brushed over your cheek, light at first, as if waiting for you to stop him—but you didn’t. Instead, you nuzzled into the warmth of his hand. The slight furrow of his brows and the affection in his eyes stirred something inside you, igniting some kind of courage that made you reach for his cheek and lean forward to press a soft kiss on his lips.

A quick one. Fleeting but it left a tingling sensation on your lips, itching for more. Something flickered in Jeonghan’s eyes before his lips crashed into yours in a slow, searching kiss. It wasn’t hurried or desperate, just deep, lingering, like neither of you wanted to let go. So you didn’t let go.

Jeonghan kissed you like he had all the time in the world. His lips moved over yours in a way that made your breath hitch, slow and thorough, like he was memorizing you, savoring the shape of your mouth, the way you sighed against his lips.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, clinging onto him as warmth spread through you. He made a quiet sound when you pulled him closer, one hand slipping down to your waist, the other threading through your hair to tip your head back. The angle deepened the kiss and sent a shiver through you when his tongue pushed into your mouth.

You caught your breath when he pulled back slightly, eyes searching yours, his thumb tracing your jaw. Then, just as easily, his lips were back on yours, softer this time but just as insistent.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, only that at some point, you found yourself stepping down from the rooftop, hand in hand with him. The warehouse door creaked as he pushed it open, revealing the dim interior where weeks ago, something had almost happened between you. This time though, you weren’t stopping.

Jeonghan glanced at you with an inquiring look in his eyes, as if asking for a confirmation to continue. But you had already made up your mind. You reached for him, and he caught you in his arms with a breathless laugh. Then his lips were on yours again.

His hands slid down your back, pressing you flush against him. The warmth of his body, and the firmness of his touch was intoxicating. His lips trailed along your jaw, down the line of your throat, lingering at the sensitive spot beneath your ear.

“We can still stop if you’re not sure about this,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and teasing.

Your fingers tightened around the fabric of his shirt, already half undone from when you’d tugged at it earlier. “Stopping is the last thing in my mind right now.”

That was all the permission he needed.

His lips were on you again, hungrier this time, as if something had snapped inside him. The restraint he had so carefully held onto unraveled with every touch, every kiss. Your back met the cool surface of a stack of crates, but you barely noticed, too caught up in the way his hands slipped under the hem of your dress, the way he pressed into you like he couldn’t get close enough.

His hands slid higher, slipping beneath the tight band of your bra. The heat of his palm cupped your breast, sending a new wave of warmth through you. His lips left yours to trail lower, nipping at the hollow of your throat before pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. Your back arched into him before you even realized, his hands tightening at your waist in response.

“Jeonghan,” you breathed before you could stop it.

He hummed in response, the sound deep and approving. His fingers brushed along your ribs, teasing the hem of your dress upward, giving you plenty of time to stop him—but you didn’t. Instead, you tugged at his shirt and yanked it from his shoulders.

You could barely see him in the dim light, but you could still make out the smooth lines of his skin, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, his smooth long hair slightly disheveled from your hands running through it.

Without a word, he lifted you off your feet and kissed you again. Your legs wrapped around his torso, arms around his neck as he walked further into the warehouse and set you down an empty worktable. 

The cold surface of the worktable sent a shiver through you, but Jeonghan’s hands were warm as they slid along your thighs, pushing them apart just enough to step between them. His gaze darkened as he took you in, his fingers trailing on the bare skin beneath your dress before he pulled it over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him. 

“So beautiful,” he murmured, almost absentmindedly, like he was too distracted by you to realize he’d said it aloud. 

He leaned in again, capturing your lips in another slow, lingering kiss as his hands worked the clasp of your bra. The second it slipped from your shoulders, he palmed your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples in circles. A whimper escaped you, your back arching into him.

He lowered his head, lips parting just before he wrapped them around your nipple, sucking slowly and deeply. The warmth of his mouth sent a sharp jolt of heat through your nerves, pooling low in your stomach. 

“Jeonghan,” you gasped, thighs tightening around his waist as he switched to the other, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud before closing his lips around it and sucking again. He groaned, like he was savoring the taste of you, like he couldn’t get enough.

His hands slid down your back, gripping your hips, pressing you firmly against him and there was no mistaking the hard press of his erection through his jeans. The realization sent another wave of heat through you, and you bucked against him without thinking.

He grunted and pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, half-lidded eyes directed at you. “You’re gonna make me lose my mind,” he murmured, voice rough.

You kissed him, messy and eager, before smirking against his lips. “Well, wouldn’t you love it if I did?”

“Oh, fuck you,” he breathed before laying you down the table with urgency.

Your skin prickled with anticipation as you watched him unbuckle his belt. His fingers worked quickly, shoving his jeans and boxers down just enough, freeing himself from the restraints of his clothes.

Your lips parted at the sight of him—hard, flushed, and already leaking at the tip. You felt yourself clench at nothing as he leaned over you again, hands gripping your hips as he pressed himself against the damp fabric between your legs. The friction made you whimper, your thighs trembling around him.

“So sensitive,” he groaned, rolling his hips against yours, dragging himself along your clothed sex. “So soaked too.”

“Please do something about it,” you whispered, tilting your head back as his mouth found your throat, sucking at the supple skin, leaving behind a delightful sting that you knew you’d still see tomorrow.

His hands slipped into the waistband of your underwear, hooking his fingers in the fabric and dragging them down in one swift motion. The cool air against your bare skin made you shiver, but Jeonghan was quick to settle between your legs again, his fingers tracing teasingly up your inner thigh.

He paused, gaze flicking up to yours, searching. You knew what he was asking. pulling him down, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss. “I need you,” you whispered in his ear.

Jeonghan groaned into your mouth, pressing you deeper into the table as his hands roamed your skin. His fingers trailed lower, brushing against your inner thigh before sliding between your legs. A sharp gasp left you at the first stroke of his fingers. You didn’t bother pretending to be shy, not when he was rubbing delightfully against your clit, not when your hips bucked into his touch on instinct.

Then, just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he pulled back. You were just about ready to protest but your voice disappeared the second he dropped to his knees.

His hands gripped your thighs, dragging you closer to the edge of the table. He looked up at you, eyes dark with something ravenous.

“Oh—” before you could form a word, his mouth was on you.

The first swipe of his tongue sent a full-body shudder through you. “Jeonghan—” His name broke off into a gasp as he sucked your clit.

He hummed, satisfied, as he settled between your thighs like he belonged there, his fingers digging into your hips to keep you still—though that did little to stop the way your legs trembled around him. Then, without warning, he buried his tongue inside you, licking deep, slow, dragging obscene noises from your lips.

Your hands flew to his hair, clutching and pulling when the pleasure became too much, only for him to groan in approval, his grip tightening on you. The sounds—his mouth, your gasps, the heat—filled the empty warehouse, making your tummy coil tighter and tighter with every movement of his tongue.

“Jeonghan,” you whimpered, thighs squeezing around his head. “I’m—”

“I know.” His voice was hoarse, breathless, and he didn’t stop—if anything, he doubled down, sucking harder, fingers replacing his tongue, thrusting deep, curling just right until the knot in your stomach came undone.

Your body arched off the table, waves of pleasure crashing through you, leaving you breathless, dazed, trembling beneath him.

Jeonghan kissed his way back up your body. He lingered at your boobs, then at you collarbone and your neck, his breath warm as he whispered against your skin, “You’re beautiful like this.”

You barely had the voice to respond, still trembling from the way he’d unraveled you so effortlessly. But when his lips met yours again, you tasted yourself on his tongue, and something about that sent a fresh wave of pleasure through you.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. His forehead rested against yours, his lips brushing yours with every breath. 

“Please tell me you want this,” he whispered, his voice low and unsteady. Not because he didn’t know it, but because he needed to hear it.

You cupped his jaw, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “I want you, Jeonghan.”

His hand slid down your thigh, lifting it higher against his waist as he positioned himself with you, moving slowly. His lips found yours again, swallowing your gasp as he pushed himself in, filling you inch by inch, stretching you in the most delightful way.

He groaned softly into your mouth, his fingers intertwining with yours beside your head as he pushed deeper, until there was no space left between you. He didn’t move right away, just held you, let you feel him, let you adjust to the feeling of him buried inside you.

“You okay?” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

You nodded, breath shaky, overwhelmed by the way he was looking at you—like you were something to be cherished, something to be loved.

Then he started to move slowly, deeply, like he was practicing the clench, like he never wanted to forget the way you felt around him. He kissed you between every thrust, your lips, your cheek, your jaw, anywhere he could reach—his hands never leaving yours.

“You’re trembling.”

You were. From his hands, his mouth, his manhood and the intoxicating euphoria that clouded your head and left you gasping, arching into him, chasing every movement, every moment.

And when he finally whispered your name like a prayer, you knew you were completely, utterly lost in him.

Neither of you said much on the ride home, still giddy about what had just happened but too shy to talk about it. He kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh, as he hummed quietly with the music from the stereo. The cool night air slipped in through the open window, carrying the faint echoes of the festival, but here, in the car, it was just the two of you.

The guest house was dark when you arrived, Gram still out enjoying the festival somewhere. You half expected Jeonghan to go back to his room, but you knew he’d follow you inside yours.

“Wanna shower together?” he asked, hugging your from behind and kissing the side of your head.

You huffed a quiet laugh. “I think I’ll go by myself.”

“Oh, come on. Just say yes,” he whined, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Please?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Fine.” He was quick to tug you down the hall and into the bathroom. 

In the bathroom, steam floated in the air as warm water cascaded over your shoulders. Jeonghan stood behind you, arms wrapped loosely around your waist. He reached for the soap, lathering it between his palms before smoothing it over your shoulders, down your arms, his touch more soothing than teasing. 

His fingers traced along your spine, his lips brushing over the back of your neck before he whispered, “Don’t get turned on. We’re just taking a bath.”

You smacked his chest, laughing as you took the soap from his hand. “Turn around.”

Like an obedient puppy, he did as he was told and you lathered the soap against his back. For a long moment, you just stood there, quietly helping each other wash up.

As you were running your fingers into his hair, Jeonghan said, “You keep touching me like that, and we’re never getting out of here.”

You scoffed. “Take your mind out of the gutter.”

He grabbed your wrists gently, making you pause. “Okay, I hope you know that’s too much to ask when you’re standing here naked with me.”

“Oh my god, you’re the insatiable type, aren’t you?” you asked, shaking your head as you wriggled your hands free from his grip.

Jeonghan only grinned. “Baby, every man with a working penis is insatiable.”

You scoffed, flicking water at him. “That’s so insightful. Thanks,” you said with a deadpan expression.

He smirked. “I like to think I’m a man of wisdom.”

“You’re a menace. That’s what you are.”

“Yeah? And yet, here you are. Naked again. With me.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Obviously, I have bad judgment.”

“Mm. Bad judgment is agreeing to shower with me and expecting nothing to happen.” He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “Admit it. You wanted to see this again,” he added, gesturing to his body.

You shoved him under the water, laughing as you said. “Yeah, whatever.”

“See?” He slicked his hair back, giving you a triumphant look. “I always knew you liked me too much,” he teased, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before stepping back under the spray.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away when he reached for the loofah, running it down your arm with care. For all his teasing, he took his time with you, washing your skin with gently strokes, like he enjoyed the act itself, not just the excuse to touch you.

At some point, his fingers found yours under the water, linking them together. You looked up to find him watching you. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. The silence, the warmth, the feeling of standing here with him in the warm light of the bathroom, it was enough.

Steam was still in the air as you stood side by side in front of the bathroom mirror, you wrapped in a towel and him shirtless with gray sweatpants. You reached for your moisturizer while Jeonghan lazily brushed his teeth, watching you through the mirror.

“I saw a house for sale near the pear farm the other day,” you said casually, dabbing the product on your skin.

Jeonghan hummed, dipping his head down the sink to rinse his mouth. “Oh yeah?”

You nodded. “It’s nice. Small, but cozy. Has a garden.”

“I know that one. Nice house. The owners moved abroad with their daughter.” He wiped his mouth with a towel. 

“Do you know how much they’re selling it for?”

He capped his toothbrush and turned to face you fully. “It should be affordable. Real estate isn’t too expensive around here. Why? You interested?”

“Maybe,” you replied, shrugging.

He made a thoughtful sound, turning back to the mirror. “I won’t move in with you unless you marry me first.”

You snorted. “Don’t we technically live together already?”

“This is a guest house. That’s different,” he countered. “Buying a house is serious. I like you a lot, but I won’t spend money on a house unless we’re official official.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned to him. “I have my own money, you know?”

“So?”

“So? I’ll buy the house myself.”

Jeonghan nodded. “Yeah, I admire strong and independent women, but no. Not moving in with you unless you put a ring on it,” he said playfully, wiggling his fingers.

You shook your head, packing your skincare products back in your pouch. “I didn’t say I was gonna live there with you.”

“Oh?” he scoffed, crossing his arms. “Well, then if you’re living in that house, I should at least get a key.”

He turned to wash his hands, but halfway through, he froze. The bathroom went quiet except for the steady trickle of water against porcelain. Slowly, he turned back to you, his brows furrowing in realization.

“Wait a minute…”

You didn’t say anything, just shrugged. His eyes widened, and he straightened, covering his mouth in mock shock. “You’re staying?”

“I’m considering it.” You walked out of the bathroom, and as expected, Jeonghan was right behind you. “There’s a few things I can do if I settle down here. I could open a shop or something. Take up teaching or do marketing consults for the pear farm. I don’t see why not.”

You turned to find him still standing there, hand over his mouth like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

“Seriously?” you deadpanned.

He ignored you, blinking a few times before asking again, “You’re staying?”

You chuckled. “Yeah. I’m—”

Before you could say anything else, Jeonghan pulled you into a tight hug. He let out a breathy laugh against your hair, one hand sliding up to the nape of your neck.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around him too. You hadn’t expected it to be such a simple decision. When you first arrived, you told yourself this was just temporary, a place to breathe before figuring out where to go next. But now, the thought of leaving felt impossible. The town had settled into your bones. The people, the warmth, the way the sea stretched endlessly against the sky—it had all become a part of you. And of course, admittedly one of the main reasons of your stay, Jeonghan.

Maybe you’d known for a while. Maybe you’d been staying long before you admitted it to yourself. Maybe your doubts were just the shadows of a past self trying to resist the peace you had found here.

You hugged him a little tighter, pressing your face into his shoulder. Jeonghan pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips lifting into a mischievous smile.

“Let’s get married before you change your mind.”

You scoffed, patting his chest. “Okay, slow down, cowboy.”

And just like that, you were walking into a new phase in your life. Something slower, more mundane but steadier, and uneventful in the best way. It might have seemed too soon to say, but deep down, you knew you’d never regret choosing this life. 

Choosing him.

[fin]

[studioeisa]

the final defense of the dying 🥀 jeonghan x reader.

jeonghan has escorted twelve tributes to their deaths. he will do everything in his power to make sure you don’t face the same fate.

🥀 pairing. hunger games mentor!jeonghan x tribute!reader. 🥀 word count. 13.1k. 🥀 genres. alternate universe: non-idol, alternate universe: hunger games. heavy angst, action, friendship, romance. 🥀 includes. minors do not interact. minor character deaths; hunger games-typical depictions of blood, gore, violence; themes of ptsd, sex work; sexual content; mentions of food, alcohol. childhood best friends, jeonghan yearns :(, cameos of svt members. 🥀 footnotes. this is part of the angst olympics collaboration. i did say this would be above 5k. a direct hit for @diamonddaze01, and for everyone who soldiered through sunrise on the reaping. my masterlist 🎵 doomsday, lizzy mcalpine. meet me in the woods, lord huron. growing sideways, noah kahan. we hug now, sydney rose. no light, no light, florence + the machine. without you without them, boygenius. the prophecy, taylor swift.

I. YOON JEONGHAN, THE FRIEND. 

Jeonghan’s nightmares always start the same. 

The middles and the endings vary. If he’s lucky, he doesn’t have to suffer through an entire run of his Games. If he’s unlucky, he wakes up gasping for breath like he had his head dunked underwater the entire evening. 

It always opens with the sprawling fields of District 11.

The very lands he had once thought to be so commanding. On his first train ride to the Capitol—when he was being sent out like a pig for slaughter—he knew, even then, that the sight was one to behold. Bountiful orchards, fruit trees in full bloom, tilled land as far as the eye could see.

When he sees them in his nightmares, there is always something wrong. An infestation. A wildfire. His loved ones, spilling blood all over the hay. 

Tonight, it’s you.

Jeonghan’s subconscious is caught off-guard. It’s not the first time he’s dreamt of you, after all. And so he thinks it’s going to be pleasant, thinks he’s going to enjoy some ethereal adventure. 

But then you open your mouth and nothing comes out. Not your sweet voice. Not your call of Hannie. Your face contorts, twists, like you’re in pain. It’s the very last expression Jeonghan would ever want to see on your face. 

He tries to reach you. He takes a couple of paces forward. He breaks out into a run. But the fields stretch, and stretch, and stretch, and all the while, you stare straight at him with that soundless look of terror. 

Jeonghan wakes with his chest heaving. 

It takes him thirty seconds to realize he had been dreaming. It takes him another five minutes to clamber out of bed, unsteady on his feet as he makes his way to the en suite bathroom. 

Here, in the Victor’s Village, it’s only him. And he doesn’t mean that in the sense that he has no living relatives to stay in this big, empty house with him. He means it in the sense that he’s the only district’s Victor, the only one to have come back alive after 73 iterations of the Games. It had its advantages.

Being all alone means nobody can hear Jeonghan when he screams. When he sits in the tub, head between his knees, and screams until his voice is hoarse. 

He chalks up the eerie dream to what awaits him later in the day. The reaping looms over him like a storm cloud, but there’s also a silver lining he holds on to as he goes through his morning routine. It’s morbid. It’s cruel. He would never admit it to anyone. 

For once, Jeonghan is looking forward to the reaping. 

On average, the reaping was considered the worst day for any district. An annual lottery that decided who would be sent off to participate in that year’s Games. Behind New Year’s, Reaping Day was the second-most likely day for people to get drunk. 

Today was your last. 

The last day you had to have your name in the bowl. The last reaping you would have to endure. 

You and Jeonghan were twelve when your names first got added into the mix. When he came back from his Games, he made sure you would never have to apply for tesserae—a year’s worth of grain and oil. He was richer than the gods, anyway, with all his winnings. And who else would he share it with but you? 

So, in your final year, there are still only seven slips of paper with your name on it. 

Jeonghan likes your chances. 

The reaping kicks off at around three in the afternoon. Obligations keep Jeonghan away from sneaking out to find you, but he knows where to look once the ceremony begins. You’re in the roped-off area of the town square, towards the front where all the older eligibles await their fate.

Jeonghan doesn’t bother to hide the fact he’s staring, that he’s waiting for you to look his way. Almost willing it, even, and he can sense your vexation from the stage where he’s forced to stand. 

You finally look up at him. For a moment, he sees the face in his dream. The one screaming.

It passes like a mirage, leaving your familiar expression of exasperation. 

Stop, you mouth, trying to look somewhat stern. Failing. (A corner of your lip has twitched upward.) 

He raises one shoulder in a shrug. Can’t help it, he mouths back, the knot in his chest loosening ever so slightly.

For the first time that day, he feels like he can breathe. 

The mayor steps forward to recite the history of the founding of Panem. The Dark Days brought upon by the uprising, the Treaty of Treason that institutionalized the Games. There’s a measly attempt to discuss the spoils and riches that come with winning, but nobody is convinced. Not when there’s still only a solitary victor on stage. 

“District 11’s victors,” the mayor rasps. This part is required reading, has been included in the program for the past six years. “Yoon Jeonghan, the 66th Hunger Games.” 

There’s a smatter of polite applause. Jeonghan offers the gathered crowd a small nod in acknowledgement, but nothing more. 

The list ends there. 

The district’s escort since gods-knows-when moves up to the microphone. Bauble lived up to her name; she was a stout, shimmery thing embellished in absurd shades of gold and glitter. You once told Jeonghan that her voice was like a coin in a tin can, and he’s been unable to unhear it ever since. 

She waxes poetics about the honor of being a tribute. Jeonghan tunes it out, focuses on staring straight ahead. He wonders, briefly, what he should have for dinner. 

Bauble steps towards the glass bowl containing hundreds of folded pieces of paper. Hundreds. Some have their names in there on twenty-something slips. 

Not you. You only have seven. Seven, because Jeonghan had made sure to keep the odds as low as possible.

“Ladies first,” Bauble warbles. 

And perhaps that’s Jeonghan’s first mistake—that he does not worry. 

He’s so sure, so certain, riding on the high of this reaping being your final one. His mind is already halfway into next week, into the special brand of kindness you afford him in the aftermath of the Games.

You were always a little softer to him whenever he came home from the bloodbath. A consolation, he had thought during his first year as a mentor. Perverse as it is, he soaked it all up. 

The nights you’d spend at his home in the Victor’s Village. The cooked meals and the reassuring touches. The words you’d murmur whenever he woke up from his nightmares; your sweet nothings of you did what you could and no one blames you and it was just a dream, Hannie, you’re safe here. 

He’s thinking of those, of you.

And so he nearly misses the way Bauble calls out your name. 

The very name he had shrieked as a child when the two of you played games in the corn fields and rice paddies. The very name he had murmured soundlessly while he was delirious and sick in his own arena. (The thought of you, the only thing that kept him alive.) 

It’s your name, but everybody in the crowd—from the farmers to the ranchers to the Peacekeepers, even—know you as something else. 

Jeonghan’s darling. Jeonghan’s sweetheart. 

The love of his life, now sentenced to die. 

He can feel it. The tangible shift in the air. 

The camera trying to get a tight shot of his face. The probing eyes, all flickering between you and Jeonghan like the district doesn’t know who to focus on.

You may be the reaped, but the slip of paper in Bauble’s hand has condemned you both. 

Jeonghan doesn’t give anyone the satisfaction of a reaction

He watches, tight-lipped and steely-eyed, as you move through the crowd like a summer breeze. You don’t look towards him. A small grace. 

You take your place on the stage. Bauble—ignorant as ever of the tension that has rippled through the district—flashes you a toothy smile. 

“Lovely,” she sing-songs. Jeonghan barely resists the urge to tear the escort’s wig off. 

She moves over to the boys’ fishing bowl and pulls out a name. It’s some rancher’s son, someone who got a little cocky about the amount of tesserae they thought they could get. He stumbles forward from the back row of eligibles, which means he’s young. Probably only thirteen or so. 

Jeonghan doesn’t dwell on it it. He’s too busy holding his hands behind his back, his nails digging into his palms in a way that will leave crescent-shaped marks. 

“Ladies and gentleman, join me in welcoming the District 11 tributes of the 73rd Hunger Games!” Bauble trills.

During Reaping Day, there is already barely any applause or cheers. Why would anyone celebrate when Jeonghan was still the only one to have come back after all these decades? 

Today, though, it’s silent as a tomb. 

Bauble looks like she’s at a loss. A quiet district doesn’t make for good television. “And may the odds be ever in their favor,” she’s saying hastily, but her words patter off when it begins. 

A low hum. Somebody from the back of the crowd starts it up, and then the rows follow suit one after the other.

People are always angry in District 11.

The days are long and the work is hard. The sun is unforgiving; the labor, unjustified. And so the people have learned to sing, have taken to music so they could bear the strife. The two of you grew up to hymns in the fields, ballads on birthdays— 

Songs at funerals. Grief shared in rumbling baritones, in lyrics passed down from one generation to another. 

The weeping women begin to croon.

The fields whisper low where the tall corn sways, Calling your name in the hush of the days. Summer was golden, but frost’s moving in, Taking the bright ones again and again.

It’s a song as old as time, an honor as recognizable as the three-fingered salute. Jeonghan dares to steal a glance at you. You’re clutching the male tribute to your side, and your jaw is set with defiance. 

The sun kissed your brow as you worked through the rows, Hands stained with labor, a heart no one knows. Now they have sent you where none should be sent, Leaving us hollow, our backs tired and bent.

Your parents. Gods, your parents. Jeonghan’s gaze skips over the crowd as he tries to find them. There’s so many, too many people. He’s a little grateful he can’t locate them. He wouldn’t know what to do if he saw the looks on their faces. 

Back when the two of you had been playmates, your father had always teased Jeonghan about bringing you home before the sun set. Jeonghan had been so diligent, had never failed your father once, but now. 

But now. 

Gone like the harvest, gone with the wind, Taken too soon, though your roots ran deep in.

The earth holds your footsteps, the sky holds your name, But nothing will ever grow quite the same.

Bauble is getting restless. The mayor keeps throwing helpless glances at Jeonghan. He stares straight ahead. He has no plans of interrupting. Not this. Not when it’s for you.   

In the corner of his eye, he can see you mouthing along to the words. In his honest, unbiased opinion, you were one of the district’s best singers. It kills him that no one will hear you, no one can hear you, as you give what may be your last performance for the people that have raised you. 

The song crescendos. Dozens of voices, furious as the storms that rampaged through Panem and left the district on its knees. 

Let the wheat bow, let the vines grieve, Let the rain fall for all we believe. If we had a choice, if we had a say, Not one of our own would be taken away.

Jeonghan hopes the Capitol cameramen are getting this, even though they’ll probably cut the broadcast. A district united in its sorrow is a dangerous one, and Jeonghan will pay a small price for letting it happen. 

He will pay an even heftier price for singing along. 

His tone has always been a bit on the nasally side, but the years have made it sweeter, sharper. He doesn’t have to pitch his voice particularly loud. The people see his mouth forming the words, see the way he joins in on the last chorus.

Gone like the harvest, gone with the wind, Taken too soon, though your roots ran deep in. The earth holds your footsteps, the sky holds your name—

But nothing will ever grow quite the same, he finishes, and then he finally looks towards you. 

II. YOON JEONGHAN, THE VICTOR. 

It had been his first reaping. 

His name, in the bowl only once. His cousins had told him it was unlikely. You had reassured him it would not be him, although his concern, even then, had been that it might be you. 

He had been basking in the relief of the female tribute not being you—instead being a wine-maker’s daughter—that he didn’t immediately register the fact his name had come out of Bauble’s gold-painted lips. 

Twelve-year-old Yoon Jeonghan. District 11’s male tribute for the 66th Hunger Games. 

You had screamed bloody murder. He remembers that. He remembers you running forward; you had always been quick on your feet. 

You reached Jeonghan just in time to give him a bone-crushing hug, to babble something helpless like Come back, swear it, before you were shoved down into the asphalt by the nearest Peacekeeper. 

Jeonghan had felt rage, then. Felt like he could win the Games solely based on the fact the violence had chipped one of your teeth and bruised your cheek. 

He had to be dragged kicking and screaming onto stage, had to be placed next to the female tribute who looked sick at the thought of heading into the bloodbath with a literal child. 

Cherry. That had been her name. Jeonghan remembers finding it ironic, because she smelled more like grapes. 

He had tucked away most of his memories of the pre-Games activities, or maybe the trauma had them blurring all together. The lack of victors for District 11 meant that his mentors had been pooled from other districts.

There was District 3’s Beetee, who won the 34th Hunger Games after electrocuting the Career pack. There was District 6’s Maeve, who accidentally won the 44th Hunger Games despite being high on morphling the entire time. 

Maeve trained Cherry. It didn’t do Cherry much good. 

Beetee trained Jeonghan. The man had been critical, clinical. He pitied Jeonghan, though. Any time Beetee seemed to remember Jeonghan was only twelve, the victor would stutter and wince. 

Jeonghan had hated that the most. That he was the youngest in the pool of tributes. That the Capitol citizens looked at him like he already had one foot in the grave. 

A part of him wants to say spite got him to win. A desire to prove himself, to break the record previously held by fourteen-year-old Finnick Odair. 

Jeonghan put on a good show. He charmed interviewers. He got a six as his training score after depicting particular adeptness at knife-throwing. 

It didn’t matter. None of it did. 

Going into the Games, Jeonghan’s morning long odds had been 60-1.

His arena had smelled of petrichor and blood.

Jeonghan blinked against the sudden glare of daylight as the plate elevated him into a clearing wreathed by towering trees. A canopy loomed above like a watchful eye, dappling the forest floor with fractured sunlight. The Cornucopia gleamed gold and monstrous at the center of the glade, its curved mouth yawning open with the promise of tools and terror. 

Around him, the other tributes emerged, silhouettes sharpening into figures with each second. They looked older. Meaner.

Cherry had been across from him, eyes wide and frantic. Her hands trembled at her sides. She wasn’t looking at the weapons. She was looking at him.

Jeonghan shook his head once. A warning.

The gong sounded, and he sprinted. 

The chaos unfurled behind him like a wave of shrieking metal. The sound of a throat being opened. Of someone crying for their mother. 

Jeonghan didn’t look back.

His legs were short, but fear lent him speed. He vaulted a moss-slicked log, ducked beneath hanging vines, tore through underbrush until his lungs burned.

He only collapsed hours later, curled beneath the roots of a colossal tree, his palms raw, his clothes stained with dirt and sweat. He couldn’t stop shaking. Not from cold but from the weight of it all.

Cherry hadn’t made it. 

He had heard her scream. High and shrill, cut short in the way all Capitol broadcasts made sure to capture. He had paused only briefly—just enough to register the voice—before running again.

It wasn’t supposed to be her. She was older, stronger.

Maeve had spent hours coaching her on traps and close combat. Cherry had taken to it well. 

Jeonghan was the joke. The child. The one who should have been first to go.

He curled tighter under the roots, pulling fallen leaves around his body like armor. Beetee’s voice floated back to him: Observe. Hide. Let the others thin themselves out. You are not stronger. You must be smarter. Use their confidence against them.

Jeonghan’s fingers had closed around a flat, smooth rock. He didn’t throw it, just held it, letting the weight steady him. 

That first night, the sky lit up with eight sepia faces. Cherry’s was among them. 

Jeonghan didn’t cry. He thought he might never stop if he started.

Instead, he thought of you. 

He told himself he wouldn’t die. Not until he saw you again. Not until he returned what the Peacekeepers took from your smile.

He slept with his back to the tree, one hand on the rock. Waiting. Listening.

Still alive.

Jeonghan stayed alive for 17 more days.

The arena was built to punish the reckless. A tropical forest that seemed quiet until it wasn't. The humidity sapped your strength. The mutant insects bit through your resolve. The rains flooded low ground without warning. Those who didn't know how to climb or swim were the first to go.

Jeonghan didn’t fight. Not at first.

He moved at night, listened more than he spoke, and memorized the rhythms of the forest. He watched the Careers from a distance as they slaughtered each other over dwindling supplies. He learned to tell which fruits made your stomach turn and which bark bled drinkable water.

He clung to Beetee’s instructions like a lifeline. 

Lay traps when you can. Scavenge. Never sleep in the same place twice.

And always—always—keep your district token close.

His token had been something from you. A woven bracelet you’d made him one summer, years ago. Red thread with a tiny, smooth seed sewn into the knot.

You had called it lucky. He had scoffed. 

In the arena, he held it every night like it might bring him back.

On day five, a small package drifted from the sky. Inside: a single strip of dried meat, a roll of gauze, and a note.

Keep going, little ghost.

He never did find out who sent it. Maybe someone who liked the way he vanished into the trees. Maybe someone who liked the tears he didn’t shed when Cherry’s face lit up the sky. He wasn’t sure it mattered. 

What mattered was that someone out there believed he might make it.

The days had bled together. He trapped a squirrel on day six. Found a dead tribute’s knife on day nine. Avoided a firestorm on day 11 by diving into a mudflat. He never got cocky. Never came close to the Cornucopia again. When the number of faces diminished in the sky—ten, then seven, then five—he started to dream of home.

When there were three left, he knew he would have to kill.

He hated himself for what he planned. Hated the way he sharpened his knife in the moonlight and hummed your favorite songs like it might somehow remind him of his innocence. 

That very innocence, shattered the moment he found himself face to face with the last of the Games. 

The forest burned on the morning of the final day.

The Gamemakers had set it ablaze from all corners. No more hiding. No more waiting. They were starving for a finale. The audience wanted blood.

Jeonghan emerged coughing, soot streaked on his cheeks. His hair, once so pale and soft, clung to his forehead, sweat-slicked and singed. He stumbled out into a clearing he had once used as a water source, now parched and cracked from the heat.

Two others waited.

Cassian, District 2. Large, broad-shouldered, trained from the cradle.

Rueya, District 5. Slender, fast, clever. She had a twitch in her jaw when she was calculating.

They turned to look at him like he was a hallucination. A demon from the woods.

“You made it?” Rueya asked, her voice hoarse.

Cassian just laughed. “Twelve-year-old freak.”

Jeonghan said nothing. He adjusted his grip on the knife. His fingers trembled, but not from fear.

He was remembering.

You, shouting at him for winning hide-and-seek again. Your face scrunched in disbelief when you couldn’t find him for an hour. How the others accused him of cheating.

He hadn’t cheated. He had just watched. Paid attention. Remembered where shadows fell and what cracked underfoot.

He remembered you throwing stones at him one summer afternoon, not out of hate but frustration, yelling, You ruin every game, Yoon Jeonghan!

Maybe he did.

Rueya had struck first.

Her blade aimed for his neck. He ducked. Rolled. Kicked dust in her eyes and used the moment to run. Not far. Just enough to get them to follow.

He was small. Quick. He led them where he needed them to go. Past the tree with the false trunk. Past the buried snare he had laid on day fourteen.

Cassian tripped it. Went down hard. 

A branch spiked through his thigh.

Jeonghan didn’t look back.

Rueya was faster.

She caught up by the riverbed, cornered him. Her knife was longer. Her reach, better. He bled from a shallow cut on his cheek and another on his shoulder.

Rueya lunged. Jeonghan pivoted, let her momentum carry her too far. 

She stumbled. He didn’t. 

Without a moment of hesitation, he slammed the heel of his hand into her nose. The crunch was sickening. She dropped her remaining blade to instinctively hold her nose, howling, “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Those would be her last words.

When Jeonghan had staggered back into the clearing, Cassian was still alive, but barely. He had been dragging himself forward, face pale with pain. He looked up, eyes glassy. 

"You—cheating little shit—"

Jeonghan’s knife sliced through the air and landed squarely over Cassian’s left breast. Where his heart might have been, if he had one. 

The bracelet, your bracelet, blood-soaked and fraying, glinted when Jeonghan was lifted into the hovercraft. 

He had been shaking, his left ear ringing from the blow he hadn’t seen coming. His knee was swelling. Both injuries never quite recovered; later in life, Jeonghan would still hear best on his right side and always walk with a slight limp. 

But then, in that moment, Jeonghan had been alive. In the arena where smoke was curling up in the sky. In the hovercraft where he was deemed dehydrated, underweight, and on the brink of death himself. 

You always win, you had once tearfully seethed when he kicked your ass in Duck, Duck, Goose. You always win these stupid games!

III. YOON JEONGHAN, THE LOVER. 

He hears your footsteps before he sees you.

They echo down the corridor of the train like they always have, steady and sure and just a touch impatient. Jeonghan already knows it’s you; he doesn’t look up. 

He keeps his gaze fixed on the swirling ice in his untouched glass of Capitol liquor, something pale and sharp that burns in his nose more than it ever will in his throat. A good number of victors had succumbed to alcoholism, but he always had you to talk him away from the bottle. 

Today was no exception. 

The door creaks open.

“Bauble sent me,” you say, even as Jeonghan focuses on the drink in front of him. Your voice is clipped, professional. Not unkind. “She said you need to prep us.”

He doesn’t answer right away. He swirls his drink, then sets it down with a dull clink. The ice has barely melted. “Prep yourselves. I’m not your babysitter.”

There’s a beat. “You are, actually,” you say matter-of-factly. “That’s literally your job.”

“Then I’m off-duty,” he snips.  

The car smells like expensive polish and expensive drink and Jeonghan’s expensive silence. You don’t move. He can feel you watching him.

“Are you going to be like this the entire time?”

“Like what.”

“Like a jackass.”

That finally earns you a glance. He turns to look at you, and gods, it nearly kills him.

Your arms are crossed, shoulders squared, mouth set in that stubborn little line he knows by heart. You’re trying not to tremble. 

He forces himself to look away.

“You’re angry,” you say, quieter now.

“Shouldn’t I be?”

“I’m the one who got reaped.”

“Exactly.”

It shuts you up. For a second. Just a second.

Then you walk forward and sit beside him. Not across from him. Beside him. So close he can smell the faint traces of that soap you always used, the one that reminds him of lemon trees, wet earth, and the sun. 

“You’re not mad at me,” you say delicately. “You’re scared.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“You’re terrified, Hannie. You think you’re going to lose me.”

His grip tightens around the glass until the ice shifts, clinks.

“You think you already have,” you murmur.

Something crumbles in him then. He doesn’t cry, doesn’t scream, doesn’t shatter. He just sighs again—longer this time—and sets the glass down gently. It’s an acquiescence, an acknowledgement. 

“Come on,” you say, standing. You offer a hand. “Let’s go. My partner’s probably trying to figure out how to hold a fork.”

Jeonghan only stares at your hand for a moment. He doesn’t want to fall victim to preemptive nostalgia, but he does anyway. His gaze traces over the lines on your palm, the dirt underneath your fingernails, and he thinks of all the things you’ve done. All the things you have yet to do. 

You flex your fingers wordlessly, urging him. He lets you tug him up, almost all the way to the door—

—and then his hand pulls you back.

Not roughly. Not urgently.

But when his arms circle your waist, he leans forward like a man caving to gravity. He presses his forehead to your shoulder. Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to.

You let him hold you.

Because this is Jeonghan, and this might be the last time he ever gets to.

You card your fingers through his hair. He stays absolutely still, as if he can keep the two of you in this snow globe of a movement if he doesn’t move an inch. The seconds stretch into minutes, and he pulls away only when there’s a knock on the car door. Bauble, this time, eyeing the two of you like she knows something. 

She doesn’t know a thing, obviously. 

Back in the dining car, Jeonghan leans against the polished wood paneling, arms crossed. The smell of Capitol-grade roast duck and syrupy wine thickens in the air. He watches the way Barley picks at his food like it might bite back, eyes darting from plate to window to the unfamiliar silverware. 

You’re sitting straighter, trying to model bravery, but Jeonghan’s known you too long. He sees the tremors in your hands and fights the urge to reach for you. 

“So,” Jeonghan says, and the word is brittle, sharp. “You both get one question each. Make it count.”

Barley frowns. He’s all knees and elbows, a thirteen-year-old with a summer tan and a coffin waiting for him at home. “How long do you think I’ll last?”

Jeonghan doesn’t sugarcoat. “Depends. You follow instructions, you might last longer than an hour,” he says. 

Barley blanches. You shoot Jeonghan a look.

“He’s scared,” you say pointedly. 

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. “He should be.”

Your voice is steady, though your eyes aren’t. “Then tell us what to expect,” you say.

He exhales through his nose, tilting his head like he’s heard this request a thousand times—and he has. But not from you. Not like this.

The annoyance coating your words isn’t amiss to him, either. It brings him a perverse sense of comfort. 

“You’ll be hungry. You’ll be hunted,” he says slowly. “And you’ll be alone, even when you’re not. Trust no one. Run the second the gong sounds. Don’t stop until your legs give out. And for the love of all things holy, don’t look back."

Barley is pale now, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Did it hurt? When they—when they came for you?”

For a second, Jeonghan sees it all again. Cherry’s panicked expression, the glint of Rueya’s blade, the snarl on Cassian’s face. He has to blink the memories away, has to focus on the fact you’re watching like you already know he’s going under. 

Jeonghan clears his throat. “All of it hurt.”

Bauble waltzes in, then. “There you all are!” she chirps. “Oh, Jeonghan, you simply mustn’t hide my victors-to-be away like this. What if someone needs a morale boost?”

Jeonghan deadpans, “Morale died when you called her name.”

Bauble clicks her tongue, unfazed. While Jeonghan wouldn’t necessarily call the escort his friend, they did have a certain rapport built over years of sanctioned bonding. “Still so dramatic,” she tuts. “You’ve always had such flair.”

“You mean trauma.”

“You say tomato—” she flutters her fingers.

You smile faintly. Jeonghan sees it, the corners of your lips tugging upward despite everything. It’s too soft. Too real. It guts him.

When Bauble finally prances away to inspect dinner settings, when Barley decides he might as well spend his last few hours enjoying the pleasantries of the Capitol, Jeonghan shifts closer to you.

“You’ve always listened too well,” he says. “Even when I didn’t want you to.”

You look up. “I thought that was the point. To listen when no one else does.”

He tries to scoff, but it comes out too fond. He remembers every time you sat beside him in the fields, every time your hands were gentle when he woke screaming, every time you pretended he was still human.

He leans forward, lowering his voice. “You’re smart.”

“I learned from the best.” 

Jeonghan watches you, the defiance in your posture warring with the fear you don’t want him to see. He can’t fix any of it. He knows that. But he can give you this—this small, ridiculous moment.

“You know,” he says slowly, “Barley’s too small for the Capitol tuxedos. You’re gonna have to teach him how to fake confidence. Smile like you’re selling poison as perfume.”

You laugh, short and tired. “And what about me?”

Jeonghan’s smile falters. Softens.

“You… just be you. That’ll be enough.” He pushes off the wall, straightens up. “Come on. I’ll give you a tour of the train.”

You start to move past him, but his hand finds your wrist, halting you. He doesn’t speak. Just tugs gently until you step into his arms.

He holds you like it’s the last thing tethering him to earth. Like letting go means losing everything.

“Just… hold on,” he says quietly as he slots his fingers through the spaces of yours. Usually, you told him off when he got too clingy or touchy. You weren’t together or anything, after all, and so you demanded that he be more conservative. That he reel himself in. 

For once, you let him.

For once, he lets himself.

He holds your hand the entire way to the Capitol, where it’s a blur of color and shine. 

For a moment, even with the dread curling tight in his stomach, Jeonghan finds himself admiring the splendor. He isn’t surprised to see you and Barley equally speechless, craning your necks as the train pulls into the station; your faces, framed in the tall, sterile windows mirroring your awe back at you.

Barley presses his hand against the glass, wide-eyed. “Is that... a moving sidewalk?” he breathes. 

Jeonghan doesn’t answer. He’s too busy cataloging every flinch, every blink, every breath the two of you take. Watching the way you stand slightly in front of Barley, like you’re already trying to shield him from whatever came next.

Jeonghan loves you so much at that moment. 

Bauble is chattering beside you, of course, gesturing wildly with one hand. She barely notices when Jeonghan steps between you and a Capitol attendant, his hand curling lightly around your arm.

“Stay close,” he says below his breath.

You look up at him and nod. The ease of which you trust him, the lack of questions you have, nearly bowls him over. He sticks by your side the entire way to the Tribute Tower, where the apartment is all sleek marble and warm gold accents. Impossibly high ceilings and digital fireplaces that don’t throw any heat. There’s fresh fruit on the tables and beds the size of entire haylofts. It looks more like a presidential suite than a prison.

“Holy shit,” you whisper under your breath, fingers grazing the frame of an oil painting taller than you. Barley finds the snack cart and marvels over a slice of something custard-filled.

Jeonghan hovers. He can’t stop himself. Not when you were somewhere the Capitol could get its claws in you.

When the time comes for the Tribute Parade, he’s still on edge. Still worried the stylist team will do their jobs too well, while also simultaneously dreading them not doing enough. 

District 11 had always had a reputation for agricultural simplicity, which the Capitol liked to glamorize with varying degrees of taste. This year, apparently, they’d gone for mythical harvest gods. You’re draped in molten gold and deep, forest green, your arms dusted with shimmer like pollen. A long cloak of woven vines trails behind you, the ends studded with jewels shaped like pomegranate seeds and tiny bushels of wheat.

Barley dons something similar; a shorter tunic with a circlet of laurel around his head, a wooden staff in his grip that sparks gently with gold.

Jeonghan doesn’t know what to say when you step out from the dressing area.

He swallows hard. He had seen every horror the Games had to offer. But this—seeing you, radiant and ready for slaughter—is the cruelest thing.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “I look ridiculous, don’t I?”

He shakes his head. Tries to say something. Fails. It’s a far cry from the practical, utilitarian clothing the two of you have grown up with. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you wear something so glamorous, and the thought of it only makes him want to run and hide. 

“Hannie?” you prod. 

He gets it together. 

“You look—” He clears his throat. His voice goes imperceptibly softer. “You look like something no one should be allowed to destroy.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Maybe you don’t have to. After a quick glance around the backstage—to ensure nobody is looking—you reach out, give his arm a comforting squeeze. 

He knows he’s doing everything wrong. It’s your Parade, your Games. He’s supposed to be holding himself better, supposed to be the one offering you reassurance and solace. Instead, you’ve taken up your typical caretaker role, and he falls apart at the mere sight of you. 

When the chariots roll out and the cameras turn, Jeonghan has to stand just out of frame, mouth tight, hands clenched. The crowds react to you and Barley. Jeonghan hears none of it. 

Instead, he keeps his head slightly bowed; his gaze, away from all the other tributes who will all have a kill-or-be-killed mentality. 

Maybe if he wishes hard enough, Jeonghan thinks, he can stop the Games before they even begin.

IV. YOON JEONGHAN, THE MENTOR. 

Jeonghan stands at the head of the training room, arms crossed, jaw tight. From this angle, he can see both you and Barley moving between stations. You’re focused, determined, adjusting the way you grip the rope at the knot-tying corner. Barley, less so. He keeps fumbling, looking over his shoulder for approval.

It should’ve been easy, this mentorship. He’d won. He knew what it took. He could recite Beetee’s advice in his sleep, every trick he’d used in his own Games carved into his memory like tally marks. 

And yet, his throat burns and his hands won’t stop shaking.

He’s going to lose you.

The thought returns like a hammer strike. Over and over. No matter how hard he tries to bury it. Jeonghan drags his fingernails down the length of his arm as if pain might chase it away. He’s fairly sure he’ll have gashes by the time this week is over. 

You approach without warning, your face sweaty from training, your eyes sharp.

“You can’t keep looking at me like that,” you tell him. 

“Like what?” 

“Like you’ve already got a gravestone for me in some plot back home.” 

Jeonghan barks out a laugh—a surprised, hollow one. Your dry humor always did know how to cut through him. “I’m not doing that,” he snipes. 

“You are. You haven’t looked at Barley once without wincing. You flinch every time I handle a knife. You’re not helping. You’re scaring us.”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder,” you say simply. “You’re Yoon Jeonghan. You survived at twelve. You have to be stronger than this.”

He turns away from you. You didn’t know—couldn’t know—what it’s been like. Watching years of reapings, standing on the same stage, seeing child after child go off to die while he stood there, the only victor District 11 had to offer. 

Every year, he makes himself hope. Every year, he trains them, watches the light in their eyes go dim as they were outmatched, outarmed, outplayed.

Every year, he fails.

He had never cried for them. Not once. Had never allowed himself to grieve. It was easier that way. To believe he’d done all he could. That they were always going to die, with or without him.

But not you.

You, who used to sneak into his house when he came home, just to leave honey cakes on the windowsill. You, who sang lullabies to him when the nightmares got so bad he couldn’t sleep. You, who had always seen him not as a victor, not as a killer, but just—

Jeonghan.

He turns back around and finds you still standing there, stubborn and unflinching. He lets out a breath.

“Okay,” he says hoarsely. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

Your shoulders relax slightly.

“I won’t flinch anymore,” he promises. “I won’t wince. I won’t look away. I’ll train you.” 

“Good,” you say, “because you’re our final defense, and you’ve been a pretty shitty defense so far.” 

He laughs. For once, it’s not forced. 

You, of all people, know just how much Jeonghan’s word means. He drums up support with prospective sponsors. He talks with the victors and tries to find alliances. 

He teaches Barley how to hold an arrow. He watches you throw knives and shouts out instructions. 

By the time your private training sessions come around, Jeonghan is fairly sure he’s never done this much work as a mentor in the past couple of years. As you and Barley get ready to face the Gamemakers, there is only one thing left for him to do: trust that everything you’ve learned will not fail you. 

The scores come in just after dinner, during a quiet lull where the four of you—Jeonghan, you, Barley, and Bauble—sit in the quarters, feigning calm over cups of Capitol-brewed tea. The screen crackles to life, and the room stills.

There’s an introduction. A reminder of why this is all done. Capitol citizens are given an idea of who to bet on based on the scores ascribed to each tribute. The private training sessions were a matter of who could put on the best show, but not too good. 

Score low, you would lose out on sponsors. Score high, you would be deemed a threat by other tributes. 

Scores range from one to twelve. The Careers, unsurprisingly, get nines and tens. The girl from Four gets a ten. The boy from Nine gets a four. 

And then it’s District 11. Your face flashes first. A moment’s silence. Then: eight.

Barley is the first to react. “An eight?” he breathes, nearly sloshing his tea. “That’s... that’s good, right? That’s really good, isn’t it?”

Jeonghan doesn’t say anything. Not yet. He’s staring at the number, willing it to hold still, like it might evaporate if he looks away.

Then Barley’s face appears on the screen. Six.

“Hey!” Barley exclaims, grinning at you. “We didn’t do half-bad!”

You laugh quietly, nerves still wound tight beneath your skin. “Guess not.” You glance at Jeonghan, whose brow is furrowed as if the numbers have personally offended him.

“Not half-bad?” you repeat to Jeonghan, as if urging him to confirm or deny your odds. 

He snaps out of his haze. “It’s good,” he says, but his voice is tight. “It’s good. You both did well.”

Barley’s too thrilled to notice the tension. He retreats into a quiet hum of excitement, and Jeonghan watches him go to his room, heart aching at how young he still is.

You stay behind. You know better.

“He’s proud of his six,” you say softly. “You should be proud of us, too.”

Jeonghan finally meets your gaze. “What did you do?”

You shrug, but your eyes are shining. “Used a sickle. Told them I’d only ever used it on weeds, not people. Then showed them I could take the heads off three practice dummies in under ten seconds.”

He stares.

“Okay, maybe eight seconds,” you admit with a sheepish grin. “But still.”

“Gods,” he mutters. “Why would you tell me that?”

You tilt your head. “Because I need you to believe I have a shot.”

Jeonghan presses his fingers against his eyelids. Eight. A real shot. That’s what it means. But the Capitol loves nothing more than raising hope just to snuff it out.

And so he tries not to feel hopeful. He tries.

“I’ll be ready,” you say, your voice pure as the driven snow. “You made sure of that.”

He exhales slowly. He has to believe it. For your sake. And Barley’s. And for the twelve other faces in his head, the ones he couldn’t save. He opens his eyes and looks straight at you. 

“Just keep doing what you did today,” he says. “And I’ll do the rest.”

He does what he can, but there is only so much he can do. 

By the time the pre-Games interviews come around, he knows you will have to write your own ending. Even in the viewing room where Jeonghan sits with Bauble and a glass of untouched wine, it feels like every bulb is trained on the screen, on you.

He hasn’t breathed since your name was announced. He probably won’t breathe until your interview is over.

Barley’s had gone well. Nothing to call home about. He had been your typical young tribute, showing off boyish charm and vouchsafed innocence. 

You, on the other hand, look devastating.

The prep team had broken their backs to make it work. Your outfit—woven in silks dyed the color of ripening wheat, dotted with reddish sequins like the leaves from trees—catches the light with every small movement. Your hair is twisted back in a braid like the reapers wear during harvest. And your smile, shy but steady, is enough to hush even Caesar Flickerman.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he croons, gesturing with flair, “from District 11, please welcome our stunning tribute!”

You walk forward, gracious and poised. Jeonghan clenches his fists in his lap. It feels like every step you take toward that stage is a step further away from him.

“Good evening,” Caesar says. “You’re quite the sight tonight. The Capitol is enraptured already!”

You laugh lightly. “It’s not every day someone from my district gets to wear something this fine. I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.”

Jeonghan flinches. He knows that tone—modest, self-deprecating, practiced. You’re playing your part. He just wishes you didn’t have to.

Caesar chuckles, his teeth gleaming. A shark, ready to draw blood.  “Now, I’ve heard you’re quite the singer. Is that true?”

“Depends on who you ask,” you reply, to the laughter of the crowd.

Jeonghan stares. He knows how nervous you are. He knows how tightly you were wound in your quarters, how your hands shook as you ate. But here, under the scrutiny of all of Panem, you are luminous. You can joke around with Caesar; you hum a little tune when asked.

You are everything they want you to be.

He hates it. He loves it. He doesn’t know what to feel.

Caesar leans forward after your little song. His eyes glitter. “And tell me—I think everyone wants to know,” he says conspiratorially. “Our only Victor from District 11. Jeonghan. The youngest ever to have ever won the Games. A little birdy has told me the two of you are… close.”

Jeonghan goes rigid.

Bauble mutters something under her breath; Jeonghan thinks it might be a cuss. On screen, Caesar keeps his smile, but the question lands with precision.

You tilt your head, feigning thoguthfulness. “Jeonghan is my mentor,” you say. “But more than that, he’s my best friend.”

The audience lets out a collective murmur.

Jeonghan grips the arms of his chair.

“He’s the strongest person I know,” you say. “And I’m lucky he never gave up on me. I’m going into these Games with more than most. I have his faith.”

The crowd bursts into applause.

Caesar touches his chest theatrically. “Well, if that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.”

You smile. It’s a momentary slip in your carefully curated image, as if the thought of love and Jeonghan brings you a genuine sort of joy. The audience catch that, too, and the applause only gets louder. 

Jeonghan lets out a breath. Not quite a sob. Not quite relief. But it’s something. 

Because if he can’t protect you with his own hands, then he’ll let the Capitol fall in love with you. Let them send gifts, parachutes, lifelines.

Let them see what he’s always seen.

Later that night, Jeonghan finds himself staring at the ceiling.

The lights are off, the room mostly dark save for the faint Capitol glow filtering through the windows of his bedroom. It bleeds silver against the walls, but Jeonghan’s eyes are trained on the shadows. 

He’s been lying here for over an hour now, still in his clothes, hair unwashed and face unshaven, unable to summon the will to move. The interview replays in his head, your dress still shimmering in his memory, your voice steady and luminous beneath Caesar's showmanship.

You’d been a star. You—his star. And tomorrow, you will be in the arena.

He breathes out, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes until colors burst behind his lids. The pressure does nothing to stop the ache in his chest. Jeonghan sits up.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. 

He should stay put and not make this harder, but his body moves before his mind can catch up, and he’s halfway to your door when he finds you already there.

You’re barefoot. Wrapped in a soft Capitol robe. Your hair is tousled from tossing and turning, and your arms are folded tightly around yourself.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you murmur.

His breath catches. “Me neither.”

For a long second, the two of you stand like that, inches apart, both unsure of what to say. Then Jeonghan steps back and pushes the door open wider.

“Come in.”

You don’t hesitate. You pass him with a soft rustle of fabric. He closes the door behind you and watches as you climb onto his bed without a word. 

You’ve done something like this before. Too many times to count. But tonight, there’s no laughter. No quiet jokes. Just the hum of something deep and heavy.

You lay down on your side. Jeonghan crawls in after and faces you.

Usually, you’re the one who pulls him close when he startles awake from a nightmare. Usually, you’re the one whispering him back to sleep, pressing your fingers to his hairline and reminding him that he’s safe, he’s here. There’s no fire, no forest, no bloody bracelet. 

Tonight, he wraps an arm around you instead.

Your nose brushes his collarbone. He feels your breath, warm and steady, and he shuts his eyes.

He wants to say it.

That he loves you. 

That he has loved you from the moment you first yelled at him in the fields for cheating. That he has spent years loving you in silence, nursing the shape of your name in his chest like a prayer.

But the words rise to his throat and die there. They taste too much like a goodbye.

So instead, he presses a kiss to your forehead. This one, he thinks, is for the notes you two passed each other back in school. 

Then one to your temple. For your parents, who he will now never be able to look at. 

Then your cheek. For the time you threw out all the alcohol in his home and yelled at him until he agreed to only drink on special occasions. 

A soft one to your eyelid. For your singing—the best in the goddamn district. 

He kisses every part of your face except your lips. He doesn’t think he’d be able to stop, if he ever started there. 

When you whisper his name, when you tuck yourself tighter into his arms like you mean to mold yourself into his very body, Jeonghan only holds you closer.

In a few hours, he will have to let you go.

But not yet.

Not yet.

V. YOON JEONGHAN, THE SINNER. 

The arena comes into view and Jeonghan feels his stomach turn.

It’s a swamp.

Endless, waterlogged land choked with moss and trees heavy with rot. Mud so thick it might as well be quicksand. A heat haze distorts the sky in a way that makes it seem closer, like the clouds might melt onto the kids below. 

The air looks like it stinks. Jeonghan knows it does. He’s smelled swamp before in the southern end of District 11, in the marshlands after the harvest. Stagnant water swallowing the weeds whole. 

But the Capitol has made it worse. Of course they have.

The swamp is dotted with platforms. On screen, the tributes rise, one by one, as the countdown begins. All of them retch. A few are already shaking. One kid—the boy from 10, maybe—looks like he’s crying. Good. He won’t last an hour.

Jeonghan doesn’t look for Barley. He looks for you.

Your vitals blink steady on his monitor: elevated heart rate, but within reason. No signs of panic. Your face is unreadable on the screen, jaw set, eyes cutting ahead toward the Cornucopia or what passes for one in this muck. 

It’s a wrecked fishing trawler, run aground in the center of the swamp, half-covered in algae and rust. Supplies are lashed to the deck with ropes, weapons tucked into fishing nets. Booby-trapped. Jeonghan knows it. The Gamemakers always hide teeth under the sugar.

“Swamp,” Seungcheol says, appearing beside him. The District 4 mentor. Tall, sun-weathered, wearing that half-smile Jeonghan used to think was charm and now knows is armor. “Our kids might actually stand a chance this year.”

“Let’s hope so,” Jeonghan replies without looking up.

He stares at your vitals. At your small figure on the screen. Still not moving, not even a twitch of hesitation. Just watching, waiting. The same way he’s seen you watch the sky from the train window, like you’re searching for something worth staying for.

The countdown hits zero. The gong sounds.

The Games begin.

The cameras flicker between chaos and slaughter. Screams crack the air, tinny and sharp over the Control Center’s monitors. Blood is spilled in less than five seconds—twin blades from District 1 find the neck of a smaller boy, and the Career pack forms with terrifying speed. 

Jeonghan’s eyes scan screen after screen until he finds you.

You’re running—not to the Cornucopia, thank the gods—but to the left, where a pile of knapsacks and canteens are scattered among debris. You duck, swipe two, and pivot just as another tribute lurches at you. 

Jeonghan’s heart stutters. You use the knapsack like a flail, slam it into their face, and bolt toward the trees. 

Fast. Smart. Alive.

Barley is slower. He lingers too long, fumbling with a coil of rope. He nearly loses it when someone charges at him, but a girl from Six takes the hit instead. Her scream rises—then cuts off abruptly. 

Barley scrambles, barely escaping with a dented pot and a bottle of water. He doesn’t make it far, but he’s alive. For now.

A cannon fires. The first.

The room of victors stills as the screen flashes the casualty to them.

District 12’s girl. 

Jeonghan glances to his right, where Hansol is already on his feet. The victor doesn’t say a word. He just unplugs his data pad and walks out, the steel door hissing shut behind him. Jeonghan watches him go. 

No one says anything. They rarely do.

District 12’s boy goes down not long after. Another cannon. Another name. Hansol won’t be back.

The bloodbath drags on. It’s brutal, but not long. Six tributes die before the hour is up. Jeonghan leans forward, tracking the green blip that marks you on his pad. You’re tucked in the trees, breathing hard. You’ve stopped to bury yourself beneath leaves and branches, taking a note straight out of Jeonghan’s playbook. 

Next to Jeonghan, Seungcheol lets out a breath and mutters, “Good luck.”

“I don’t need luck,” Jeonghan replies, voice hoarse. “I need a miracle.”

Your green blip continues to blink.

Please stay that way, Jeonghan thinks. 

You eventually make your slow, measured way through the muck of the arena. The swamp is vast, ringed with spiny trees, their roots like skeletal hands clawing out of the fetid water. Fog coils through the underbrush. Every few hours, something hisses or howls from the shadows. It's hell in technicolor, broadcast to every screen in Panem.

You move with caution, dragging your left leg slightly—favoring the ankle you twisted on the first day, slipping on moss-covered stone. He winces every time he sees you falter.

Capitol patrons have been generous. 

You’re pretty, and that counts for something. The dress they stuffed you into during the Tribute Parade did what it was meant to do. More importantly, you spoke like someone worth listening to during the interview. You’ve earned your sponsors. Jeonghan watches the pledge count climb.

But the funds dwindle faster than he likes. Bandages, food, painkillers—they cost more than you’d think. The sponsors pay for entertainment, not mercy. And half the job of being a mentor is making the calls no one else wants to make.

Barley hasn’t eaten in two days.

Jeonghan sees the boy stumbling along the banks of the stagnant pond, mouth cracked dry, trying desperately to chew a reed that isn’t remotely edible. His heart twists. Barley’s vitals flicker. Pulse dropping, dehydration setting in. 

Jeonghan’s finger hovers over the interface. He has enough to send a protein bar. It’s not much, but it’ll get the kid through another day.

Then, you scream.

It’s sharp, sudden, a sound that guts him. On-screen, you go down hard, hand clutching your side. Blood blooms at your waist, seeping into the saturated soil. A mutt. Something you had gotten away from through the skin of your teeth. 

A silver parachute of life-saving supplies cuts through the arena. It is not for Barley. 

The cannon fires that night. A low, guttural boom. It is not for you. 

Jeonghan closes his eyes. He can imagine it already. The projected photo of Barley, lighting up the night sky. Announcing his death. Broadcasting Jeonghan’s failure. 

He exhales slowly, jaw clenched. It should never have come down to a choice.

But it always does.

He doesn’t check your reaction. He doesn’t think he’d survive it, anyhow. 

Hours later, the camera feed switches to your sector. For the first time since the Games have started, you’re not alone.

District 7’s boy—the one with the heavy shoulders and steady hands—and District 9’s wiry, sharp-eyed tribute fall into step beside you. Glances are exchanged. Supplies are shared. It’s enough. For now.

Jeonghan doesn’t like it.

“She always this trusting?” Jihoon asks from where he’s perched near one of the monitors, arms crossed tightly.

“Not usually,” Jeonghan replies, cool. “Must be desperation.”

Seokmin leans against the paneling, softer, more optimistic. “They seem like they’re good kids. Maybe it helps her chances.”

“Or maybe they’ll gut her in her sleep.”

Jihoon frowns. “They’re not like that.”

Jeonghan doesn't respond. He watches you divvy up some dried fruit, offering the larger portion to the boy from Nine, who grins and says something the cameras don’t pick up. You smile back, faint. Tired.

A part of Jeonghan wants to tell you to run, but he also knows you won’t get too far. 

The tentative truce lasts for three nights.

On the fourth, you’re the one on watch. Jeonghan knows you haven’t slept more than a couple hours at a time. You’re running on adrenaline and stubbornness.

At midnight, the boy from Nine rolls over. Pretends to murmur in his sleep. You lean in to listen, and Jeonghan nearly screams at his screen.

The boy from Nine pounces. 

The boy from Seven follows a second later. They work in tandem, practiced. 

They hold you down, your legs thrashing against the swampy ground. You’re muffled by the palm of a hand over your mouth. 

These things happened. Jeonghan watched it year in, year out. But never to one of his, never to—

The cameras zoom in just in time to catch the glint of your blade as it drives upward into the shoulder of District 9’s boy. Always keep your weapon within reach, Jeonghan had advised you. Even when you’re half-awake. I had a rock. Have—anything. 

Seokmin’s tribute howls. You break free.

Jeonghan’s fists are clenched. He doesn’t breathe until you’re sprinting through the trees again, bleeding but alive.

A couple of seats away—Jihoon and Seokmin share twin looks of horror. 

“I didn’t know,” Jihoon croaks. 

“Neither did I,” Seokmin murmurs, paling. “Jeonghan, I’m—”

But Jeonghan rounds on them like a storm breaking over the Control Center. He’s up on his feet in the next moment, angry in a way that nobody has ever seen. It confirms the rumors that had been swirling, puts down the cards that he’s held so close to his chest. 

“Didn’t know? That’s all you’ve got?” Jeonghan snarls as he yanks Seokmin away from the panel, nearly sending the victor to the ground. “You raised these motherfuckers!”

“They’re tributes, Jeonghan,” Jihoon snaps back, maneuvering so he can also face Jeonghan’s rage. “They’re just trying to survive.” 

“So is she!”

Bauble grabs Jeonghan by the elbow before he can do any more damage. “Enough,” she commands. “Outside. Now.” 

Jeonghan shakes her off but lets himself be steered out of the room. The door shuts behind them with a heavy click. He presses his back against the cold wall, jaw clenched.

Bauble doesn't say anything. Just waits. Escorts typically didn’t interfere at this point in the Games, but Bauble had taken it upon herself when she seemed to realize how much of a hold you had on the man that was supposed to be keeping you alive. 

Jeonghan covers his face with his hands. He doesn’t cry. He just breathes like he might come apart.

Inside the Control Center, the screens roll on. You’re alone again.

When Jeonghan returns, nobody talks about his outburst. There have been worse. Actual physical alterations. Victors spewing cusses, calling each other monsters. Forgiveness always came after the fact, but Jeonghan chooses peace and refuses to look at anyone else for the next hour. 

The swamp only grows crueler. 

There’s a haze that clings low to the ground, thick with spores and heat, and it makes the cameras flicker with static. 

The Gamemakers let it linger. They always do when the numbers dwindle. Suffering looks better through distortion.

Jeonghan leans forward in his seat, eyes locked to the primary monitor. Your figure stumbles into frame—mud-caked, limping, one arm clutched uselessly to your ribs. The blood there isn’t fresh. He knows what that means.

The camera’s too far to see your expression, but he doesn’t need to. You’ve gone quiet. No more traps, no more clever distractions. No more running. You’re just trying to stay upright.

Something shifts in the mist behind you. Fast. Deliberate. Another tribute.

Jeonghan’s fists slam into the console.

He doesn’t hear the rest. The monitor blares as the tribute from Two emerges—a heavyset girl with a jagged blade and fury behind her eyes. You try to run, but your body gives out two steps in. Your knees hit the water first.

It’s not a fight. It’s a beating.

Jeonghan’s knuckles go white. He watches you crawl, desperate and drowning, as the girl drags the blade across your calf to slow you further. The water goes dark. You barely scream.

The camera cuts to a tight shot. Your face, smeared in blood and mud. Mouth slack. Eyes unfocused.

Then—

Your lips move.

Tiny. Cracked. Fragile.

But he sees it. He swears he does.

His name.

Hannie, you’re mouthing, pleading, praying. 

Bauble says something behind him. A warning. A reminder. Jeonghan doesn’t hear it.

Jeonghan stands too fast. The chair clatters to the floor behind him. His hands press to the screen like he could reach through it, like if he could just touch you, anchor you, you’d remember how to live.

But the screen stays cold, and you go still.

Jeonghan’s breath shudders in his chest. He turns wildly like he might find something in the corners of the room to fix this. 

The remaining victors pointedly ignore his panic. They can’t do anything, either. They’re not about to waste their few resources on a tribute that isn’t theirs, even if Jeonghan begged and bled himself dry at their feet. 

There’s nothing. Jeonghan has given you everything he has, and it wasn’t enough.

Until the vitals blink. 

Once. Twice. Slow, but there.

A faint pulse.

You’re alive.

Jeonghan stares, disbelieving. The tribute has already vanished into the haze, too bloodied to check if you’re breathing, or cruel enough not to care. Either way, it’s a mistake. One Jeonghan won’t let stand.

He reels back from the screen. “Stay with her,” he tells Bauble, voice rough. “Monitor everything.”

Bauble looks up. “What are you—”

But he’s already moving. Out the door, down the corridor. The Peacekeepers outside the Control Center don’t stop him. 

There had always been whispers. 

That Jeonghan was the victor they couldn’t market. The one with the too-sharp tongue and eyes that didn’t flinch when Capitol cameras pressed too close. 

He smiled wrong. Loved wrong. Didn’t cry when his family died in that fire. 

Too clean. Too convenient.

It had given him nothing to lose.

But now—

Now he has you.

He finds her at the champagne bar just off the Viewing Floor. Gilded, powdered, draped in silk. The richest woman in the Capitol within arm’s reach. Her name doesn’t matter.

Jeonghan takes a breath. Thinks of you.

Then he smiles.

The kind of smile they remember. The kind that sells promises he’ll never keep. His voice is velvet when he approaches, belying the desperation thrumming through his veins. 

“You wanted to know what it was like to be wanted by a victor,” he says in lieu of a proper greeting, brushing her wrist with his fingertips. “How lucky. I’ve just remembered how to want.”

The socialite laughs. Bright, predatory.

He keeps smiling, even as his stomach turns. Even as the shame claws at the inside of his throat.

Her room reeks of expensive perfume and debauchery.

It’s in a suite at the top of one of the Capitol towers, walls made of glass and floors of velvet. It's the kind of place meant to make you feel small, make you grateful. Jeonghan doesn’t feel anything at all.

She kisses like she wants to devour him—painted nails digging into his back, her breath warm with wine and old longing. He lets her.

He performs.

Every soft sound, every graze of his lips, every practiced flick of his tongue—he gives it like it means something. He moans where she wants him to, touches her the way she’s probably imagined in her loneliest hours. He thinks of your face, dirt-smudged and bloodied, of the shape your mouth made when you whispered his name.

It’s not her he’s kissing. Not really.

He imagines it’s you beneath him. Imagines you needing him like this, touching him like this, loving him like this.

It doesn’t help.

She arches beneath him and calls him beautiful. He’s a bit clumsy, having never done any of this before, but it only serves to make him more endearing. A gorgeous thing that had to be broken in. 

He had wanted it so badly to be you. He can almost picture it, can almost taste it. How you’d laugh in between kisses. How you’d moan as his hands roamed. How you’d be everything and more.

When the woman cries out, Jeonghan doesn’t answer. His eyes are already on the ceiling.

It’s over in minutes. A quick, efficient transaction wrapped in silk sheets and false gasps.

She sprawls beside him, sated, smug. Jeonghan slips from the bed before she can say anything else. She doesn’t ask him to stay. She already knows how these things go, having sampled her fair share of male victors who were just as desperate. 

Jeonghan doesn’t shower. Doesn’t have the time for it. 

He just dresses in silence, pocketing the cred-chip she leaves on the table beside a crystal flute of champagne. He doesn’t drink it.

The elevator ride back down is quiet. His hands tremble.

By the time he returns to the Control Center, his mask is back in place. Bauble doesn’t say anything, just glances at the chip he slides across the desk.

“Enough for a full care package,” she confirms. “Weapon, medicine, some soup. We’ll drop it.”

Jeonghan nods and looks back to the monitor.

You’re still breathing. 

He presses his palm to the screen again and thinks of the myth you had loved so much as a child. The one with the fool—Orpheus, his name might have been—trying to lead his lover out of hell. 

“Wait for me,” Jeonghan croaks to no one in particular. To you. Always to you. “I’m coming.” 

The silver parachute lands. You reach for it with quivering fingers. 

You live for two more days. 

In those days, the swamp falls quiet. 

No more cannon fire. No more mutts. Just you and the girl from District 4, standing ankle-deep in water that smells like rot and victory.

Your blade is slick in your grip, hands trembling. You don’t even know where you’re bleeding from anymore. Every inch of you aches. Your body doesn’t feel like your own. 

The girl sways on her feet. She’s young. Too young. Her cheeks are streaked with mud and old blood, her breathing ragged. Her eyes are empty.

You both know it ends here.

“Please,” you choke out. It takes a moment to register that you’re not begging to survive. 

The words come with tears, with all the wreckage of what’s been done to you. “Finish it,” you rasp, your fingers tight around your scythe not with the intent to strike. Just to have something to steady you. 

Your opponent doesn’t move.

Up in the Control Center, it’s just Jeonghan and Seungcheol. 

Everyone else has gone. The other victors. The escorts. This is between two districts, two tributes, two victors. 

Jeonghan doesn’t look at Seungcheol. He can’t.

Back in the arena, you crumple to your knees, exhausted beyond belief. The swamp laps at your legs.

“Please,” you whisper again. “Please.”

The girl’s hands tremble. She looks at you like she’s seeing something else—someone else. She takes one step forward, then stops. Her fingers close around the handle of her knife.

You don’t flinch.

Then she speaks.

“You know Seungcheol, right?” 

You blink, confused.

She forces a smile, small and broken. “My mentor,” Seungcheol’s tribute offers. “Tell him—tell him I’m going to miss him the most.” 

Manipulated footage makes it look like you pushed her backward.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol see it as it happens. How the girl takes an intentional step back. How you reach for her, trying to stop her, only to watch her sink in quicksand that has been exacerbated by the Gamemakers. 

The arena swallows her up. 

The cannon doesn’t fire for several long seconds. 

The sound, when it comes, is muffled. Like the swamp itself is mourning her.

You scream. You scream until your throat gives out. You’re still screaming as you’re declared the victor, as you sob into the wetlands, as you’re lifted out. 

In the Control Center, Seungcheol’s hands curl into fists in his lap. 

His eyes fixed on the screen. Dry.

Jeonghan finally turns to him. “Cheol—” he starts, but Seungcheol shakes his head. 

“She’s coming home,” Seungcheol says, flat. “There’s your miracle, Yoon.”

And Jeonghan is sorry for it, sure, but he’s still much more grateful. 

V. YOON JEONGHAN, YOURS. 

Jeonghan doesn’t remember the walk to the Capitol hospital. He remembers leaving the Control Center. He remembers running.

The hallway is sterile and humming when he gets there. He knows where they’ve taken you. Of course he knows. He’s watched every moment of your suffering. He could trace the outline of your wounds with his eyes closed.

The nurse outside your room says something—protocol, maybe. He doesn’t hear her.

He shoulders his way in.

The lights are dimmed, the machines are quiet, but the sight of you lands like a gut punch. Jeonghan falters in the doorway.

You look like you’ve been hollowed out. 

There’s barely anything left of the tribute he watched fight through blood and betrayal. Bandages snake around your limbs and torso. Your face is pale beneath layers of grime they haven’t scrubbed away yet. Your lips are split. Your eyes—

You don’t even blink.

He takes a step closer, slow, careful, like approaching a wild animal. His hand lifts, fingers reaching for your cheek, like he might cradle it the way he used to in the dark of the Control Center, whispering to your image like you could hear him.

But the second he touches you—

You flinch.

Hard.

Jeonghan’s heart stops. His hand drops back to his side like it’s been burned.

You don’t look at him. You just tremble, shoulders curling in, your breathing shallow, your eyes still fixed on something beyond him. Beyond the room. Beyond now.

It’s the first time you’ve ever pulled away from him.

He doesn’t know what to do with that.

Part of him wants to fall to his knees. To apologize. For what, he couldn’t name. For not stopping the Games? For not being able to keep you from breaking? For still being here when so much of you has been scraped raw?

The silence presses in like swampwater, like a forest fire. Suffocating, unforgiving.

Jeonghan turns and lowers himself into the corner of the room. The floor is cold. The chair is too far. He needs to be here, close, even if you can’t stand his touch.

He wraps his arms around his knees and stares at you.

Your stare doesn’t move. Not to him. Not to anything.

He’s seen this look before. He wore it once, too.

Jeonghan swallows past the ache in his throat and speaks, barely audible. “I’m here. I’ll stay here. As long as you need.”

You don’t respond.

He doesn’t expect you to.

He settles into the silence like a penance and waits.

He waits for you to go through all the medical procedures. He waits for you to get an entire day's worth of sleep. He waits, even as the stylists dress you up like a doll.

Gossamer fabric, soft pastels to soften your image. Something that whispers vulnerability, not violence. They work in silence, careful around the raw edges of your skin, the lingering bruises. 

You don’t wince anymore. You just endure.

Jeonghan watches from the wings of the stage, heart in his throat.

The stage lights bloom too bright. Caesar’s teeth gleam under them like weapons. The audience cheers. Applause swells. 

And you? You walk out on trembling legs.

There was a time your smile could light up a room. Now it flickers, half-formed, and dies before it reaches your eyes.

Caesar catches your hand, holds it up for the crowd. You don’t pull away, but Jeonghan sees it—the way your fingers twitch, like they remember what it’s like to hold a weapon.

“Our newest victor!” Caesar announces. The crowd roars. 

Jeonghan leans forward in the shadows. He wants to run to you. To shield you from the cameras, the crowd, Caesar’s well-meaning questions that twist into knives.

“How are you feeling?” Caesar asks.

Your voice is soft. Hoarse. “I’m alive.”

A ripple of awkward laughter. Caesar tries to coax something out of you, a joke, a quip, the spark you once had. But it’s gone. Buried so deep, not even you know where to look.

Your fingers keep trembling. You tuck your hands in your lap to hide it.

Jeonghan watches every second.

They want a victor. A hero. A darling. But all they get is a shell.

And Jeonghan can’t do anything but watch.

They crown you in front of Panem.

Golden laurels rest atop your bowed head, catching the light like a final joke. President Snow stands behind you, hand heavy on your shoulder. 

You don’t shirk. You don’t cry. You barely breathe.

Jeonghan stands at the lower steps of the stage, jaw clenched tight.

The crowd is euphoric. Flashbulbs pop. Your name chants through the air like a war cry, over and over, and all Jeonghan can think is how hungry they look. Like they want to eat you alive.

You rise slowly when Snow lifts your chin. He presents you as the Capitol’s newest sweetheart—shattered and bloodstained and beautiful.

Jeonghan’s stomach twists. He hates it. The theatrics. The flowers. The falseness. The way they cheer for your trauma.

Later, at the afterparty, the music swells and champagne flows. You sit somewhere under a too-bright chandelier, being toasted by strangers with leering eyes.

Jeonghan tries to keep to the fringes, but he doesn’t escape for long.

The President finds him near the garden terrace, glass of something untouched in Jeonghan’s hand. The air stills around them like the world knows something dangerous is coming.

“Quite the victor,” Snow says mildly. “She’s memorable. Fragile in a way that sells well.”

Jeonghan says nothing.

Snow steps closer. His smile is polite. Tight. “You should be proud. The Capitol hasn’t felt this invested in years.”

A beat.

“Of course,” Snow adds, sipping from his flute, “such devotion comes at a price.”

Jeonghan’s throat tightens. 

Snow glances at him, all cool amusement. “Do thank that patron of yours again. Very generous. Desperation makes strange bedfellows, doesn’t it?”

Jeonghan goes cold. His skin prickles. He can’t move.

“She’s lovely, your girl,” Snow goes on, seeming unconcerned by the conversation that has been one-sided insofar. “I do hope she doesn’t become... inconvenient.”

And with that, the devil leaves.

Jeonghan stumbles through the crowd, past gilded dancers and glass towers of champagne. He finds a bathroom, locks the door behind him, and falls to his knees.

He vomits until there’s nothing left.

Even then, he doesn’t stop heaving.

He empties himself out and drinks some more until he’s sick again. He thinks of what it means to be a victor—what you stand to lose if you don’t bend to the Capitol’s will. 

Will you blame him for doing his job as a mentor? Will you wish you could’ve been like Seungcheol’s tribute, could’ve ended things clean and quiet like Barley? 

On the way back to District 11, the train hums softly beneath the two of you. A lullaby for no one.

You sit by the window, forehead pressed to the glass, eyes on the blur of passing scenery. Home. Whatever that means now.

Jeonghan sits across from you. Not too close. Not too far. Just... there.

It’s been hours since either of you spoke. Days, really, because the most you’ve given Jeonghan are pleasantries and nods and thousand-yard stares. 

Sometimes, a cruel part of him thinks it’s a fate worse than death. 

Your voice breaks the silence like a match in the dark.

“I’m sorry.”

Jeonghan blinks himself out of his hungover stupor. His fingers tighten around the edge of his seat as he looks towards you, searching. “Why?”

“For flinching.”

His chest caves around the answer. “No,” he says quickly, too quickly. “Gods, no. I should be the one apologizing.”

You turn to him. Just barely. But he sees it in your eyes. You know.

He swallows. Tries to laugh, like it might smooth the sharp edges.

You don’t smile in return. 

Jeonghan’s heart beats like a war drum. He wants to say something that makes it okay. That makes any of it okay.

But there’s nothing. Just the soft hum of the train. The ghost of everything that can never be undone.

“You saved my life,” you whisper.

He looks at you, really looks at you this time, and it almost ruins him.

Because he did. And he didn’t. Not really. 

He pulled you out of the arena, but the arena never left. It will never leave. It lives in your eyes now. In your silence. In the way your shoulders curl inward like you’re still waiting to be hurt.

This is it.

Your lives now.

This train. This distance. Mentorship, and memory, and never quite touching because love is too heavy a thing to carry on top of nightmares and broken backs.

Jeonghan turns his gaze back to the window. He tucks his love for you deep, where it can’t rot anything else. It won’t do you any good now. 

You may warm up to him one day, may come to forgive all he did to keep you around for longer. But as the song once did go—

Nothing will ever grow quite the same. 

The train speeds on.

Outside, the sprawling fields of District 11 come into sight. 

[starlightxsvt]

Undue Influence | teaser

synopsis ➳ ❝ he is your sworn enemy. hell, you are literally at war with him right now. yet, you find yourself desiring him in a way that could be catastrophic. the only silver lining is that he might be feeling the same way towards you. or maybe it is all just a game.❞

pairing ➳ lawyer fem!reader x lawyer!jeonghan

genre ➳ enemies to lovers, smut

“You know what your problem is, Mr. Devil’s Advocate?”

His brows rise and an amused, cocky smile kisses his lips.

You hate it.

“I’d love to hear it.” He entertains you.

“You argue just to hear yourself talk. Doesn’t matter if you’re defending a cheating husband, a billionaire with a God complex, or—hell—a rock in the middle of the street. If someone pays you enough, suddenly that rock has rights and everyone else is just ‘too emotional’ to see the truth.”

He chuckles, tilting his head. “Depends on the rock. Is it a trust fund rock or self-made?”

Your nostrils flare, and your hands curl into fists. “See? This— this is why I cannot tolerate your guts. I cannot believe I’m stuck in here with you…Yoon fucking Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan chuckles, and you narrow your eyes at him. His eyes linger on your face, making you feel hyperaware of yourself. He traces his index finger over his chin in a thoughtful manner, as if he is scrutinizing you.

“You know, I think you yell at me so much because you secretly enjoy saying my name.” He states with a smirk.

release date: 17.05.25

Note: My patreon subscribers will get to read it 5 days early from the Tumblr release which is on the 17th. You can join my patreon and subscribe to the tier called Extended/Bonus Scenes + Early Releases to read this fic early!

I'm so excited to share this with you guys! ><

Not making any taglist for this, folks. Sorry!