#boo writing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

supi-wupi · 1 month ago

Text

Kiss Me, It’s for Science - Junhui

Pairing: jun x reader

synopsis: Jun and Y/N are both psychology majors. For their thesis, they must observe the chemical reactions of romantic attraction... using themselves as test subjects. Bonus, Their “experiment” is being live-blogged by classmates on a fan account.

wc: 4.1k

genre: Romantic Comedy, Academic AU, Mutual Pining, Group Chat Chaos, Soft but unhinged friendship dynamics

warning: Swearing (mostly in the form of chaotic group chat energy and Seungkwan’s emotional rants), Secondhand embarrassment (via live-blogging, secret kisses, and overly dramatic classmates), Mentions of stress

a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY JUNNIE!!! was actually laughing at myself for even writing this in the first place, but i had fun :) Special thanks to @hhaechansmoless and @flowerwonu for beta reading for me!

1. Hypothesis: Jun Is Not That Pretty. Probably.

The list of things you expected when you picked psychology as your major was short and kind of embarrassing. You thought you'd learn how to read minds (nope), how to fix people (wrong again), and maybe how to stop crying in front of professors (jury's still out on that one).

You definitely did not expect to end up in a research lab about ‘neurochemical responses to romantic attraction.’

Even less expected was being partnered with Wen Junhui—resident pretty boy, dance major turned psych convert, and the guy who once tried to hypnotize a TA for extra credit. It almost worked.

Jun was already at your shared lab table when you arrived, feet up on the second chair, flipping through the experiment handbook like it personally offended him. He looked up as you approached, expression unreadable. Then he smiled—wide and kind and borderline smug.

“You’re late,” he said.

“You’re early,” you shot back, dropping your bag with a dramatic thunk. “What are we even doing this semester? I skimmed the syllabus, and it sounded like a dating sim disguised as science.”

Jun’s grin widened. “That’s because it is.”

You blinked.

He patted the seat next to him. “We’re going to fall in love. For research.”

You stared at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

Your voice cracked a little on arousal.

He pulled out a laminated page from the handbook and slid it across the table like he was revealing a clue on a game show.

You read aloud: ‘Students will pair up and conduct a series of controlled experiments designed to measure physiological and psychological markers of romantic arousal and bonding.’

“...This can’t be real.”

Jun leaned his chin on one hand, hair falling just slightly into his eyes. “It’s supervised by Dr. Kang. She’s been studying oxytocin and dopamine pathways for years. I think she’s trying to get a paper out of it.”

“So we’re lab rats.”

He raised his brows. “Hot lab rats.”

You rolled your eyes so hard, you didn’t think it was possible.

Still, you glanced back at the paper. Heart rate tracking, skin conductivity, pupil dilation, mood journaling, regular surveys. One prompt literally said, ‘Have participants hold hands for 60 seconds and record any notable emotional or physiological changes.’

This had to be a joke.

“Why are we doing this to ourselves?” you muttered, dragging your hands down your face.

Jun tapped the edge of the page. “Because it’s fifty percent of our final grade. And because it’ll be fun.”

You gave him a look.

He gave you the Jun look, which basically meant the same as a wink but prettier and more annoying.

“And,” he added, “because apparently, someone’s already live-blogging our class.”

Your head snapped up. “What?”

Jun pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, and slid it your way.

You blinked again. Harder.

On screen: a Twitter account titled

[@JunYNSocialExperiment]

Pinned tweet:

Day 1 of Jun and Y/N’s slow descent into thesis-induced madness. Sparks may already be flying. 👀 #Psych4Luv

Jun just shrugged. “Welcome to the spotlight, partner.”

You wanted to crawl under the lab table.

Instead, you groaned and flopped onto the chair next to him. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Not the most romantic start,” he said, mock-pouting.

You glared at him. “You better not fall in love with me, Jun.”

He grinned, and this time it was all teeth. “Too late.”

—

2. Variables Include but Are Not Limited to, My Crush on You

—

[@JunYNSocialExperiment]

Tweet 13: Jun just held Y/N’s hand during the oxytocin baseline. Her hand was shaking. His wasn’t. That man is too calm. Suspiciously calm.

Tweet 14: Someone check if he practiced this in the mirror. #SmoothOperator

Tweet 15: UPDATE: Jun said “your hands are soft” in a tone that should be illegal in educational settings. #HRViolation

You don’t know who’s running the live-blog account, but you’re at least 80% sure it’s Minghao. Maybe Seungkwan. Could be both.

“Should we be worried we’ve gone viral on CampusTok?” Jun asks, voice way too relaxed for someone whose heart rate was just logged mid-hand-holding session.

You, on the other hand, are a wreck. You can feel your pulse in your teeth.

“It’s not viral,” you mutter, not looking up from your lab notes.

Jun holds up his phone: 27.4K likes on a clip of you nearly dropping your water bottle when he smiled too hard during Eye Contact Session 1.

You stare at the number. Then you stare at him.

“This is your fault,” you say.

He feigns innocence. “I’m just being a good lab partner. You’re the one getting flustered.”

“You smiled like a romance anime protagonist.”

“I was following protocol. Stimulus Response Theory. Emotional cues. It’s for science.”

Inhale. Exhale. Murder is illegal….

Dr. Kang appears at that exact moment, armed with clipboards and a polite but terrifying smile. “How are my favorite guinea pigs doing?”

Dr. Kang nods like that’s perfectly normal and flips to the next page in her binder. “Excellent. Today we’re doing proximity tests. Sit close, back-to-back, no talking. We’ll be monitoring tension levels.”

You both reply at the same time:

Jun: “Deeply in love.”

You: “Deeply in denial.”

You blink. “Tension levels?”

“Muscle stiffness, heart rate, skin conductivity.” She pauses. “And maybe some vibes.”

Jun snorts. You do not.

Five minutes later, you’re sitting back-to-back with Jun on a mat on the floor, too aware of the warmth radiating from his shoulder blades and the fact that you’re pretty sure he smells like green tea and expensive dreams.

You hear him breathe in, like he’s going to say something, then stops. A beat of silence follows.

“I can feel you overthinking,” he murmurs, voice low enough only you can hear.

You elbow him in the ribs.

He laughs silently.

—

[@JunYNSocialExperiment]

Tweet 16: They’re back-to-back right now. She keeps adjusting her posture. He hasn’t moved once. I’ve never seen a man so comfortable with romantic tension.

Tweet 17: Someone said he’s the embodiment of a smirk. Accurate.

Tweet 18: If this doesn’t end in a kiss during the Final Trial, I’m demanding a refund from the psychology department.

You finally snap when someone in your group chat sends a meme of your blushing face photoshopped onto a squirrel. Caption: "Me when Jun breathes."

You hold up your phone to him, nose wrinkled. “Why are they like this?”

Jun glances at it and grins. “Because we’re adorable.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“I am.” He pauses, then tilts his head. “But also you.”

You freeze.

Jun shrugs like he didn’t just ruin your nervous system. “Just an observation. Scientific.”

You toss a pen at his forehead.

He catches it—of course he catches it—then raises a brow. “Aggression noted. Possible sign of repression?”

You nearly scream.

—

3. This Is Definitely a Crush, But Let’s Pretend It’s Academia

—

[@JunYNSocialExperiment]

Tweet 19: Jun just adjusted Y/N’s necklace for the "touch sensitivity test." That was not science. That was foreplay.

Tweet 20: We’re 3 sessions away from them inventing eye contact pregnancy.

Tweet 21: The TA had to step outside to breathe.

—

[Group Chat: Science Is a Scam (feat. Love)]

[Hao]: do u think if i bump into jun in the hallway and say “do you believe in fate” he’ll crack and confess

[Boo]: no but he’ll probably quote some philosopher and flip his hair

[Vernon]: i’m still not over how he called y/n “sunshine” in that deadpan voice like bro who trained you

[Dino]: should we start a betting pool for when they kiss

[Hao]: i already started one. dps due friday

[Boo]: why friday

[Hao]: because dr kang is making them share a blanket for the “comfort dependency module.”

[Hao]: i am not joking.

“I think Minghao’s spying on us,” you mutter, scrolling through the live-blog account while sitting next to Jun at a coffee shop.

Jun glances over, sipping his iced americano like nothing phases him. “I think Minghao’s rooting for us.”

You choke on your muffin.

He pats your back in a very not platonic way. “You good?”

“Define ‘good,’” you cough, “because emotionally I’m hanging on by a single neurotransmitter.”

Jun smiles, utterly unhelpful. “Let’s hope it’s dopamine.”

—

In today’s lab, you’re asked to complete a “Shared Intimacy Memory Test,” where you’re supposed to tell a meaningful memory to your partner and rate how emotionally connected you feel afterwards.

You stare at the blank paper in front of you.

“Do I tell the story where I cried in front of my professor?” you ask. “Or the one where I got stuck in a revolving door?”

Jun hums. “How about something you’d only tell someone you trust?”

You side-eye him. “You first, Casanova.”

And then he tells you about his mom’s garden.

About how she used to wake him up at 5 a.m. to water the tomatoes.

About how he hated it—until he moved out and realized he missed the smell of basil more than anything.

You look at him, quiet for a long moment.

“That’s kind of beautiful,” you say, softly.

He shrugs. “Kind of like you.”

You stare.

He doesn’t break eye contact.

The TA coughs behind her clipboard.

—

[Group Chat: Science Is a Scam (feat. Love)]

[Boo]: he just called her beautiful

[Boo]: i have ascended

[Dino]: do you think if i fake a nosebleed they’ll get distracted long enough to kiss

[Hao]: no but worth a try. bring a ketchup packet.

[Vernon]: i’m just here for the free drama. this is better than any kdrama i’ve ever seen.

Later that night, Jun walks you home after the lab.

Your shoulder brushes his.

You pretend not to notice. He pretends not to either.

“You ever think we’re just playing chicken with each other?” you ask suddenly, stopping near your door.

Jun blinks. “In what way?”

“I mean—who’s going to crack first. Say it out loud.”

He steps a little closer. “Say what?”

You look up at him, heartbeat louder than logic.

“That this... doesn’t feel like an experiment anymore.”

Jun doesn’t reply right away. Instead, he reaches up like he might touch your face, then stops.

“I’ve known since Day 2,” he admits.

You blink. “Known what?”

“That I like you,” he says simply. “Everything else has just been… peer-reviewed confirmation.”

Your heart crashes somewhere into your lungs.

But before you can reply, he adds, “I’m not asking for an answer. Not yet. But just know I’m not pretending.”

You don’t sleep that night. Your lab notes the next morning are absolute garbage.

—

4. The Blanket Test and Other Forms of Emotional Torture

—

[@JunYNSocialExperiment]

Tweet 21: If you thought they couldn’t get more domestic—today’s module is: Shared Thermal Regulation.

Tweet 22: Translation: THEY’RE SHARING A BLANKET FOR SCIENCE.

Tweet 23: Jun said “you can have more if you’re cold” and tucked the blanket over Y/N’s knees. I am now legally married to this ship.

—

[Group Chat: Science Is a Scam (feat. Love)]

[Boo]: shared. thermal. regulation.

[Boo]: dr kang is a menace and also my hero

[Dino]: they’re gonna die of tension before hypothermia even kicks in

[Vernon]: y/n just told jun “you run warm” and i had to physically leave the room

[Hao]: if they don’t kiss today i’m deleting my degree

[Hao]: this is not psychology this is foreplay 101

Jun adjusts the blanket so it drapes evenly across your legs. You're sitting side by side on the floor of the lab’s observation room, backs against the couch, trying very hard not to make eye contact.

“So,” you say lightly, “how do you think this affects the dopamine system?”

Jun leans over. “You want the scientific answer or the ‘I like the way your voice sounds when you’re flustered’ answer?”

Your whole nervous system malfunctions.

“That’s not—” you choke, “That’s not a real research angle!”

He raises an eyebrow. “Says who? Should we test it?”

You open your mouth to argue, but then he shifts closer, shoulder to shoulder now, and all your cognitive functions dissolve.

You pretend to look at your notes.

He pretends to look at his.

Neither of you are fooling anyone.

—

[Group Chat: Science Is a Scam (feat. Love)]

[Boo]: jun said “you smell like vanilla and chaos” and i SCREECHED

[Hao]: i am going to physically force their faces together i swear

[Dino]: update: i told the TA i had to “check the fire alarm” so i could eavesdrop

[Vernon]: i heard jun say “i dreamt about you last night”

[Vernon]: i have not recovered

[Boo]: WAS IT SEXY

[Vernon]: no it was weirdly soft

[Vernon]: he said “you were laughing and I wanted to keep the sound”

[Hao]: i need a sedative

“You’re staring again,” you murmur without looking at him.

“I study human behavior,” Jun says smugly. “This is observational data collection.”

You snort, eyes still on the psych textbook in your lap. “Uh-huh. What’s your conclusion?”

He shifts a little closer. “That I’m probably completely in love with you.”

Silence.

Your fingers twitch under the blanket.

He doesn’t take it back.

You look up at him—finally—and the look in his eyes makes the air feel heavier.

You say, quietly: “I don’t know what to do with that.”

Jun smiles, a little crooked. “You don’t have to do anything. Just… don’t run.”

“I’m not running,” you whisper.

He nudges your knee with his. “Good.”

—

Later, back in your dorm, you open your phone and find 18 missed messages from Hao.

You roll your eyes and finally respond

[Minghao]: DID YOU KISS??

[Minghao]: DID YOU TOUCH HANDS??

[Minghao]: DID HE WHISPER YOUR NAME LIKE A SAD VICTORIAN POET

WE’RE DYING HERE

[Minghao]: answer or i’m going to publish the live-blog as a case study

—

[You]: no kiss

[You]: just confessions

[You]: maybe next time

[Minghao]: CONFESSIONS??

[Minghao]: LIKE LOVE ONES??

[Minghao]: be so serious rn. i’m calling dr kang and declaring this a success

[You]: don’t

[Minghao]: too late. already printed matching lab coats that say “subject a’s boyfriend”

5. Hallway Kisses and One (1) Witness Too Many

—

[@JunYNSocialExperiment]

Tweet 24: Okay. Okay. Okay. I’m shaking.

Tweet 25: THEY THINK THEY’RE SNEAKY. THEY’RE NOT.

Tweet 26: Seungkwan caught them kissing outside the lab and texted us “GUYS I JUST WITNESSED EMOTIONAL NUDITY”

Tweet 27: Anyway, we won.

It happens between modules.

You and Jun are standing in the hallway outside Dr. Kang’s office, both slightly breathless after a long presentation on “emotional synchrony and physiological arousal,” which is ironic considering you haven’t been able to calm down around Jun for weeks.

There’s no one in the hallway. The lab door clicks shut behind you.

You lean against the wall, arms crossed loosely. Jun’s in front of you, hands in his pockets, eyes flicking from your face to your mouth and back again.

“You did well in there,” he says softly.

“You too. Especially that part where you explained heart rate increase as ‘mutual attunement’ and looked directly at me for the entire paragraph.”

Jun tilts his head, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “You noticed?”

You roll your eyes. “I notice everything.”

There’s a beat.

Then he takes a half-step closer. “Do you notice how close I am right now?”

Your breath hitches. “Jun—”

“If you don’t want me to kiss you, say something.”

Silence.

You look up at him, and whatever’s in your expression makes him breathe in sharply. He leans in—

And kisses you.

It’s gentle at first—tentative, warm. But then you’re pulling him in by the collar and he’s tilting your chin up with one hand, the other braced against the wall beside your head. The kiss deepens, and the world narrows to the space between your mouths.

Then—

“Oh my GOD.”

You both freeze.

Seungkwan is standing ten feet away with his lunch tray, mouth agape.

There’s a long, long pause.

“…Please pretend you didn’t see that?” you say weakly.

Seungkwan drops the tray on the floor with a clatter and bolts down the hall at full speed, yelling, “I NEED MY PHONE. I NEED THE GROUP CHAT. I’M TELLING EVERYONE.”

—

[Group Chat: Science Is a Scam (feat. Love)]

[Boo]: EMERGENCY BROADCAST

[Boo]: RED ALERT

[Boo]: THEY WERE MAKING OUT OUTSIDE THE LAB

[Boo]: I REPEAT

[Boo]: LIP-LOCK LEVEL: ADVANCED

[Hao]: OH MY GODDDDD

[Hao]: I KNEW IT

[Hao]: LOVE IS REAL

[Boo]: jun had his hand on the WALL

[Boo]: WALL ARM

[Boo]: THE KDRAMA WALL ARM

[Dino]: i am crying. this is the most important academic day of my life

[Vernon]: are we still live-blogging or is this now a fan shrine

Later that night, Jun sends you a text.

[Jun]: did we break seungkwan

he walked into the kitchen and handed me a banana without saying a word

—

[You]: i think he’s grieving

either our friendship or the fact he wasn’t the first to know

possibly both

Dr. Kang enters the next lab session with a small smile and a stack of feedback forms.

“Before we begin, I’d like to commend Subject A and Subject B for their… commitment to the experiment.”

You and Jun exchange panicked glances.

Dr. Kang continues. “Some of your classmates have submitted observational reports. Very thorough. Some might say emotionally invasive, but—” she shrugs, “—that’s academia.”

You are going to kill Seungkwan.

—

[@JunYNSocialExperiment]

Tweet 28: they’re holding hands in the presentation now

Tweet 29: jun just whispered something and y/n smiled like a fool

Tweet 30: we’re calling it

Tweet 31: experiment conclusion: it was never about science

Tweet 32: it was always about love

6. Confessions & Crashes (Live from Psych 301)

The final presentations were scheduled to start at 1:00 PM sharp, but the lecture hall was already packed by 12:40. Not because anyone particularly loved behavioral psych, but because the entire Seventeen Group Chat had gone rogue.

—

Specifically:

Subject: Jun and Y/N’s final presentation

Subtext: Will they combust? Will they kiss again? Will Seungkwan faint in public?

—

[Group Chat: Science Is a Scam (feat. Love)]

[Boo]: IM OUTSIDE THE LECTURE HALL

[Boo]: I REPEAT THE KISSERS ARE ON CAMPUS

[DK]: omg

[Joshua]: don’t cause a scene

[Boo]: TOO LATE I’VE ALREADY SWEATED THROUGH MY SHIRT

[Mingyu]: i brought popcorn

[Vernon]: i brought existential dread

[Woozi]: i brought a taser

[Soonyoung]: I BROUGHT POSTERS

[Jeonghan]: what

[Soonyoung]: [attached: “KISS ME IT’S FOR SCIENCE” banner]

[Jeonghan]: I regret asking

You and Jun sit near the front. There’s a half-meter of space between your seats, but the tension could punch a hole through concrete. You’re both quiet. Too quiet.

It’s been three days since the kiss.

Three days since Seungkwan caught you in the hallway and shrieked so loud the janitor dropped his mop. Three days since your group chat transformed into a fanfiction-writing frenzy, culminating in Minghao sending a 20-slide PowerPoint titled “The 19 Stages of Academic Yearning (ft. Jun and Y/N).”

And three days since you’ve said anything real to Jun.

Because how do you follow a kiss like that?

A kiss that wasn’t part of the experiment. A kiss that wasn’t data or methodology or "mutual gaze-induced arousal via stimulus proximity." A kiss that felt—

Real.

—

Your names are called. You step up.

You’re shaking. But Jun smiles at you, soft and grounding. Like he’s saying, We got this. I got you.

You start with the basics—hypothesis, procedure, variables.

Jun picks up the analysis, voice steady. “We measured cortisol levels, pupil dilation, and heartbeat synchronization during various physical and emotional interactions. Our aim was to determine whether affection, simulated or genuine, could create measurable physiological bonding.”

He pauses.

You glance at him. His jaw tightens.

Then he turns to face the audience. “But somewhere along the way,” Jun says quietly, “it stopped being simulated.”

Your stomach drops.

The room is silent.

“Somewhere between testing proximity and shared secrets… I stopped seeing this as research. And started feeling something real.”

You blink.

Oh no.

He’s doing this. Here. Now. In front of fifty students and one very emotionally fragile Seungkwan.

You step forward, whispering, “Jun—”

But he looks right at you.

“This wasn’t in the protocol,” he says, voice suddenly trembling. “You weren’t supposed to matter this much. But you do. You do.”

—

The lecture hall explodes.

—

[Group Chat: Science Is a Scam (feat. Love)]

[Boo]: HES CONFESSING

[Boo]: HE’S CONFESSING IN PUBLIC

[DK]: OH MY GODDDD

[Joshua]: I’M CRYING

[Woozi]: shut up i can’t hear

[Minghao]: [screenshot of Jun’s face mid-confession, zoomed in 300%]

[Soonyoung]: CAN I THROW FLOWERS

[Jeonghan]: NO

[Soonyoung]: TOO LATE

[Jeonghan]: ARE YOU ACTUALLY THROWING FLOWERS

[Soonyoung]: [attached: photo of daisies in mid-air]

[Mingyu]: THE TA IS CRYING

[Vernon]: i’m also crying but i think it’s unrelated

[Boo]: HE’S HOLDING HER HAND

[Boo]: I’M GOING TO ASCEND

You’re stunned. Frozen.

Jun steps closer, voice softer now. “Y/N, you don’t have to say anything. But I had to tell you. Because this was supposed to be a study in emotional bonding, and somewhere along the line, I fell in love.”

You stare.

And then you laugh—wet, shocked.

“Jun,” you whisper, “I was in love with you four weeks ago. When you spilled tea on my laptop and offered to buy me a new one.”

He blinks. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” you say, grinning. “But the hallway kiss helped.”

The entire room loses it.

—

You’re still holding hands when your professor says, “A+, obviously. But please consider my blood pressure next time.”

Jun bows politely. You wave, dazed. The class claps like you just ended a K-drama. Someone’s live-streaming. A flower lands on your head.

—

[Group Chat: Science Is a Scam (feat. Love)]

[Joshua]: does this mean they’re dating

[DK]: DO WE THROW A PARTY

[Woozi]: i’m making a playlist

[Jeonghan]: i’m making a drinking game

[Soonyoung]: IM MAKING A TIKTOK

[Minghao]: i’m making a legally binding marriage certificate

[Boo]: [attached: selfie, red-eyed, cheeks blotchy, surrounded by tissue]

[Boo]: love is real

[Boo]: i need electrolytes

7. Commence Emotional Graduation (w/ Seungkwan’s Fanclub)

Graduation day arrives like a fever dream. Caps flying. Gowns flapping. Sunglasses hiding tears. A dangerously unstable crowd of proud parents, confused siblings, and one emotionally possessed group chat ready to combust.

You’re standing in line to cross the stage, half-listening to the Dean’s speech and trying not to cry into your honor cords. Beside you, Jun is adjusting his gown and whispering nonsense like:

“Yes,” you whisper back, heart soft. “All of it. But I love you anyway.”

“Did you eat?”

“Is your cap on straight?”

“Do I have something in my teeth?”

“Should we kiss after we get our diplomas?”

“Too much?”

He beams so wide you almost cry again.

—

Meanwhile...

—

[Group Chat: Science Is a Scam (feat. Love)]

[Boo]: LISTEN UP

[Boo]: THE TIME HAS COME

[Joshua]: oh no

[Woozi]: what have you done

[DK]: i’m scared

[Boo]: I AM OFFICIALLY LAUNCHING

[Boo]: THE JUN × Y/N FANCLUB

[Minghao]: of course

[Jeonghan]: we knew this was coming

[Soonyoung]: DO WE GET SHIRTS

[Boo]: ALREADY MADE

[Boo]: [attached: “I Believed in the Science” t-shirt]

[Mingyu]: bro

[Vernon]: incredible

[Boo]: there’s a tier system

[Boo]: GOLD = saw them kiss live

[Boo]: SILVER = cried during the final presentation

[Boo]: PLATINUM = emotionally unwell since week 4

[Joshua]: so we’re all platinum

[Woozi]: against my will

You cross the stage.

Your name is called. The applause is normal—until SEUNGKWAN SCREAMS from the back row, holding a hand-painted fanclub banner. (Soonyoung is next to him tossing mini confetti cannons.)

You’re pretty sure the Chancellor flinches.

Then Jun crosses.

The crowd, already unstable, reaches concert-level intensity. Someone blows a kazoo. Vernon is live-streaming. Mingyu is crying. The professor who gave you an A+ on your final project wipes a single tear and nods like she’s raised you both herself.

—

After the ceremony, the chaos continues.

You’re bombarded with hugs, selfies, and “tell us everything” questions from your group chat. Seungkwan makes you pose in front of a giant “Science of Love” poster he made himself. Soonyoung forces Jun into a glitter-filled TikTok. Woozi plays an acoustic guitar version of “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” while Joshua harmonizes.

Jeonghan casually hands you a champagne bottle and whispers, “You survived academia and fell in love. You deserve this.”

—

Later, you and Jun sneak away. Sit quietly on the edge of campus, overlooking the courtyard full of chaos you’ve come to love.

He nudges your shoulder. “So... post-grad. What now?”

You smile. “We keep experimenting. With this. Us.”

He leans in. “For science?”

You laugh into his kiss. “For love.”

—

[Group Chat: Science Is a Scam (feat. Love)]

[Boo]: THEY’RE KISSING AGAIN

[DK]: I’M CRYING AGAIN

[Woozi]: we should’ve majored in drama

[Minghao]: we basically did

[Soonyoung]: LET’S THROW A REUNION EVERY YEAR

[Joshua]: …we’re still on campus?

[Jeonghan]: shut up and let the moment happen

[Vernon]: i’m writing a poem

[Mingyu]: i’m hungry

[Boo]: i’m full

[Boo]: FULL OF EMOTION

masterlist ♪ | series masterlist

434 notes · View notes

diamonddaze01 · 5 months ago

Text

Fake it Til You Make it

pairing: boo seungkwan x f!reader | wc: 18K genre: coworkers au, fake dating au, fluff, humor, suggestive, angst warnings: language, alcohol consumption, suggestive scenes a/n: for cam&em’s lonely hearts cafe collab (everyone go read every fic or i will Find You) // this is a continuation of morning rush enormous thank you to @ylangelegy and @haologram for beta-ing this <3333

summary: You could honestly throttle Seokmin right now. Of all the half-baked, caffeine-fueled ideas he’s ever had, convincing the entire office that you and Seungkwan—your sworn nemesis and parking spot thief—are madly in love might just take the cake.

Seokmin has a plan. A really, really, really good plan. He’s sure of it.

Mostly.

He leans against the breakroom counter, nursing the world’s saddest cup of instant coffee, and considers the potential fallout. Sure, you and Seungkwan will probably strangle him (or, in your case, make an entire PowerPoint on “Why Lee Seokmin Deserves to Be Laid Off”), but the rewards outweigh the risks. Seokmin glances toward the hallway, where the faint sound of Aera and Ayoung’s laughter echoes, their voices just a pitch too smug. No, this plan is flawless. Foolproof. Nobel Prize-worthy, even.

All he has to do now is sell it to the two people who loathe each other the most in the office.

He hadn’t meant to open his mouth, but God, Aera and Ayoung had to have been demons crafted by the devil himself, the kind that thrived on overpriced lattes and the scent of shattered self-esteem. Seokmin had just been passing through the hallway, minding his own business—okay, eavesdropping a little—when he caught wind of their conversation.

“Honestly, I don’t know why she even bothers coming to these galas,” Aera had said, inspecting her manicure like it held the secrets of the universe. “It’s not like anyone actually notices her. She’s basically furniture.”

“Right? What’s the point if you don’t have someone on your arm?” Ayoung had added, with a theatrical sigh. “But then again, who would even want to go with her? She’s so…. ugh.”

The “ugh” had been the final straw. Seokmin hadn’t thought twice—he’d stormed over, ready to unleash a tirade about how you were the hardest-working person in the office, how you’d single-handedly carried your team through last quarter’s hellish project, and how you absolutely deserved more respect.

Instead, what came out of his mouth was: “Y/N has a date. Obviously.”

The two women blinked at him in unison, their perfectly sculpted eyebrows raising in surprise. “Oh?” Aera recovers quickly, tilting her head. “And who’s the lucky date? You?”

Seokmin laughed, loud and unconvincing. “Me? No, no, I’m going with Soonyoung, like I always do.”

Ayoung narrowed her eyes. “Then who?”

And this is where Seokmin’s brain had short-circuited. He glanced around the room, as if the walls might offer some divine intervention. Nothing. Just the faint hum of the vending machine. His mind raced, searching for a name that would shut them up, and then—

“Seungkwan,” he blurted out.

Both women stared at him, stunned. “Seungkwan?” Aera repeated, incredulous.

“Yep! Seungkwan,” Seokmin had said, doubling down because he knew there was no turning back. “They’ve been together for ages. Super lowkey about it, though. You know how Seungkwan is.”

The silence was deafening.

“Seungkwan,” Ayoung echoed, her expression twisting into disbelief. “Boo Seungkwan. As in, ‘my parking spot is sacred ground’ Seungkwan?”

Seokmin’s grin tightened. “The very same.”

For a moment, the two women exchanged a look, processing this unexpected development. Then, to Seokmin’s immense relief, Aera shrugged. “Huh. I guess that makes sense. They’re both kind of…intense.”

“I mean, they fight like an old married couple,” Ayoung had added, smirking.

“Exactly!” Seokmin said, clinging to the lifeline they’ve unknowingly thrown him. “Soulmates, right?”

The rumor spread faster than an office email about free donuts, and by lunchtime, it seemed like everyone had an opinion about your supposed relationship with Boo Seungkwan. The first domino fell when Mingyu slid into the seat across from Seungkwan in the cafeteria, tray in hand and a knowing smirk plastered across his face. He casually tossed his napkin onto his lap, but there was a glint in his eyes that made Seungkwan pause mid-bite.

“So,” Mingyu began, spearing a piece of chicken with far too much casual flair, “you and Y/N, huh? Cute.”

Seungkwan, who had been halfway through chewing a mouthful of rice, immediately choked so violently he nearly toppled the entire tray. The force of his cough was so dramatic that Joshua, seated a few spots away, paused mid-bite and gave Seungkwan a couple of hard thumps on the back, muttering a half-hearted “Jesus, dude” under his breath. The rest of the table fell silent, watching the spectacle unfold with varying degrees of concern and mild amusement.

“Excuse me?” Seungkwan sputtered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes wide with a mixture of horror and confusion.

“You know…” Mingyu leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially, the way someone would when revealing state secrets. “You. Y/N. The whole undercover thing.” He paused for effect, looking around as if making sure no one else was eavesdropping. “Honestly, I didn’t see it coming, but it makes sense. You two do bicker like an old couple. It’s kinda cute, actually.”

Seungkwan froze mid-chew, his chopsticks hovering in midair, as his brain scrambled to process Mingyu’s words. Undercover thing? Old couple? Y/N?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Seungkwan said flatly, his voice a mix of exasperation and genuine confusion, although a tiny bead of sweat had already begun to form at his temple. He glanced around, noticing the way a few of his coworkers at the nearby tables were suddenly pretending to be deeply invested in their food, but the side glances they were stealing were hard to miss.

Mingyu squinted, his expression becoming exaggeratedly serious. “Don’t play dumb, Seungkwan. Aera and Ayoung said you and Y/N have been secretly dating for ages. Ages. Like, seriously. You two are practically the office power couple.”

Seungkwan stared at Mingyu, not entirely sure whether he should laugh or start hyperventilating. His eyes flickered to Joshua, who was now giving him a sympathetic glance, and then back to Mingyu, whose grin had only grown wider with every passing second. The conversation around them had slowly started to fade into the background, leaving only the sound of Seungkwan’s rapidly beating heart in his ears.

For a brief moment, the only sound was the clatter of utensils against trays, and the faint sound of someone sneezing a few tables over, as though the entire room was collectively holding its breath. Then, with the force of a dam breaking, Seungkwan exclaimed, “WHAT?!”

The sound was so loud and high-pitched that the people around them flinched. Mingyu’s smirk only deepened.

“Yeah, you heard me,” he said, as if the news was the most normal thing in the world. “You and Y/N—together. Lowkey, sure, but people are noticing. Honestly, I'm impressed. You've got good chemistry. You bicker, you glare at each other like it's a sport, and boom—no one can resist you two.”

Seungkwan’s eyes widened even further, if that was possible. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out for a solid five seconds. “You... Mingyu, this is—this is insane. We’re not—”

“I mean, you guys do fight like an old married couple,” Mingyu added, completely unbothered. “Classic relationship stuff.”

Seungkwan let out a high-pitched groan, dropping his chopsticks onto his tray as he slumped back in his seat. Joshua patted him on the back with a sympathetic look. “Honestly, man, at this point, I think everyone’s already betting on how long you two last.”

Seungkwan turned a death glare on Mingyu. “Mingyu, I am not dating Y/N, okay? Not. I don’t even—”

“Sure you’re not,” Mingyu said with a wink, leaning back and taking a leisurely sip of his drink. “But hey, if you need help smoothing it over, let me know. I could use a good laugh.”

Meanwhile, you were in the middle of a relatively peaceful afternoon, lost in your work, when Soonyoung burst into your workspace like a caffeinated golden retriever on a sugar rush.

“Congrats!” he announced, voice loud enough to startle the intern two desks down, who nearly spilled her coffee in the process.

You blinked at him, genuinely perplexed. “For what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him, unsure whether this was a prank you weren’t in on yet.

“For the relationship of the century, duh!” Soonyoung said, plopping into the chair next to you like he owned the place. He threw his feet up onto the corner of your desk, barely missing the pile of reports you’d been working on. He propped his chin on his hands, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You and Seungkwan—genius. Absolutely genius. I mean, I was wondering when you two would finally make it official, but keeping it lowkey? Perfect. Who came up with it? Was it you? It had to be you.”

Your face contorted into a mix of confusion and horror, the words barely registering. “What are you talking about? What relationship?”

Soonyoung leaned in closer, like he was about to share some highly classified info, lowering his voice to a dramatic whisper. “The PR stunt, obviously! Aera and Ayoung are eating it up. Honestly, you and Seungkwan should start charging them rent for all the space you’re taking up in their heads. They're obsessed. It’s amazing.” He gave a pleased little clap. “Love to see it.”

“PR stunt?” you echoed, voice climbing in pitch. “Seungkwan?”

“Don’t be shy!” Soonyoung winked, his eyes practically glittering with pride. “You’re playing it so cool. I gotta hand it to you, you two are perfect at the whole ‘undercover couple’ thing. No one saw it coming. Now, with all those entertainment rumors about you two, people are talking. It’s the kind of buzz I can only dream of.”

You slammed your laptop shut with a dramatic bang. The sound made Soonyoung jump. "I’m going to kill him."

Soonyoung, unfazed, simply leaned back in his chair with a grin. “You should. But first, enjoy the chaos, because it’s already spreading. I mean, even the office Slack is buzzing about your ‘relationship.’ I think it’s time for you to play the long game.”

Before you could respond, Soonyoung was already pulling out his phone and swiping through a group chat on his screen. You could feel your headache forming as he muttered something about “setting the record straight” and “beating Mingyu’s office poll on couple dynamics."

Seokmin was mid-sip of his third coffee of the day when the breakroom door slammed open with enough force to make him spill.

“What the—” Seokmin started, dabbing at the mess with a crumpled napkin, but he didn’t get to finish because you and Seungkwan stormed in, practically radiating wrath. It was like watching a SWAT team execute a mission—except the target was him and his questionable life choices.

“You!” Your voice cracked through the air like a whip as you jabbed an accusatory finger in his direction.

“YOU!” Seungkwan echoed, his tone sharp enough to cut glass. His finger joined yours in solidarity, a united front of pure fury.

Seokmin froze, cornered between the sink and the vending machine, his coffee mug clutched like a makeshift shield. “Me?” he squeaked, his eyes darting between your expressions, both etched with a mix of betrayal and irritation.

“Yes, you!” Seungkwan snapped, stepping closer with the air of a man who had reached the end of his rope. “Do you want to explain why Mingyu just asked me if me and Y/N are naming our future pets after luxury brands?!”

The words hung in the air for a beat, heavy with absurdity.

“Luxury brands?” you echoed, your tone disbelieving.

“That’s not the point!” Seungkwan said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. He rounded back on Seokmin, who looked like a deer caught in a pair of particularly unforgiving headlights. “Explain. Now.”

Seokmin hesitated, his mind spinning like a faulty gear. He could feel a bead of sweat forming at his temple. “Okay,” he began carefully, stalling for time. “First of all, you’re welcome.”

The sheer audacity of the statement hit like a slap.

“You’re welcome?” you and Seungkwan chorused, voices dripping with incredulity.

“Yes!” Seokmin said, puffing up his chest slightly as though he were presenting a brilliant thesis. “You don’t understand how horrible Aera and Ayoung were being. They were saying awful things about you, Y/N! I had to defend your honor.”

“And your solution,” you said, your tone calm but with an edge sharp enough to slice through steel, “was to fake-date me with Seungkwan?”

“Yeah, Seokmin,” Seungkwan added, his hands flailing in emphasis. “I mean, if you wanted to fake-date Y/N, at least pick someone plausible. Like, I don’t know, Mingyu.”

“Hey!” you snapped, your glare whipping to Seungkwan.

“What?” Seungkwan asked, blinking in genuine confusion. “It was just an example.”

“Enough!” Seokmin groaned dramatically, throwing his hands in the air as though burdened by your collective lack of vision. “Look, it worked, didn’t it? Aera and Ayoung bought it! They even said you two bicker like an old married couple!”

“That’s not a compliment!” Seungkwan exclaimed, his voice rising an octave.

“And,” you interjected, stepping forward, your expression unnervingly calm but your tone laced with menace, “now the entire office thinks we’re in a relationship. So, how exactly does this ‘plan’ of yours end?”

Seokmin’s grin faltered slightly, his bravado cracking just enough to reveal a hint of unease. “Uh… with you two faking it for a bit longer? You know, until Aera and Ayoung find someone else to gossip about?”

Seungkwan let out a groan, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration. “You are unbelievable.”

“And you’re fired from planning anything ever again,” you added, your voice dripping with finality.

Seokmin opened his mouth to respond, his face twisting into a defensive expression, but the door creaked open before he could speak.

All three of you turned to see Soonyoung poking his head inside, his phone clutched in one hand. “Hey, not to interrupt, but I just posted a poll in the office group chat: ‘Who’s the power couple—Seungkwan and Y/N or Soonyoung and his plants?’ You’re winning by 72 percent, by the way.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

“You’re all insane,” Seungkwan muttered at last, snatching his coffee off the counter and storming out in a whirlwind of righteous indignation.

“Seokmin,” you said through gritted teeth, each syllable dripping with warning. “Fix this.”

Seokmin raised his mug in a mock toast, his grin resurfacing. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”

“Oh, no,” you groaned, turning on your heel. “We’re doomed.”

Seokmin’s apartment is as much of a disaster as you’d expect for a man who owns a single fork and three mismatched plates. The couch is one ill-timed flop away from breaking, and the "decor" consists of a faded movie poster, a dying plant, and a string of half-working fairy lights. Yet, somehow, it’s become the Friday night spot.

You, Seokmin, and occasionally Soonyoung gather here weekly like clockwork, cobbling together meals from his barren fridge, drinking yourselves silly, and venting about work. It’s an unspoken tradition, one that began with a pity invite after a particularly hellish week and quickly solidified when you discovered that, despite his lack of utensils, Seokmin could cook better than half the office put together.

Tonight, however, you’ve barely cracked open a bottle of soju when Seokmin starts talking about your “relationship” with Seungkwan.

“I’m just saying,” he slurs, stirring a pot of ramen with a spatula (his one and only cooking tool), “if you and Seungkwan fake-dated, Aera and Ayoung would shut up. It’s genius!”

You groan, sprawled on the lumpy couch with a glass in hand. “Seokmin, I’d rather die.”

“Would you, though?” he says, squinting at you like he’s cracked the code to life. “Because imagine showing up to the gala with Seungkwan on your arm. They’d hate it. And you’d look hot.”

You swish the remaining soju in your glass, frowning. “I don’t need Seungkwan to look hot.”

“Exactly! Which makes it better. He’d be like your hot accessory. Like a really angry Gucci bag.”

You snort at the thought of Seungkwan as a designer handbag and open your mouth to argue when Seokmin’s expression turns suspiciously earnest. “Look, I’m your work husband. I’d never steer you wrong. Just trust me.”

Your brain, already fuzzed from alcohol and exhaustion, betrays you. “Fine,” you mutter, waving your hand. “Whatever. I’ll fake-date Seungkwan.”

“REALLY?!” Seokmin drops the spatula with a clatter and claps his hands. “Great! Let me tell Soonyoung it’s safe to come in!”

“What?” you snap, sitting up so fast the room tilts. “What do you mean, safe to come in?”

“Yeah,” Seokmin says casually, wiping his hands on his pants. “He’s been waiting outside with Seungkwan for the 45 minutes it took for me to convince you.”

“LEE SEOKMIN, I WILL FUCKING THROTTLE YOU!”

You launch your slipper at him, but he ducks. The projectile sails past him and hits a new target—a very startled Seungkwan, who has just walked through the door.

The slipper connects with his thigh with a muted thwack.

Shocked silence fills the room.

Seungkwan glares at the three of you like you’ve all personally wronged him. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope. I’m going home. All of you motherfuckers are insane.”

“Wait!” Soonyoung and Seokmin leap forward, grabbing Seungkwan by the arms and dragging him back inside. He protests the whole way, muttering about how he “knew this was a terrible idea” and “should’ve stayed home.”

Thus begins the chaos.

Seokmin slaps the paper onto the coffee table like he’s presenting a groundbreaking thesis. In messy, barely legible letters, he’s scrawled FAKE DATING CONTRACT across the top.

“We’re doing this right,” he announces, brandishing the sharpie like a microphone. “Discussion topic number one: PDA.”

“None,” you say, raising your soju bottle in a mock toast.

“No PDA?” Soonyoung protests from where he’s sprawled across the armrest of the couch. “How is that going to convince anyone you’re dating? You can’t just stare at each other awkwardly across the room!”

“I don’t stare at people awkwardly,” you snap.

“Yes, you do,” Seungkwan deadpans. “That’s, like, your whole thing.”

“Excuse me?” you shoot back, glaring.

“Alright, alright!” Seokmin waves the sharpie between you like a referee breaking up a fight. “Compromise: hand-holding is allowed.” He starts writing it down, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth.

“And cheek kisses,” Soonyoung adds brightly.

“No way!” Seungkwan bursts out, looking betrayed.

“It’s just a cheek!” Soonyoung protests. “You don’t even have to look at her.”

“Wow,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “Thanks for the enthusiasm, darling.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Seungkwan snaps, arms crossing. “Did you want me to lie and say I’m thrilled to be fake-dating the office menace?”

You grab a couch cushion and smack him over the head with it. “I wouldn’t have to be a menace if you weren’t so insufferable!”

“Guys!” Seokmin groans, pointing the sharpie at both of you like it’s a weapon. “Focus. Cheek kisses are in.” He scribbles it down while Seungkwan mutters something about treason.

“And you,” you add, pointing at Seungkwan, “are bringing me coffee every morning for six weeks from that café across town.”

“Like hell I am!” Seungkwan glares. “You know how far that is?”

“Yes, which is why you’re doing it,” you snap. “Call it emotional compensation.”

“You’re not getting coffee and the parking spot!” Seungkwan shouts, sitting up straight.

“The parking spot was mine first!”

“Your car doesn’t even fit in it properly!”

“Then I’ll make it fit!”

Seokmin scribbles something on the paper and holds it up with an exasperated flourish. “Okay, joint custody of the parking spot. You’ll alternate weeks.”

“That’s stupid,” you mutter.

“So are you!” Seungkwan fires back, and you lunge for another cushion.

“Guys!” Soonyoung yells, snatching the cushion out of your hands. “Rule number three: no throwing things at each other while in public.”

“I’m not signing that,” you say immediately.

“Neither am I,” Seungkwan agrees.

“Fine,” Seokmin grumbles, crossing it out. “Next rule: no kissing on the lips.”

“That should’ve been rule number one,” Seungkwan mutters, and you chuck a slipper at him for good measure.

“Rule number five: you have to act nice to each other in front of Aera and Ayoung,” Seokmin adds, barely pausing as Seungkwan yelps.

“Oh, great,” you say sarcastically. “So now I have to fake-date him and fake-like him?”

“Yeah, real tough,” Seungkwan scoffs. “Try fake-liking you for five minutes.”

“Okay, rule six: no insults while in public,” Seokmin says, scribbling furiously.

“Define ‘insult,’” you say.

“You just called me a moron five minutes ago!” Seungkwan protests.

“That’s not an insult,” you argue. “It’s an observation.”

“Oh my God,” Seokmin groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You’ll both bring snacks to the gala,” Soonyoung interjects, leaning over Seokmin’s shoulder. “That way, when you start arguing in public, at least you can shove food into each other’s mouths.”

“That is not going on the list,” Seungkwan says, shooting him a glare.

“It’s already on there,” Seokmin chirps.

The arguing goes on and on, fueled by soju and petty grievances, until the paper is crammed with hastily written rules, half of which contradict each other. Seokmin holds up the finished product triumphantly.

FAKE DATING CONTRACT(written and notarized by Lee Seokmin, Esq. of Bad Ideas LLC)

No PDA.

Exception: hand-holding is allowed.

Exception to the exception: no clammy hands.

Cheek kisses are mandatory for believability.

Mandatory?! – Seungkwan

Yes. – Soonyoung

No lip kissing, EVER.

We’re not that committed to this.

Joint custody of the parking spot.

Weeks will alternate.

If one party is late to the spot, they forfeit their turn.

Coffee Clause:

Seungkwan will deliver coffee every morning for six weeks.

It must come from the café across town.

Why do I have to do this? – Seungkwan

Because you’re annoying. – Y/N

No throwing objects at each other in public.

Or private! – Seungkwan

Not negotiable. – Y/N

Insult ban in public spaces.

“Moron” is not an insult, it’s an observation.

This feels targeted. – Seungkwan

Be nice to each other in front of Aera and Ayoung.

Smile. A lot. Pretend you’re not arguing.

How am I supposed to do that?! – Y/N

Snacks must be brought to the gala.

If bickering begins, snacks will be used to shut each other up.

This rule is offensive. – Seungkwan

Duration of fake dating: until Aera and Ayoung lose interest or find another victim.

No extensions allowed.

All parties must try to look reasonably attractive during public appearances.

Define ‘reasonably.’– Seungkwan

Just don’t embarrass me. – Y/N

Any disputes regarding this contract will be arbitrated by Soonyoung and Seokmin.

Oh, we’re gonna regret this.

Practice sessions required before the first public appearance.

“Practice” may include hand-holding, smiling, and general fake-couple behavior.

Can we practice not doing this? – Seungkwan

Signed, Y/N & Boo Seungkwan Witnessed by: Lee Seokmin & Kwon Soonyoung

“Done!” he declares. “Time to sign.”

You glance at the chaotic list and groan. “I hate this.”

“Sign it anyway,” Seokmin says, shoving the sharpie into your hand.

You scrawl your name at the bottom with all the enthusiasm of someone signing away their soul. Seungkwan follows suit, muttering curses under his breath.

“Great!” Seokmin beams, snatching the paper and sharpie. “Now, time to practice!”

“Seokmin, it’s 3 AM!” you whine. “Let me go home!”

“NO!” Soonyoung and Seokmin yell in unison.

Practice begins in earnest with Seokmin standing in front of you and Seungkwan like a drill sergeant, clipboard in hand. Soonyoung is sprawled across the couch with a blanket, looking far too comfortable for someone instigating chaos.

“Alright,” Seokmin says, tapping his pen against the clipboard. “First order of business: compliments.”

“Compliments?” you echo, your tone flat. “We’re fake-dating, not auditioning for a rom-com.”

“Yes, compliments,” Seokmin says, with the exaggerated patience of a kindergarten teacher. “If you can’t fake a little affection, no one’s going to buy this. Start with something small. Seungkwan, you go first.”

“Fine,” Seungkwan sighs, turning to you. “Your… outfit is fine.”

“Wow,” you deadpan. “Don’t hold back.”

“Fine! You looked pretty that one day you wore a dress to work,” he says, crossing his arms defensively.

Your stomach flips unexpectedly, and you hate that it does. That wasn’t what you’d expected him to say. The memory surfaces unbidden: you, rushing into the office late for a meeting, fumbling with your presentation slides. You barely noticed Seungkwan staring, too preoccupied with apologizing to the executives that were staring at your whirlwind entrance.

Now, you remember the day too well, and you shove the memories down immediately. “That’s it? One day out of, like, a thousand?” you say, masking your unease with a smirk.

“Take it or leave it,” he snaps.

“Your turn,” Seokmin says, gesturing at you.

You glance at Seungkwan, already regretting what you’re about to say. “You… make people laugh.”

“That’s the best you can do?” Seungkwan scoffs, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes.

“Okay, fine,” you grumble. “You’re good at your job. People like you. You’re… charming, I guess.”

The room goes silent for a beat, and you feel heat creeping up your neck.

“Well,” Seungkwan says after a pause, his voice quieter. “Thanks.”

“Okay, compliments, check,” Seokmin interjects, scribbling something illegible onto the contract for no discernible reason. “Next, hand-holding!”

“Seriously?” you groan.

“Yes!” Soonyoung shouts from his sprawl on the couch. “You’re going to have to do it in public! Get over it!”

Reluctantly, you hold out your hand. Seungkwan looks at it like you’ve just offered him a live grenade.

“Stop stalling,” Seokmin says, smirking.

Seungkwan grabs your hand, and the moment your palms meet, you recoil. “Why is your hand so clammy?” you demand, grimacing.

“Because I’m stressed, you monster!” Seungkwan shoots back. “Stop squeezing so hard!”

“I’m not squeezing—your hand’s just weird!”

“My hand is weird?” Seungkwan huffs. “Yours is dryer than the Sahara!”

“You’re both weird!” Soonyoung yells, throwing a couch pillow at your heads. “Try again, and this time, don’t look like you’re holding hands with a corpse!”

The both of you roll your eyes but try again. This time, it’s… slightly better. Seungkwan’s hand is still clammy, but at least he’s not actively complaining.

By the time Soonyoung pipes up again, the sun is starting to rise, casting pale light through the blinds.

“Alright, final test,” he says, stifling a yawn. “You’ve gotta kiss her cheek.”

“What?!” you and Seungkwan exclaim in unison.

“You’re going to have to do it in public anyway!” Soonyoung argues, gesturing grandly from the couch. “This is practice!”

“I am not kissing—”

“Just do it,” Seokmin says, cutting Seungkwan off with a weary wave of his hand. “The sooner you do, the sooner we can all sleep.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, Seungkwan leans over. His hand finds your shoulder for balance, and then—soft and fleeting—his lips brush your cheek.

It’s over in a heartbeat, but your stomach flips like you’re falling from the top of a roller coaster. You can still feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the faint pressure of his lips, and it sends a shockwave of emotions crashing through you—confusion, nervousness, and something suspiciously like longing.

Seokmin looks at you knowingly, and your heart stutters in your chest.

“I have to go,” you mutter, grabbing your jacket in a rush. You can’t stay here—not with Seokmin’s knowing smirk, not with Seungkwan’s kiss replaying on a loop in your head. “See you Monday.”

Before anyone can stop you, you’re out the door, the crisp morning air biting at your cheeks as you flee Seokmin’s apartment like it’s on fire.

The parking lot is unusually quiet as you pull in, a sharp contrast to the whirlwind weekend you’re still trying to process. You hadn’t slept much since fleeing Seokmin’s apartment, your thoughts tangled in half-drunken banter, hastily scribbled contracts, and—worst of all—the lingering warmth of Seungkwan’s lips on your cheek.

A glint of sunlight off a familiar car catches your eye, parked a few rows back. Seungkwan’s here early. Of course he is. You can already feel your mood souring, bracing yourself for whatever fresh nonsense he’s decided to stir up this week.

Sliding into The Spot, you glance around, expecting the usual hustle and bustle of the office, but your focus sharpens the moment you spot them—Aera and Ayoung, lingering suspiciously close to your desk. You feel the groan build in your throat. It’s too early for this.

“Look who’s finally here,” Aera says the moment she spots you, her voice carrying easily over the din.

You keep walking, shoulders stiffening as Ayoung chimes in. “Big weekend, huh? Let me guess, late-night dinner dates with you know who?”

“Or maybe a romantic getaway?” Aera adds, giggling. “He seems like the type to splurge, doesn’t he?”

You don’t take the bait, just set your bag down at your desk, pointedly ignoring them.

But they don’t stop. Ayoung leans against the edge of your cubicle, her grin sharp. “Seriously, though. How does it feel? Dating the Boo Seungkwan.”

You glance up at her, exasperation seeping into your voice. “What is your problem?”

“No problem,” she says innocently, her expression anything but. “We’re just... curious. I mean, it’s not every day someone like him ends up with... well, you.”

There it is. The thinly veiled insult. Your fingers tighten around your bag strap, heat rising to your cheeks. Before you can snap back, Aera gasps, her attention snagging on your desk.

“Oh my god. Is that a coffee?” Her tone is mockingly saccharine as she picks up the cup, waving it in front of you. “And a note. ‘As requested - xo Seungkwan.’ How adorable.”

Ayoung practically cackles. “He even knows your order. Wow, this is... honestly shocking.” She isn’t wrong - it’s your exact order, right down to the weirdly specific oat milk ratio you insist on.

“Shocking?” you repeat, glaring.

Aera shrugs, clearly reveling in your discomfort. “I mean, come on. You’re you. He’s... him. It’s a little hard to picture, don’t you think?”

You open your mouth to retort, but a new voice cuts in before you can.

“Do you two ever get tired of this?”

You don’t even need to look to know who it is. You turn just in time to see Seungkwan stride over, exuding confidence like he’s been rehearsing this moment. He doesn’t even look at Aera and Ayoung; his focus is entirely on you as he slides an arm around your waist.

The casual weight of it is jarring, grounding—and completely unnecessary. Your heart stutters in response, though you’d die before admitting it.

“Is there a problem here?” Seungkwan asks, his tone all business, though you catch the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes.

Aera’s confidence wavers for the first time, her mouth opening and closing as she scrambles for a response. Ayoung, to her credit, looks equally flustered.

“No problem,” Aera says finally, her voice quieter now.

“Good,” Seungkwan replies smoothly. He glances down at you, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Enjoy your coffee, babe.”

With that, the two of them retreat, mumbling half-hearted excuses as they shuffle back to their desks.

As soon as they’re gone, Seungkwan drops his arm like it burned him, and the absence of his touch is... startling. Disorienting. You hate how much you notice it.

“What the hell was that?” you hiss, rounding on him.

He doesn’t even look fazed. If anything, he looks amused. “You’re welcome.”

“Welcome? For what? Making things worse?”

He nods toward your desk. “They’re gone, aren’t they?”

You narrow your eyes at him, your frustration mounting. “Why did you even—what is this?” You gesture vaguely to the coffee, the note, the whole absurd situation.

“A contract is a contract,” he says simply, already turning to walk away.

“Wait.” You grab the coffee, pointing it at him like a weapon. “How did you even know my order?”

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder with that infuriating smirk that makes you want to throw the cup at him.

“I have my ways.”

“Seungkwan!” you call after him, but he’s already walking off, the faint echo of his laughter trailing behind him.

You slump into your chair, glaring at the coffee like it’s somehow responsible for all of this. Your phone buzzes, and you pull it out, immediately opening the group chat with Seokmin and Soonyoung.

Y/N: which one of you mfs told seungkwan my coffee order [NOT] tiger: 👀 [NOT] tiger: not it seok: pinky swear not me seok: hm seok: didn’t think he’d actually get you coffee Y/N: how the hell does he know? [NOT] tiger: maybe he just [NOT] tiger: knows[NOT] tiger: soulmate fr Y/N: blocking you. seok: wait seok: did he get it right? Y/N: YES Y/N: that’s the problem!!! seok: hmm [NOT] tiger: HMMMMM

You toss your phone onto your desk, groaning into your hands. Mondays were supposed to be bad, but this? This was a new level of torment. And somewhere in the back of your mind, you can’t stop replaying the warmth of Seungkwan’s hand on your waist—and the way, just for a moment, it didn’t feel so bad.

Tuesday morning. You arrive at your desk to the familiar sight of a coffee waiting for you, the cup steaming invitingly as though it’s supposed to make you feel better about the day ahead. As you drop your bag onto the desk and take in the sight of it, your stomach tightens—because this time, Seungkwan’s waiting for you. Standing there like a kid in a candy store, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth as if he knows exactly how to mess with your head.

But today is not the day.

Not after this morning.

You don’t know if it's the car breaking down in the middle of a torrential downpour, or if it’s the fact that your landlord decided today was the day to demand rent five days early and threaten eviction over the tiniest of issues—either way, you’re running on fumes and patience.

When Seungkwan opens his mouth to speak, you don’t even look up. You take a long, slow breath and mutter, “Not today.”

You don’t hear him move at first, and for a moment, you almost think he’s going to leave it. That maybe, just maybe, he’s finally catching on that not every moment is for him. But then, his voice—sharp, defensive—cuts through the air.

“What’s your problem today? I get it, you’re having a bad morning. But I’m trying to be nice here.”

You can’t help it; the words spill out before you can stop them. “I don’t need your pity coffee, Seungkwan. I don’t need your help.”

His eyes flash, the usual teasing glint replaced with something more serious. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

You don’t answer, just fold your arms over your chest, staring hard at the computer screen, trying to block him out. “Just…go away, Seungkwan.”

His eyes widen, and something flickers behind them—hurt, maybe? But before he can say anything else, you hear the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat. You look up, realizing you’ve attracted a small crowd.

Aera and Ayoung are standing a few desks away, watching you two with wide, curious eyes. They’ve been lurking long enough to catch the exchange, and you can practically feel their glee radiating off them.

“Everything okay, [Y/N]?” Aera asks, barely hiding her amusement.

Your stomach sinks. You know exactly what they’re thinking: public fight, public gossip. You know you’re not supposed to care, but you do. You absolutely do.

Seungkwan must’ve seen it, too, because in a flash, he’s grabbed your hand—your hand, like it’s the most natural thing in the world—and yanks you toward the breakroom. You stumble slightly in the direction he pulls you, not expecting the sudden contact. Your heart races, and for a split second, you wonder if this was what it felt like before. That warm feeling flooding your chest, the butterflies in your stomach.

But then the door to the breakroom slams shut, cutting off the noise of the office, and Seungkwan lets go of your hand.

He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the counter, eyes narrowed. “Spill. What’s going on?”

You can’t hold it in anymore. The tension cracks, and before you know it, the tears are spilling out.

“I’m just so tired of everything,” you choke out, the words tangled in the rush of emotions. “My car is broken down, my landlord’s being a total jerk, and everything’s just—ugh. It’s just too much.”

You blink, feeling embarrassed, but Seungkwan doesn’t make fun of you. Instead, his gaze softens for a moment, just enough that you almost don’t believe it. Almost.

“Good,” he says suddenly, and your heart stutters. “You broke the contract.”

You lift your head, confusion wrinkling your brow. “What?”

“The contract.” He says it as though it’s obvious. “You snapped at me in front of Aera and Ayoung. That’s my parking spot for the rest of the week.”

You stare at him, blinking in disbelief. And then, before you can stop it, a laugh escapes from your lips—soft, genuine, and so not what you expected.

“Seriously?” you ask, trying to wipe away the tears that suddenly make you feel so small.

His face softens, just for a moment, before that look fades as quickly as it came. But for a brief second, you could’ve sworn he looked... endearing?

“Don’t laugh,” he mutters, crossing his arms again, leaning back against the counter. “I have principles.”

You can’t help but smile at that, and for the first time today, you feel lighter. You can’t quite place the warm sensation in your chest, but it’s there, flickering like the embers of something you don’t want to acknowledge.

“Hey,” he says with a half-grin, “a contract’s a contract.”

And then, without another word, he turns and walks out, leaving you standing there in the breakroom, a little lighter than before.

When you return to your desk, you’re not sure what you expected. Maybe you thought Aera and Ayoung would leave you alone, but no. Of course not. They’re standing by your cubicle, eyes glued to you, ready to pounce.

“Oh, look who’s back,” Aera says, feigning sweetness. “Everything okay? You two seemed like you were having quite a heated conversation.”

Ayoung raises an eyebrow, almost mockingly. “Yeah, what was that? We didn’t expect Seungkwan to be so... protective.”

You stiffen, but before you can say anything, Seungkwan strolls in casually, all too aware of their prying eyes. He throws a casual arm around your shoulder and leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks in a teasing tone.

“A lover’s spat,” he says smoothly, looking at Aera and Ayoung with a shit-eating grin. “Nothing to see here.”

You freeze for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden closeness of his body. You don’t move, don’t push him off, and you hate how right it feels, even if it’s just for show.

They seem to buy it, nodding and turning away, though you know the gossip mill will be churning with this new twist.

The rest of the day passes by in a blur, and when the lunch hour arrives, Seungkwan casually approaches your table, offering in his usual nonchalant manner, “I’ll drive you home today.”

The casualness of it almost makes you choke on your lunch. Seokmin, who had just taken a sip of his drink, immediately spits it out in Soonyoung’s face. You can’t help but laugh, but when Seungkwan shoots you a look, you quickly compose yourself.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, voice calm but firm. “Seokmin already agreed to jump my car and drive me home.”

Seungkwan shrugs, but there’s a knowing look in his eyes. “Whatever you say, babe.”

Later that evening, as you’re in the car with Seokmin, he turns to you, his gaze intense. “What’s going on with you and Seungkwan?” he asks, his voice uncharacteristically serious.

You deflect, shrugging it off with a nonchalant tone. “Nothing. We’re just...” You trail off, unsure of how to explain it.

Seokmin doesn’t let up, his gaze never leaving you the entire drive home.

When you get home, you’re still thinking about Seungkwan—about his hand in yours, the warmth that flickered in his eyes when you laughed.

Later that night, you get a text from Seungkwan. You roll your eyes as you unlock your phone.

Seungkwan (WORK): what color dress are you wearing to the gala?

Y/N: why

Seungkwan (WORK): because it’s in two days idiot Y/N: ok and Seungkwan (WORK): what kind of boyfriend doesn’t match ties to his girlfriend’s dress

You pause for a moment, then text back,

Y/N: midnight blue

There’s a long pause before he replies.

Seungkwan (WORK): we’re gonna aera and ayoung the fuck up Seungkwan (WORK): you’re welcome.

You snort, rolling your eyes, but something in the back of your mind feels a little lighter. You look at the screen again, trying to push away the warmth that’s creeping into your cheeks.

You try to shake off the weird fluttering in your chest, but it’s hard when you can’t stop thinking about the way he smiled at you in the breakroom.

Then, after reading the text one last time, you throw your phone aside and scream into your pillow for a solid 30 seconds.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?” The pillow muffles the sounds of your frustration, embarrassment, and maybe something else all rolling together.

It’s Wednesday, and you’re feeling... strange. So, as a silent apology of sorts, you leave Seungkwan's parking spot open for him, not even pretending it’s not a deliberate move. And to make it worse (or better, depending on how you look at it), you stop by his favorite restaurant—thanks to a very begrudging Mingyu who’d been the one to tell you at 6 AM—and leave a packaged meal on his desk with a simple note: "i’m sorry."

By the time Seungkwan walks in, there’s a triumphant grin on his face and a coffee in hand. You don’t even have to look up to know what’s coming—he’s practically floating from the excitement of seeing his spot waiting for him.

As you stand to meet him, your fingers brush ever so gently when he hands you your order. It’s the smallest of touches, but for some reason, your pulse quickens.

"Thank you for the food," he says, his voice sounding strange—almost sincere, which isn’t like him at all. "But how did you know my favorite restaurant?"

You can’t help the smirk that stretches across your face.

"I have my ways," you reply, leaning in just a little, your voice cool and teasing as you echo his words back from Monday. The playfulness between the two of you feels oddly familiar, and for a moment, there’s something in his eyes—just a flicker—that catches you off guard. But you shove it down before it can fully register.

Seungkwan arches an eyebrow, lips curling into that mischievous smile of his, but before he can say anything, you already know what comes next: more teasing, more playful bickering. It’s almost comfortable, like this entire fake-dating charade is starting to blur the line between what’s real and what’s not.

But the strangest thing of all is the way your heart is beating a little faster than it should.

You don’t know why you’re bothered. You can’t even really pinpoint the reason why, but when you walk past Seungkwan’s desk and see him sitting there, earbuds in, his face subtly twitching in response to a few of your colleagues’ whispers, something inside you snaps. It’s not your usual reaction to the gossip at work—it’s the way he seems oblivious to the hurt he's trying to hide, like he’s expecting it. Your mind races as you overhear them, the words sticking to you like bitter honey:

“Seungkwan’s just a joke with the dating thing. You can tell he’s not even on the same level as her,” Kevin’s voice rings out, “I mean, she’s crushing it, and look at him. He’s just... there.”

“He’s lucky she even pays attention to him,” Juyeon adds with a snide laugh.

And that’s when your heart clenches, the sound of their voices mixing with the hurt look in Seungkwan’s eyes as he watches the screen, his posture slumping in a way that you’ve seen too many times to ignore.

You tell yourself you don’t care.

But you do.

And before you can stop yourself, you march toward his desk. Your palms are sweaty, but your resolve is steady, and when you reach his side, you throw your arms around him from behind, your body leaning into his warmth, your chin resting on his shoulder as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. You’re telling yourself it’s all just an act. Just a game. Fake dating, after all, is supposed to be easy.

But the feeling of his body stiffening under your arms, his breath catching, makes your stomach flip in a way you didn’t expect. You force yourself to smile, to say the words like they don’t matter.

"Hey love," you murmur, pressing a brief kiss to his cheek that feels far too real for what it is, "wanna get lunch?"

For a moment, Seungkwan just stares at you, dumbfounded. His eyes search yours as if trying to figure out whether this is part of the act or something more. You don’t give him a chance to answer. Instead, you interlace your fingers with his, pulling him to his feet and out of the seat, dragging him to the cafeteria without another word.

The air between you feels thick, but somehow, it doesn’t matter. You keep your grip on his hand as if it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. When you reach the lunch line, Seungkwan mumbles under his breath, his voice low but filled with something you can’t quite place.

“Thank you,” he says, and the words feel heavy, like they mean something far more profound than you expected.

You glance at him, trying to keep your face neutral. "Why do you put up with all this?" you ask, hoping to keep the conversation casual. But the question feels more vulnerable than you’d like.

He shrugs nonchalantly, though his gaze drops to the ground as he talks. "Come on, I get worse from you. I can handle a little shit talk from people who don’t know what they’re talking about.”

But something in his voice, something sharp and tired, makes your heart sink. The idea that you’ve made him feel like he’s “just there” rattles you. That you’ve unknowingly added to his burdens—because in this moment, it feels like you are the reason he’s doubting himself.

“Seungkwan, I didn’t mean—” you begin, but he cuts you off with a small, almost bitter smile.

"It’s fine," he murmurs, but there’s a flicker of something unsaid in his expression.

The rest of lunch is quieter than usual, and you both keep stealing glances at each other, unsure of what to say or how to fix the awkward tension that now lingers between you. When the two of you return to your desks, you half-expect him to brush it off and act like nothing happened, but instead, Seungkwan shows up at your desk after lunch, and for a moment, you think maybe he’s just here to grab something he left behind. But when he looks at you, his gaze softens.

"I’m sorry,” he says, looking almost... shy? “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about the way I said that. I know you don’t... mean to be like that."

You swallow hard, feeling your heart twist, guilt and frustration building in your chest. “No, I... I shouldn’t have said anything either. I’m sorry, Seungkwan."

His eyes flicker, like he’s trying to read you, but then he cracks a smile. "Maybe we both just suck at this fake-dating thing."

It’s a lame attempt at humor, but it works. The tension lifts slightly, though the understanding between you two is still fragile. You force a chuckle, then give him a genuine, if a little uneasy, smile.

And just like that, the awkwardness starts to dissipate.

For now, anyway.

Thursday starts off strangely, though you try not to dwell on it. When you pull into the parking lot, The Spot is open for the first time in weeks. It takes you a second to process the empty space, the absence of Seungkwan's familiar car parked a few rows back.

The sight feels...off.

Your first thought is that maybe he’s running late, but a quick glance at the clock tells you that’s impossible. Seungkwan is never late. Your second thought—that maybe he’s working from home—is more logical, but it doesn’t explain the odd pang of disappointment settling in your chest.

It’s fine. Better, even. You’re busy enough today that you don’t need to see his smug smile or deal with the inevitable teasing that comes with it. Besides, tonight is the gala. He’ll show up there, looking sharp and polished, and you’ll do what you’ve been doing for weeks: play the part.

So why does the thought of not seeing him today feel heavier than it should?

You brush it off as you head into the building, but the feeling lingers. Your desk is bare when you get there—no coffee, no scrawled Post-it, no familiar, cocky energy waiting for you to roll your eyes at. You should feel relief.

Instead, it throws your whole morning off.

By the time you find yourself in the breakroom around noon, your nerves feel frayed. Deadlines loom over your head, your inbox is exploding, and now Soonyoung and Seokmin are leaning against the counter, watching you like hawks with identical grins.

“Excited for tonight?” Seokmin asks, his voice far too cheerful as he tears into a granola bar.

You glance at him, eyebrows raised. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Soonyoung interrupts before Seokmin can respond, “that you’ve been pretending not to care, but you’re actually super nervous about walking into that gala with Seungkwan.”

“I’m not nervous,” you snap, reaching for the coffee pot.

“Sure,” Seokmin says, his tone dripping with skepticism. “You’re totally calm. That’s why you’ve been fidgeting with your bracelet for the past five minutes.”

Your hand freezes, and you glance down to see your fingers toying absently with the charm on your bracelet. With a muttered curse, you reach for a mug instead, but the damage is already done.

Soonyoung smirks. “Uh-huh. Definitely not nervous.”

“I’m not,” you insist, pouring your coffee with more force than necessary.

“Then what’s with the bracelet?” Seokmin presses, grinning like he knows he’s got you cornered.

You glare at him over your shoulder. “Maybe I just like the bracelet, Seokmin. Ever think of that?”

“Or maybe,” Soonyoung drawls, dragging the words out obnoxiously, “you’re thinking about what it’s gonna be like to walk into that ballroom tonight on Seungkwan’s arm.”

Your hand twitches, spilling coffee onto the counter.

“Oh my god,” you groan, grabbing a napkin and swiping at the mess.

Soonyoung clutches his chest dramatically. “You didn’t deny it.”

“There’s nothing to deny!”

Seokmin snickers. “You’re deflecting.”

“I’m ignoring you,” you correct, tossing the soaked napkin into the trash.

“You can’t ignore the truth!” Soonyoung declares, his grin practically splitting his face. “Which is that you’re gonna show up tonight in a dress that perfectly matches Seungkwan’s tie and pretend it’s all part of the act while secretly—”

“Soonyoung,” you interrupt sharply, narrowing your eyes.

“—you’re freaking out inside about how good he’s gonna look and how everyone’s gonna think you’re in love.”

“Why are you like this?” you demand, though the question is more rhetorical than anything.

“Because it’s fun,” Seokmin answers, popping the last bite of his granola bar into his mouth. “And because you’re so easy to tease when it comes to Seungkwan.”

You open your mouth to retort, but the words die on your tongue because the worst part—the absolute worst part—is that they’re not entirely wrong.

There is a part of you that’s been overthinking the gala all morning. Not because you’re nervous about the event itself, but because you’re nervous about him. About standing next to him in front of your colleagues. About the way he might look at you or the way his hand might rest on your back.

And more than that, you’re nervous about the way you’ll feel when it happens.

It’s a ridiculous thought. Seungkwan is your coworker. Your fake boyfriend. This whole thing is a game, a ploy to one-up Aera and Ayoung and win a stupid bet.

So why does the idea of walking into that ballroom with him make your heart race?

Why does it feel like it’s so much more than a game?

The rest of the day drags, your thoughts drifting back to the gala at every lull in the chaos of work. The deadlines on your desk pile higher, emails flood in, and the occasional, overly cheerful colleague stops by to remind you how "exciting" tonight is going to be.

But despite the busy afternoon, a strange mix of nervous energy and anticipation hums beneath it all. It’s not just about the event—the polished speeches, the endless string of handshakes, the clinking of champagne glasses. No, it’s about Seungkwan. About the act you’re supposed to put on together.

The hours pass in a blur of half-checked boxes and unfinished tasks. By the time you leave the office, you’re still not sure if you’ve made peace with the fact that you’re about to spend the evening glued to his side, pretending to be something you’re not.

You have just enough time to run home, change into your dress, and try to will away the nerves that have been simmering since this morning. Standing in front of your mirror, you adjust the midnight-blue fabric, smoothing it over your hips and fiddling with the clasp on your bracelet.

It’s just a gala, you tell yourself, reaching for your earrings. Just a few hours of small talk and pretending. You’ve done harder things.

But even as you head out the door, slipping into the backseat of the rideshare that will take you to the venue, you can’t quite shake the nagging thought in the back of your mind:

What if tonight doesn’t feel like pretending at all?

You spot Seungkwan waiting near the entrance to the ballroom, standing under the warm glow of the overhead sconces. He’s turned slightly away, scrolling idly on his phone, but it doesn’t take long for him to notice you. The moment his eyes land on you, they widen, the barest flicker of surprise crossing his face before he schools it into something more composed—almost indifferent.

Despite the tension simmering between you lately, you can’t help but take him in. The tailored fit of his suit accentuates his broad shoulders and sharp lines, and the midnight-blue tie—perfectly matched to your dress. The soft lighting catches on the neatly styled strands of his hair, and there’s a certain glow about him tonight that makes your heart stumble, just a little.

Focus, you scold yourself. It’s just Seungkwan. The guy who stole your parking spot. The guy who bickers with you more often than not. This is just one night, and then it’s over. Your hands smooth over the silk of your dress as you approach, brushing at imaginary lint to keep them from trembling.

Seungkwan, however, makes no attempt to disguise his once-over. His eyes drag down your figure with slow, deliberate appraisal before returning to meet your gaze. The faintest hint of a smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth, but you notice the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“What?” you ask, crossing your arms and raising a brow.

“Nothing,” he replies too quickly, glancing away. But his ears are tinged red, and when you prod again, leaning in just slightly to make him squirm, he mutters under his breath, “You clean up nice.”

For a second, you’re too stunned to respond. The casual compliment feels out of character, as if it slipped out before he could stop himself.

“And here I thought you’d be grumpy all night,” you say, masking your unease with an easy tease.

“Don’t get used to it,” he shoots back, though there’s no real bite to his tone. With a quiet sigh, he offers you his arm, holding it out stiffly as though unsure of himself.

Your breath catches for just a moment before you loop your arm through his, hoping he doesn’t notice the slight tremble in your fingers. The fabric of his suit is smooth and cool against your skin, and he adjusts his grip just slightly, settling his hand more securely over yours.

“Let’s get this over with,” you mumble, though you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze.

“Right,” he agrees softly, leading you toward the grand doors. The quiet confidence in his step only makes your own nerves worse, and you wonder—just for a fleeting moment—if he feels it too.

The hotel’s ballroom is a picture of opulence, every detail polished to perfection. Warm golden light spills from the glittering chandeliers above, catching on the beveled edges of crystal glasses and the smooth, glossy surface of the checkered marble floor. White-draped tables line the room, adorned with centerpieces of fresh flowers and flickering candles. A string quartet plays softly in the corner, their music weaving through the gentle hum of conversation.

You barely have a chance to take it all in before the heat of Seungkwan’s arm against yours pulls your focus back. He stands tall beside you, his midnight-blue tie gleaming under the lights. You try not to fidget, but every time your gaze flickers to him, the quiet confidence in his expression sets your nerves on edge.

It’s just one night, you remind yourself, willing your feet to move forward. One night, and then it’s over.

The crowd shifts as you both step into the room, and you catch Aera and Ayoung’s gazes almost immediately. They’re standing near the champagne table, flutes in hand, their heads inclined toward each other in hushed conversation. The moment they spot you, their eyes widen, gliding from you to Seungkwan, then back again. Aera’s expression twists into something sharp and incredulous, while Ayoung’s lips curve into a smug smirk.

“Looks like we’re already the talk of the town,” Seungkwan murmurs, leaning slightly toward you. His breath brushes your ear, sending a shiver down your spine that you chalk up to irritation.

“Good,” you manage to say, lifting your chin. “Let’s give them something to really talk about.”

You’re not sure where the confidence comes from, but it carries you forward, your heels clicking against the marble as you walk with Seungkwan through the crowd. You can feel Aera’s glare burning into your back, but you keep your head high, your grip on Seungkwan’s arm tightening just slightly.

From across the room, you hear it before you see them—peals of laughter that could only belong to Seokmin and Soonyoung. You glance in their direction and find them stationed at one of the tables, grinning like giddy schoolchildren as they nudge each other and whisper conspiratorially. Seokmin pretends to hide his face behind his hand, but his eyes gleam with amusement, while Soonyoung practically bounces in his chair, barely able to contain his excitement.

“Subtle,” you mutter under your breath, though you can’t help the way your lips twitch upward.

Seungkwan notices too, his eyes narrowing slightly. “They’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Can you blame them?” you ask, finally letting a wry smile slip through. “We’re a spectacle.”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head, but when you glance up at him, there’s a softness in his gaze that wasn’t there before. You quickly look away, pretending to adjust the bracelet on your wrist.

As you move further into the ballroom, you catch snippets of conversations trailing off, eyes lingering just a second too long on you and Seungkwan. The tension in the room feels palpable, but Seungkwan doesn’t falter. He keeps his pace steady, his arm firm and reassuring beneath your touch.

And for a brief moment, as you glide through the glittering sea of people, you almost forget that this is all an act.

The ballroom is a haze of chandeliers, polished floors, and conversations that hum like a soft undercurrent beneath the music. You move through it all hyperaware of Seungkwan at your side, the faintest brush of his presence grounding and unsteadying you all at once.

He’s good at this, you realize. At shaking hands, sharing effortless smiles, and exchanging pleasantries that seem to charm everyone in his orbit. You try to focus on your own small talk, but it’s nearly impossible not to notice the way his hand occasionally drifts to the small of your back, guiding you subtly through the crowd. It’s light—barely there—but every time his palm presses gently against you, warmth blooms, spreading like ripples in a still pond.

You try not to overthink it. It’s probably all for show, you tell yourself. Just part of the act.

Except…why does he keep glancing at you? After every joke he tosses into the conversation, his eyes flit to yours, watching for your reaction. When you laugh, his smile softens, almost imperceptibly, and when you don’t, his brow furrows for the briefest moment before he’s cracking another.

“Can we help you?” you mutter when Seokmin and Soonyoung sidle up to you for the third time that evening, their grins almost too wide.

“Nope,” Soonyoung says, popping the ‘p’ with dramatic flair.

“We’re just here for the show,” Seokmin adds, barely holding back his snicker.

“Go away,” you hiss, stepping closer to Seungkwan as if that will somehow shield you from their relentless teasing.

Instead of leaving, they both wiggle their eyebrows at you, making exaggerated faces every time you shift a little closer to him—whether intentionally or not. At one point, Seokmin mimes taking a picture with his imaginary camera, pretending to swoon like a tabloid photographer.

“Do you need something?” Seungkwan asks dryly, not even sparing them a glance as he sips his champagne.

“Just enjoying the chemistry,” Soonyoung says, grinning.

“I hate both of you,” you say, shoving past them and pulling Seungkwan with you, his laughter trailing behind you as you march toward the buffet table.

As the night wears on, the hyperawareness doesn’t fade. If anything, it grows sharper. You catch yourself leaning into him, just slightly, when he speaks to you. His scent—something warm and clean—lingers in the air, familiar yet distracting. And though you do your best to stay detached, your stomach flips every time he turns to you, his expression softer than you expect.

It’s just one night, you remind yourself. One night, and then it’s over.

But when Seungkwan tilts his head to meet your gaze, a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes, you wonder if he feels it too.

The conversation with the vice president of finance hits like a brick wall. You had hoped for the night to pass without any more uncomfortable moments, but here it is. The older man comes over with a knowing grin, his eyes flicking between you and Seungkwan. His voice is smooth, polished—like he’s done this kind of thing a hundred times before. “Wishing you both all the best,” he says with a wink, his smile stretching into something almost too warm.

Then, as if to solidify the moment, he adds, “I found my wife at work too. It’s always the best kind of relationship, don’t you think?”

Before you can even react, Seungkwan steps in, his hand tightening imperceptibly around your waist, his grip firm, possessive. He plays along with ease, a smile tugging at his lips. “We do make a lovely couple,” he says, the words slipping out with the same smooth confidence he uses to charm everyone around him.

And just like that, your knees almost give out. You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to cling to any sense of composure, but it’s hard. His voice sounds like it’s meant for someone else. You glance up at him, searching for some sign that he’s only pretending, but his eyes are warm, and it makes your stomach churn. This is too much.

The moment lingers, stretching long and painfully until the vice president finally moves on, leaving you standing there with Seungkwan’s hand still resting on your waist. You feel the heat of his touch, the weight of the promise in his words. And yet, something inside you begins to twist, and you can't quite shake the feeling that this isn’t all a game anymore.

When the quartet begins to play a slow, lilting melody, you feel a wave of dread wash over you. Couples start gravitating toward the dance floor, moving in soft, synchronized sways. You think you’re safe until you notice Soonyoung and Seokmin’s scheming grins out of the corner of your eye.

“Oh, no,” you mutter under your breath, but it’s too late.

“You two,” Soonyoung grins, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Get out there. Show us how it’s done.”

You freeze, the world tilting on its axis for a moment. You don’t want to dance. You don’t know how to dance. And you certainly don’t want to do it with Seungkwan, not like this. But when you glance over at him, you see the faintest edge of a smile on his lips—like he’s enjoying this far too much.

With a few unsubtle nudges and a downright shove from Soonyoung, you find yourself standing under the ballroom lights, facing Seungkwan. He doesn’t even blink, just steps forward and guides your hands to his shoulders as though this is all perfectly normal. His hands settle on your hips, light but steady, and the contact sends a shiver through you.

“You look like you’re going to bolt,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough that only you can hear. “Relax. Aera and Ayoung are still watching.”

You force a smile, more for their benefit than his, and try to focus on the music. But it’s no use. Every part of this feels overwhelming—the way his hands feel solid against you, the way he moves with a calm confidence you didn’t know he had, the way his gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest moment before snapping back up.

The worst part? You’re not sure what’s fake and what isn’t.

You take a shallow breath, your heart racing as the music swells around you, and everything about the night begins to feel too real. Too intense. The way Seungkwan holds you so effortlessly, the way his chest presses against yours, his gaze lingering on you like it means something.

This isn’t just pretend anymore. This isn’t just a game. You feel like you’re drowning in the pretense, in the slow slide of his body against yours, the fake smiles, the promises of weddings that don’t belong to either of you. You don’t know why it feels like this—like a knot is tightening in your chest with every beat of the music, every moment that stretches longer than you can bear.

You can’t breathe.

It’s too much. The weight of it, the weight of him. His hands on your body, on your waist, intertwined with yours. The tension that thrums between you both is too real, and suddenly, you can’t stand it anymore.

You pull back abruptly, the movement so sudden it startles him.

“I need to go,” you blurt, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

Without waiting for a response, you pull away from him, feeling his grip loosen as you shove past Seokmin and Soonyoung, who both watch you with surprised eyes. You don’t care. You don’t care that they’re probably confused, or that Seungkwan is still standing there on the dancefloor, looking as though he’s been left behind.

You don’t care about anything but getting away, away from him, away from this night that feels too heavy to carry. You push through the crowd, your pulse thundering in your ears, desperate to escape the world Seungkwan has created tonight—one where every smile feels like a lie, and every touch leaves you questioning everything.

Why did it feel like something more? Why does he feel like something more?

The hallway is cold, and the echoes of the ballroom seem a world away as you stand there, breathing in shallow gasps. You don’t know what you expected when you fled—maybe a bit of space to clear your head, a few moments of peace to sort through the mess in your chest. But then Seungkwan appears, footsteps rapid and sharp against the marble floor, and you brace yourself for whatever this is.

He stops in front of you, his eyes softening, a look of concern on his face. “You broke the contract,” he says, his voice low but playful. “You’re supposed to act like a couple in front of Aera and Ayoung.”

You should’ve expected it. Of course it’s just a game to him. Of course he doesn’t feel anything real. You press your lips together, the taste of bile rising in your throat. The way his words spill out with that same teasing tone, like it’s no big deal—that’s when it really hits you. None of this matters to him.

Your heart tightens, and you open your mouth to say something, anything, but it feels like the words are stuck in your throat, a knot you can’t untie. The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating, until you finally spit out, “Fuck you, Seungkwan.”

His expression falters, eyes flashing with something like hurt or maybe frustration, but it doesn’t matter. You just want him to shut up, to stop saying the things that twist in your chest.

“What the hell?” His voice is sharp, defensive. “What’s your problem now? I’m just trying to make sure you’re not freaking out in front of them!”

“No,” you snap, your words slipping out before you can stop them. “I’m freaking out because you keep acting like it’s nothing—like it’s all just a damn game.” You’re pacing now, turning away from him, too afraid to face him. “And it’s not just a game, Seungkwan. But you don’t care. Of course you don’t care.”

Seungkwan’s voice is louder now, rising to match your anger. “Don’t you dare say that—”

“Why shouldn’t I?” you spit, your frustration spilling over. “You’ve been treating me like this whole thing is some kind of joke. Do you think I don’t see it? You think I don’t feel it?”

“You think I’m playing games?!” he practically shouts, his voice breaking through your thoughts. “What do you want me to say, huh? What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know!” The words burst out in a rush, too loud and too raw. “I don’t know what I want! But I sure as hell don’t want this. Don’t want you acting like I’m nothing but some stupid... some stupid game to win! And—”

Your throat tightens. It’s too much. The pain, the frustration, the confusion. The way your heart keeps aching, wanting something that shouldn’t be there. You can’t breathe right, and suddenly, your eyes sting with tears that you didn’t want to shed.

Before you can stop it, you spin to leave, your chest heaving, your hands trembling. You can’t be here anymore. You can’t do this.

But then, just as you take a step, his hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly.

“Don’t go,” Seungkwan murmurs, his voice softer now, and it’s the quietness of it that makes everything inside you snap.

In an instant, you turn back toward him, your body moving without thinking, driven by something primal, something that burns too hot to ignore. You don't care anymore, not about the rules or the reasons you were running or how much you've lied to yourself. Your lips crash into his, desperate and hungry, a sudden, violent collision of need and want. It’s rough, urgent, a complete collapse of all the control you’ve tried so desperately to hold onto.

His lips are warm, soft at first, but there’s no hesitation after that. It deepens in an instant, and you can feel him pushing you back, pressing you against the cold, hard wall. His body presses into yours, all sharp lines and heat, every inch of him a reminder that you’ve wanted this more than you’re willing to admit. You clutch his tie, your fingers knotting into the fabric, pulling him closer, deeper, like it’s not enough. His hands slide up the wall, bracing himself above your head, as if he needs that support to hold himself together too. But you’re too tangled in this moment, too consumed by the feel of him, the way his lips move against yours, the way his breath catches with every shift of his mouth.

His hands find their way to your body, his fingers grazing your hips, and you shudder, the friction between you both igniting something wild inside you. You kiss him back fiercely, and it feels like everything in the world has narrowed down to this singular moment. You don’t know if this is real or if it’s just your mind tricking you into believing it’s more than it is. But you feel it—how right it feels to be tangled up with him, how everything else outside of this space fades away.

His body presses harder, his chest against yours, his warmth seeping into you, filling the cracks where your control once was. You’re dizzy with the intensity of it, a rush of emotions crashing through you, and the silence between kisses becomes unbearable. Your breath is ragged, your heart pounding in your chest as if it’s trying to escape, to be closer to him. And every time you feel him pull away, even just a little, you’re pulling him back, chasing that connection that’s too elusive to hold.

It feels like the world is spinning too fast, and you’re holding onto him, to this fleeting moment, hoping that maybe it won’t slip away. But it does—it always does.

You press harder into him, your hands trembling as they slide up his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingers. It’s almost too much, like you’re consuming each other, but you can’t stop. You don’t want to stop.

But then the air feels heavier, and the ache in your chest intensifies. This is wrong, it has to be. His mouth against yours, his body holding you so tightly—it’s all too much, and yet you’re still starved for more. You feel like you’re drowning, and yet you don’t know how to pull away, how to breathe again without the taste of him on your lips.

You break the kiss suddenly, gasping for air, your chest rising and falling with desperation, as if the only thing you need in that moment is to breathe and be closer to him. But you know better. You remember. You have to remember.

And just like that, the realization comes crashing down, shattering everything inside you. It’s all just a game for him. It always was. You turn away, stumbling back, your body trembling as you try to steady yourself, your hands shaking uncontrollably.

“No.” You gasp, heart hammering painfully in your chest. You can’t stay here. You can’t let him see how much he’s breaking you right now.

Before he can say anything, before he can try to reach for you, you turn on your heel and run. You don’t look back, even when your chest aches and your throat burns, because you know that if you do, you’ll see something you can’t unsee.

And you’re too afraid that the feeling you’ve just experienced—that feeling of being whole, of being wanted—is the very thing that’ll make you lose yourself completely.

That night, as the doorbell rings, you know exactly who it is before you even get up. You don’t even have the strength to ask them to leave—Seokmin and Soonyoung just know. They always do.

Seokmin's already cracking open a pint of Ben & Jerry's before you've even had the chance to process their arrival, his voice light but knowing, as if they’ve been waiting for the moment to show up at your door. And it’s not long before they’re seated on the couch beside you, Soonyoung's knowing look cutting right through you as he silently opens the second pint, passing it to you without a word.

You don’t have the heart to ask about Seungkwan. You’re terrified of hearing it, terrified of what they’ll say. You don’t want to know if he’s going to shrug it off, or worse, if he’s forgotten about you already.

Instead, you spend the next few hours in silence, the three of you settled into the couch, alternating between the steady flow of ice cream and shitty romcoms on TV. The sound of laughter and melodramatic dialogue fills the space, but you barely hear it. Every now and then, a sob shakes through you, and you absently grab Soonyoung’s suit jacket, wiping your face on it like some pathetic kid trying to hide from the world.

It’s not a game anymore, you think. But your mind keeps circling back, again and again, and your heart clenches painfully.

You find yourself sniffling during a commercial break, and before you know it, your voice cracks as you whisper into Seokmin’s shoulder, your words barely audible through the tears. “It’s not a game anymore,” you whimper, your chest tight with emotion, a hollow ache you can't seem to fill. “Not to me.”

Seokmin pats your head gently, his hand warm and comforting on your hair, and you can feel him press his cheek against your head in an unspoken gesture of reassurance. Soonyoung doesn’t say anything but looks at you sadly from his spot on your lap, his eyes soft with understanding, but he knows better than to push.

But then Seokmin speaks, his voice quiet, so gentle you almost miss it. “Was it ever?” he asks, the question hanging in the air, a quiet truth you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You don’t answer. Because you know the answer. You’ve known it all along, even when you were pretending not to. The truth is louder than the silence between the three of you, but you’re not ready to face it.

And so, instead of answering, you bury your face further into Seokmin’s shoulder, fighting the tears that never seem to stop. The answer is clear, but you can’t find the words to say it.

Friday feels like the weight of the week is catching up with you, every inch of your body refusing to move as you sit at your desk, staring blankly at the screen. You’ve worked from home plenty of times before, but today? Today, it feels different. The silence is too loud, too consuming, and you can't escape it, not even in the safety of your own apartment. Your phone buzzes incessantly in the corner of your desk, each ping making your chest tighten just a little more. You know it’s him. Seungkwan. You know because his name flashes on your screen, and every time, you hesitate before swiping it away, like a coward.

You don’t want to hear it, not today. Not when everything feels so broken.

But when the photo comes in—a simple picture of your coffee order, just sitting there on your desk with nothing but a blank post-it note next to it—you can feel the tears already threatening to break free. The coffee’s steaming, just the way you like it, but the note’s blank, empty. There’s nothing there. Just silence.

It’s too much.

You let out a strangled sob, your hand shaking as you clutch your phone. Your throat tightens as you struggle to breathe, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once. You curl up at your desk, tears falling in heavy waves as you finally allow yourself to break. The floodgates that you’ve kept tightly shut the past few days burst wide open, and you can’t stop it. Can’t stop the sobs that wrack through you, shaking you to your core.

You’re not ready to face this. Not ready to admit what’s happening inside of you. You just want it to stop. To go back to before everything got complicated. Before you let yourself feel anything for him.

You don't even bother to wipe your tears away, don’t bother trying to pull yourself together. You don’t even go to Seokmin’s tonight for your weekly ritual. The usual distraction, the routine that’s always been your safe space, feels miles away now.

Instead, you pull the blanket tighter around you, the emptiness of the apartment matching the emptiness you feel inside. You bury yourself in it.

And you let the tears come.

The smell of Seokmin’s cooking wafts into the living room as he sets up the kitchen, making his usual chaotic symphony of clattering pans and sizzling ingredients. He’s persistent, like always, so you know there’s no way you’re getting out of this. He’s here to cook, and more importantly, to drag you back from the spiral you’ve fallen into.

You don’t say anything when he hands you the bowl of food. You just sit down at the kitchen table, quietly shoveling the food into your mouth. It tastes good, as always, but it doesn’t reach you. Not the way it should.

The silence stretches between you two as you chew, the clinking of your utensils the only sound in the room. Seokmin isn’t going to let it slide, though. He’s far too persistent to let you wallow in quiet.

“So,” he starts, his voice quiet but pointed, “what happened?”

You don’t answer immediately, and it’s not because you don’t want to—no, it’s because you’re not sure where to start. Do you tell him the truth? That you let your feelings get tangled up in a game, that Seungkwan tricked you into thinking it meant something more than it was?

But when you look up, you meet Seokmin’s eyes, and for some reason, you just... let it spill.

“I kissed him,” you say, voice small. The words feel like a confession you weren’t ready to make.

Seokmin’s brows furrow slightly, but he doesn’t push. He just asks, “But that’s a good thing, right?”

You snort, bitter and frustrated. “Seokmin, it was all just a game to him.”

The words hang there, sharp in the quiet kitchen air. Seokmin pauses, setting his fork down before speaking again. “Did he tell you that?”

You shake your head. “No, but he doesn’t need to. He kept bringing up the contract.”

Seokmin’s eyes narrow in frustration, but there’s a softness in them too. “Y/N…”

“Don’t,” you mutter, the emotion welling up again in your chest. “I’m done. I’m tired of this, Seokmin. It was never real for him, and it’s too real for me now. I can’t keep pretending.”

You can’t even look him in the eye now, your gaze turning to the table as your hands clutch the bowl. Seokmin stays quiet, letting you speak, but you can feel the weight of his disappointment. It doesn’t make you feel better, but at least you’re not holding it all in.

“What are you going to do on Monday? You have to present together.” Seokmin says, his voice light but his eyes serious.

The question hits you like a punch to the gut. You’ve been avoiding thinking about that. Of course, Monday will come, and you’ll have to face Seungkwan again.

“I’ll ignore him,” you reply, voice almost robotic.

Seokmin raises an eyebrow. “Let me repeat: you have to PRESENT. TOGETHER.” He emphasizes the word ‘together,’ and you can feel the weight of it pressing down on you. “Emphasis on TOGETHER.”

You just stare at your food, not knowing what to say. Your heart is heavy, your thoughts racing.

“Seokmin, I’m tired of this,” you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips. “I’m done. Aera and Ayoung can go fuck themselves, but I’m not playing this game anymore.”

Seokmin doesn’t say anything for a while. You hear him sigh, and when you look up, his face is softer. “If you say so.”

You want to argue, to tell him that it’s easier said than done, but instead, you just slump back into your chair, letting the silence fill the space again. He doesn’t push you further, just lets you stew in your emotions, knowing that you’ll need time. You’re not ready to face Monday, not ready to stand side by side with Seungkwan, pretending like none of this ever happened. But there’s no escaping it. And you’ll have to deal with it soon enough.

Monday morning is a punch to the gut.

You arrive at work, feeling the weight of the weekend's fallout heavy in your chest. The first thing you notice when you pull into the parking lot is that there’s no coffee waiting for you on your desk. The usual sign of Seungkwan’s presence, of him thinking of you in the mornings, is missing. It's a stupid thing to feel the absence of, but it cuts deeper than you'd like to admit.

You walk into the office, feeling all the eyes on you. It’s not even 9 AM, and you already know today is going to drag. You get to your desk, and before you can even sit down, Aera and Ayoung are already on you, their faces lit up with exaggerated curiosity.

"Hey, Y/N," Aera says, eyes flicking to the empty space where the coffee should have been. "Where’s your coffee today? You and Seungkwan usually have that whole ‘he brings your coffee’ thing down to a science. What’s up? You two not sharing that routine anymore?"

Ayoung giggles, and you feel the irritation bubbling up before you can stop it. You’ve had enough of this.

You slam your bag down on your desk, not bothering to hide the exhaustion in your voice. "We broke up. Now get out of my face so I can work."

The words hit the air like a slap, and for a moment, the office is completely silent. Aera’s mouth falls open slightly, her eyes wide in surprise, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Ayoung just blinks, taken aback, but she says nothing more, her usual snark suddenly gone.

You don’t give them a chance to respond. You turn away from them, sitting at your desk, hands shaking slightly as you pull up your emails. You can hear their retreating footsteps, but you don’t bother looking up. You don’t care. It’s easier to just ignore them and dive into your work, focusing on the tasks in front of you.

But it doesn’t stop there. As much as you try to bury yourself in your screen, the emptiness of Seungkwan’s absence—his lack of coffee, the parking spot that you still take for granted—gnaws at you. You tell yourself that it’s for the best, that the game is over. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

The presentation room feels suffocating.

You stand at the front, flipping through slides, forcing your gaze to stay focused on the KPIs and metrics on the screen. The numbers are safe, the charts impersonal. You can talk about this with your eyes closed, but it feels like everything else in the room is conspiring against you.

Seungkwan, of course, keeps trying to catch your eye. Every time you glance in his direction—brief, fleeting—you see the way his expression tightens, the worry flickering in his eyes. You’re not sure if it's pity or concern, and frankly, you don’t care. You’ve worked hard to bury whatever feelings were there, and you’re not about to let him dig them up in front of a room full of people.

You force yourself to talk about the numbers. KPIs, data points, project metrics. Anything to avoid looking at him. You can feel Soonyoung and Seokmin watching you a little too intently, their eyes sharp with something unspoken. It makes your words stutter, your confidence falter just a little, but you push through, unwilling to show any weakness.

But then an executive asks if you're okay, and the words catch you off guard. You can’t help it—you glance over at Seungkwan. Just for a second. Long enough for him to notice, long enough for him to give you that look. The one you’ve been avoiding.

"I'm fine, thanks," you manage to say, voice steady despite the way your heart is hammering in your chest. You look back at the screen, not daring to meet anyone’s gaze. You try to ignore the weight of his concern, the way it lingers like a weight in the air.

The meeting eventually wraps up, and as everyone files out, Seungkwan steps towards you, his arm reaching out. You feel the familiar tug of his presence, the warmth of his hand inches away from your sleeve.

But you don’t want to feel it. You don’t want to deal with it.

You shrug him off, murmuring something about deadlines and reports that need to be finished. The words come out harsh and clipped, almost too much so, but you don’t care. You can feel the tension hanging between you like a storm cloud, but you don’t want to be near him right now. Not with everything still so raw.

You don’t wait for a response, just turn and walk toward your desk, not daring to look back.

You thought it would be easy to avoid Seungkwan. After all, it's just a matter of keeping your distance, staying busy, and letting the work pile up in a way that leaves no room for him to worm his way back into your head. You’ve been doing it for hours, and so far, it’s working.

Three hours, at least.

Seokmin and Soonyoung have been your perfect distractions, filling your day with so much nonsense that you barely have time to breathe, let alone think about Seungkwan and the mess you’ve somehow ended up in.

It started in the break room, just after the meeting. You’d been trying to sneak in a coffee, hoping it might calm the jittery feeling that’s been buzzing through you since you saw Seungkwan's hand reach for yours. But, of course, Soonyoung and Seokmin cornered you before you could even take a sip.

"Y/N, I need your opinion on something," Soonyoung had started, with that grin of his, the one that always spells trouble.

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious. "What now?"

Seokmin leaned in like they were about to discuss state secrets, whispering in a conspiratorial tone, "Soonyoung here is convinced he’s a professional ice cream taster. He wants to know if he should add ‘Certified Expert’ to his resume."

You rolled your eyes, but Soonyoung was undeterred, holding up a pint of Ben & Jerry’s with a flourish. "Can’t you see the wisdom in my plan? Who wouldn’t hire a man who knows his way around a pint of Cookie Dough?"

You snorted, shaking your head. "You’re ridiculous. But go ahead, waste your time on that. I’m trying to focus."

But no, they weren’t letting you go that easily. Seokmin started cracking jokes, distracting you with all the random things he’d overheard in the office. "Did you know that Ayoung is secretly obsessed with ‘90s boy bands? I walked in on her humming ‘I Want It That Way’ this morning, and I’m still recovering."

And Soonyoung, ever the instigator, added with a wink, "I also caught her in the hallway talking about getting a matching tattoo with Aera. Of a tiny cupcake. What do you think? The whole office would get a kick out of that."

By then, you were laughing despite yourself, pushing down the tight feeling in your chest. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to laugh, it was just that... well, everything felt too complicated. Too much.

So, you let them pull you into their nonsense. They carried on for the next hour—Soonyoung performing some ridiculous impression of an old-timey detective, Seokmin explaining his absurd theory that paperclips are an ancient alien technology (you’re still not sure if he was serious)—until you forgot, for just a moment, about everything else. Even Seungkwan.

But of course, they weren’t done. When they saw that momentary crack in your armor, they pounced, practically dragging you into a brainstorming session for next week's office party theme. Soonyoung insisted on a 'Beach Party' theme even though there was no beach within a hundred miles of your office. Seokmin argued for a retro ‘80s prom, and then proceeded to pull out old high school yearbook photos of him in a neon green tuxedo for ‘inspiration.’ You were supposed to be working, but you couldn’t help but laugh at Seokmin trying to explain why the color combo was "unbeatable."

They kept going, laughing, cracking jokes, pulling your attention from the tight knot that had been steadily winding around your chest since you left the meeting. But you knew—knew—this distraction wasn’t going to last forever.

Eventually, reality would catch up, but for now, you let them drag you along with them. The idea of facing Seungkwan, of facing what had happened, felt like too much. So you pushed it down, buried it in the ridiculousness of the day.

For now, you thought, it was working. But you had a feeling the peace wouldn’t last long.

It’s late, and you’re about to congratulate yourself on avoiding Seungkwan for the entire day as you open your car door. But of course, the universe has other plans for you. The sudden slam of the car door makes you jump, your hand still on the handle as you whip around to find Seungkwan standing there, his face set in that tight expression you know too well. The tension between you snaps, palpable in the cool evening air. His voice cuts through the silence, demanding, sharp.

"So this is how it's going to be?" he asks, the words heavy with frustration.

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. You were so sure you had made your escape. You had done everything you could today to keep him out of your head, to avoid this moment. Yet here he is, standing in front of you like an inevitable storm, his presence taking up the entire space between you.

You try to steady yourself, the tightness in your throat making it hard to speak. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," you manage, forcing the words out despite how small they sound against the tension hanging between you.

Seungkwan’s eyes narrow as if he’s reading you—really reading you, seeing right through the facade you’ve worked so hard to put on. "Don’t lie to me, Y/N. You’ve been avoiding me all day. It’s not just because of the work, is it? You’ve been avoiding me since... since the gala. Since everything."

You bite your lip, refusing to let the weight of his words sink in, but his voice keeps coming, a steady beat in your chest. “You think I’m just supposed to pretend everything’s fine after what happened?”

The words hit you like a slap, leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. You try to ignore the ache that stirs inside you at the mention of what happened—the kiss, the way it felt so real, so right, and yet so wrong. So much of a game. And now he’s standing here, throwing it all in your face.

"I don’t know what you expect from me, Seungkwan," you snap, unable to keep the edge from your voice. "But it’s over. I told you—I’m done."

Seungkwan’s jaw tightens, and he steps closer, his proximity making you instinctively want to step back. But you don’t. You won’t.

"Done?" he repeats, voice laced with disbelief. "Just like that? You think you can just walk away? You’re really going to pretend this—whatever this is—didn’t mean anything?"

You open your mouth to argue, but no words come out. It’s as if your body’s betraying you, locking you in this moment where nothing makes sense, where the anger you thought would fuel you evaporates the moment Seungkwan looks at you with that frustrated, helpless look in his eyes.

You hate that you care. You hate that, even now, a part of you wants to reach out and undo everything. To erase the distance, the silence, the walls you’ve built between the two of you. But you can’t.

“You always thought of it as a game, Seungkwan,” you snap, your voice a little too sharp for comfort, but it’s all you have to hold onto. The argument. The distance. The lie you’ve been clinging to.

He’s shaking his head before you even finish the sentence, a rawness in his expression you’ve never seen before. “It was never a game for me!” His words crash through the silence, leaving an echo that hangs in the air. It’s too much. Too loud.

And then, just like that, you’re back in that hallway, your heart pounding. The night air feels suffocating, and there’s a closeness between you two that should feel wrong, but it doesn’t. It feels right in the way his chest is rising and falling too quickly, in the way you can barely breathe without him being this close. Your breaths are shaky, uncertain.

“What was it then?” Your voice cracks as you ask, small and vulnerable, that gnawing fear in your chest almost swallowing you whole. You don’t want to know the answer, but you know you need to hear it.

His gaze drops, his voice softens, and it’s enough to make your stomach turn with something too familiar. “What do you think?” he whispers, just above a breath, his words more like a confession than a question.

The truth is right there, suspended between you two, but it feels like a lie at the same time. You try to push it down, try to control it, but the knot in your throat grows tighter. You’re not sure what’s worse—the silence, or the fact that you’re on the verge of hoping for something you shouldn’t.

His hand moves to your face, brushing your cheek, and you can feel the heat of his touch seeping into your skin like a live wire. “I kept the parking spot argument going because I knew it was the only excuse I had to talk to you,” he continues, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place. “You’re so smart. So beautiful. I knew you would never give me the time of day unless I made you.”

It hits you in waves, like the ground beneath you is shifting. You open your mouth to respond, to tell him that this is too much, too late, that he can’t just explain this all away—but he cuts you off, the urgency in his voice making you freeze.

“No, please. Let me finish.”

You swallow hard, the words stuck in your throat, but you stay silent, waiting for him to continue.

He steps closer, the air between you two crackling with every movement. His eyes are dark, intense, and you’re not sure if it’s fear or something else flickering behind them. “I couldn’t just let you go. I couldn’t. So I did what I had to do. I kept pushing you, testing you, because I couldn’t let you slip away.”

The honesty in his voice is like a punch to the gut. Every word seems to break down everything you thought you knew about this whole thing. You can’t speak. You’re drowning in it, caught between the words and the way he’s looking at you.

You want to run. You should run. But instead, you stay there, with his hands on you, his breath too close to yours, and the silence that threatens to drown you both.

The question slips out before you can stop it, your voice small and fragile in the heavy silence that’s settled between you two. It feels like everything is crashing down, the weight of it all pressing against your chest, but the curiosity burns through. You need to know.

"Why did you say yes? To the contract?" Your voice barely rises above a whisper, and you can’t help the way your breath catches in your throat, that desperate need to understand.

Seungkwan freezes, his hand still hovering just inches from your face, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. It’s like you’ve asked the question that’s been hanging in the air, unspoken, for far too long. And for a moment, it feels like the world is holding its breath, waiting for him to answer.

He looks away, his eyes darting to the ground as if the answer isn’t something he can say out loud. His lips part, but no words come out. He takes a breath, almost like he’s bracing himself for what he’s about to admit. And then, slowly, the words slip out, ragged and raw.

“Because I didn’t know how else to get close to you.” His voice trembles slightly, but the honesty in it cuts through you, sharp and real. “I didn’t know how else to make you notice me.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “I was tired of standing in the background, watching you with everyone else, wanting to be more than just... the guy who argues with you about parking spots or steals your coffee.”

There’s a bitter chuckle, half empty, half ashamed, and it almost breaks you. He doesn’t look at you now, but his words hang in the air between you like a weight that neither of you can lift.

“I thought if I had a reason, an excuse, maybe... maybe I could make you see me. See us." He finally glances back up, his gaze soft, too soft for the harshness of his confession. “And I was wrong, okay? I was wrong to use you like that.”

The silence after his words is deafening. Every piece of you wants to scream, to shout at him for what he’s done, for the way he played with your heart like it was a game. But you can’t. Not with the raw vulnerability in his eyes, the way he stands there, exposed and unsure.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice cracks, and it’s all you can manage.

His chest rises and falls with a deep, shaky breath. “Because I didn’t think you’d ever want to hear it.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, a breathless, almost irritated whisper. "You're an idiot." But it's not frustration you feel anymore, it’s something deeper, something that’s been simmering just beneath the surface for far too long.

And then you can’t help it. The space between you closes, and before you even realize what you're doing, your hands are on him, pulling his face down to yours. The kiss is fierce and unrestrained, lips crashing together with a hunger that feels almost desperate, like you’ve been starved for this moment, for him, for everything that’s been left unsaid.

Seungkwan’s hands find their way to your waist, tugging you closer, his body solid and warm against yours. He responds without hesitation, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that matches your own, a mix of frustration and need, and something else—something raw and real.

The world outside of this moment disappears, the streetlights and cars, the sounds of the city—it all fades away, leaving just the two of you, caught in the storm of it all. It feels right, in a way that makes your chest tighten, in a way that makes everything else feel insignificant. The kiss deepens, and for a moment, everything that’s been left unspoken between you two finally starts to come to the surface.

When you finally pull away, breathless and dazed, his forehead rests against yours, your heart pounding in the space between you. It feels like the whole world has just shifted, everything falling into place in a way that makes sense, finally.

"How did you know my coffee order?" You ask, voice still shaky from the kiss, but your curiosity getting the better of you. You're still trying to wrap your head around all of it.

Seungkwan pauses for a moment, then a sheepish smile tugs at his lips. "I watched you," he admits quietly, his eyes softening. "I memorized little things about you, filed them away. Thought maybe one day I could use them... if I ever got the chance."

You can't help the small giggle that escapes you at his confession, the weight of it all sinking in. It's the sweetest thing you've ever heard. Before you can stop yourself, you're pulling him back into a kiss, hands sliding up to cup his face, as if this moment could last forever.

When you pull away again, your lips still tingling from his touch, you look up at him with a playful grin.

"So what do you say, fake-girlfriend?" he asks, his voice low, teasing. "Wanna be my real girlfriend?"

You laugh, the sound light and carefree, pressing your head against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. For the first time in what feels like forever, everything feels right. You breathe him in, the warmth of his embrace anchoring you.

"Only if you still bring me coffee," you murmur, grinning into his shirt.

"Done," he whispers, pressing his lips to yours again, and this time it feels like a promise—one you both intend to keep.

EPILOGUE

Seungkwan’s car is parked downstairs, and your phone buzzes incessantly as you can practically hear his impatience through the screen. You’re running late, of course, but when you finally slip into the passenger seat, he’s grumbling, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. The moment you slide in, though, his tone softens, and he’s already handing you a cup of coffee—the perfect temperature, the way you like it, the warm press of his lips against your cheek.

"You’re lucky I didn’t leave without you," he mutters, but there’s no real anger in his voice. You smile as you take a sip. This coffee isn’t from the shop across town anymore. No, Seungkwan bought an espresso machine, much to your surprise, and he’s been making them himself. "What kind of boyfriend doesn’t make coffee for his girlfriend?" he had argued one night as you laid in his lap, and you had to admit, it was an endearing (and slightly ridiculous) argument. Still, this coffee tastes better than anything you could buy, and maybe you’re biased, but you think it might actually be true.

He pulls into The Spot with an exaggerated sigh. “It’s so much nicer not having to argue with you every day for the spot,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips.

You roll your eyes and slam the car door shut with a dramatic flair. “I can pick fights about other things,” you shoot back unhelpfully, crossing your arms. “For example, your tie is hideous.”

Seungkwan gasps in mock outrage, his hand flying to his chest like he’s been personally attacked. "You did not just say that!" he yells, and then he's chasing you through the parking garage, the sound of his footsteps getting closer. You let out a shriek as you try to run in heels, but it’s no use—he catches up to you easily, hands dancing across your waist as you beg for mercy.

"Take it back!" he demands, voice filled with mock seriousness.

"No!" You laugh, still struggling against his hold, though it's a losing battle.

"Then no coffee for a week," he warns, his tone playful but authoritative.

"Boo Seungkwan!" you protest, but his grin only widens as he pulls you into the elevator, trapping you between his chest and the wall.

The elevator door dings open, and just as you step out, he pulls you back toward him, placing a kiss on your lips—slow and warm, lingering like he’s in no rush to let you go.

"Have a good day," he murmurs, his lips brushing your cheek.

"EW!" Seokmin’s voice shouts from behind you, and you can’t help but laugh at the sound of him. Seungkwan flips him off without missing a beat, the playful edge in his voice unmistakable. "This whole thing is your fault," he calls out to Seokmin’s retreating figure, who’s already halfway down the hall, grinning ear to ear.

"I know!" Seokmin yells back gleefully, his voice carrying through the hallway. "I had a really really good plan!"

tagging: @ottersmind @blvenote @kyeomsworld @cookiearmy @armycarat2612 @rjea @xylatox @flwrshwa

@christinewithluv @headlockimnida @letwiiparkjay @cherr-y-eji @codeinbelle @baguette-atiny @whoa-jo @noiceoofed

845 notes · View notes

chanranghaeys · 3 months ago

Text

🍷 in vino veritas

What better birthday gift can one give than the gift of truth?

pairing: seungkwan x fem!reader word count: 3.4k genre: fluff, smut/nsfw rating: r-18. nsfw, mdni! tags: oblivious idiots in love with each other, mutual pining, literally can’t resist each other once they start, we're still celebrating seungkwan's birthday here, mentions of food, barely proofread pls bear with me warnings: alcohol, allusions to sex, eventual sex haha, making out, dry humping (?) making love, groping, fingering, implied unprotected sex (help idk how to do nsfw tags pls tell me if i missed anything

a/n: this was based on two requests lifetimes ago by rachel @strxwberry-skiess and tara @diamonddaze01. i have a feeling you two don’t remember it anymore haha but i’m tagging both of u anyway. this was also intended as a seungkwan birthday fic that i’ve been revising back and forth and just wasn’t satisfied enough to post until now, hence the setting. i hope this marks the end of my writing drought—i desperately need it.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

It started with a sweater and spilled soju.

“I’m so sorry!”

“No, don’t worry about it!”

“But it’s your favorite sweater. I just ruined it.”

Technically, you both did. It actually started with dinner at your place because you owed him. Big time.

A few weeks ago, you dared to be the only one who didn’t bring a gift to Seungkwan’s birthday gathering—and everyone called you out for it. So with the whole party as witness, Hansol and Chan made you promise to give Seungkwan a gift and treat him to dinner to make up for this huge lapse in judgment.

Sincerely, you wish you could slap those two in the face sometimes. But you wouldn’t, of course. They just knew exactly what they were trying to set up then.

You and Seungkwan decided on a simple homemade dinner at your place because according to him, “You never invite me to your place! How many times have you invited those two idiots to your place without me?”

If only you could tell him the real reason why that was always the case.

When the fateful day finally came, Seungkwan arrived at your apartment early to genuinely offer his help, much to your gratitude. He was even gracious enough to bring your favorite yangnyeom fried chicken.

“I knew you’d like it. It’s your favorite,” he replied with a nonchalant shrug when you questioned him with his offering.

In return, you claimed, “Just don’t go expecting me to give you your gift right away. I’m saving it for the end of the night because it’s special.”

He kept saying that “you don’t have to do this, they were just poking fun.” But you were never one to back down from a promise—especially if it involved Seungkwan.

Dinner went by easily. The weather allowed for a window propped open to let in some of the cool breeze that added to what you believe was a nice atmosphere. Your plates had long been empty when Seungkwan made his way to the fridge to get a refill of water. Instead, he let out a cry of disbelief.

“Ya! You have five bottles of soju and you didn’t bother bringing them out?”

You stayed silent. There was a reason why you didn’t bring those out on purpose. It was to avoid incidents like this, because you and Seungkwan—alone—and alcohol was a combination that had never happened before and an equation that you tried to avoid solving for as long as possible.

Fate had other plans today, apparently.

In his usual way, whenever there was alcohol in his system, he turned into the clingy kind of drunk that he was. This time, however, you noticed that he was different somehow. He was braver, louder, clingier. He was never like this when you two were drinking with friends.

As the late afternoon turned to evening, you two found yourselves inching closer to each other with every story and joke exchanged. This time, a particularly effective punchline you delivered had him in a laughing mess, with his hands instantly reaching for you. He just failed to notice the two very full glasses in your hands at that moment.

This was when chaos ensued.

In the aftermath, he looked at you and your obliviousness. “It’s just soju and water. Nothing a quick wash can’t do.”

He let out an audible sigh of defeat. Without thinking, he proceeded to peel off the ruined piece of clothing, revealing a thin white shirt that was barely there—riding up along with the sweater and revealing his torso. The sight got worse as he completely removed the sweater, the shirt clinging to his chest and still wet from the spilled liquid. You tried to avert your eyes as quickly as you could, but Seungkwan had already caught you staring.

“I, uh…” He pulled down his shirt and held the wet sweater in his hand. You cleared your throat and tried to gather your wits.

“I’m a terrible host. Give me that, I can chuck it in the laundry. I’ll get you a new shirt.” You stood to do as you said. You ignored the fact that he followed you all the way to your room, stopping to lean at your doorway as you rummaged through your drawers for a spare shirt.

You ignored how you could feel his eyes on you, probably spurred on with bravery because you had your back turned toward him. If only you could see how intense his gaze was, looking you up and down while weighing the two options in his head carefully.

He broke the silence first with a question you least expected. “You can talk to me honestly, right?”

“Of course, Seungkwan.” You busied yourself with looking for any shirt, trying to buy time to avoid meeting the piercing gaze you knew would meet.

“Were you…staring at me earlier?”

How dare— “Uh…”

“Okay, I’ll start with an easier question. Are you sober?”

“Yes.” You stand to face him, but not quite meeting his eyes yet. “I mean, I am now. Who wouldn’t be after you spill two glasses on your—friend?”

He laughs. “That’s true.” He pretends to not notice that slight hitch in your voice earlier.

“Here’s your shirt.” You hold up the oversized piece of clothing.

He pushes himself from your doorway and walks—in your perspective—at a painstakingly slow pace. His shirt is still a bit wet and still clinging just a bit in all the right places.

He stops right in front of you, a few steps too close to excuse it for a friendly distance. It absolutely was not.

He gingerly takes the shirt from your hand. To your utter surprise, he replaces it by taking your hand in his. You mask your nerves with an equally nervous laugh as you ask him, “Are you sober?”

“Yeah. Well, I can tell you that I’m sober enough to clearly know what I’m doing.” He continues even as he slowly intertwines his fingers in yours. “When we were in Italy, they said something during our wine tasting. ‘In vino veritas.’”

You were familiar with this saying. “‘In wine—’”

“‘There is truth.’” He completes the saying, taking yet another step closer. “We didn’t exactly drink wine, but can you still tell me the truth?”

You debate with light speed in your head where and how you want this conversation to end. It seemed there was only one answer the moment he decided to close the distance by settling his one hand on your waist and the other brushing your cheek—the clean shirt long forgotten on the floor.

Your heart was racing, and you knew this wasn’t because of the alcohol any longer. The air was thick with unresolved tension. You both knew what this was. This only happened when the two of you were alone, where awkward smiles and silences helped fill in the undeniable attraction that you both kept denying.

So you swallow your pride and nod in reply, and he smiles at your response before continuing, “So, were you staring?”

“I’m still staring now,” you say as you travel across his torso still wrapped in his wet shirt.

His chuckle turned into a laugh, his beautifully musical and infectious laugh, tinged with a hint of embarrassment. “Stop it! I’m losing focus. God, I really didn’t think this through, did I?”

You were nothing if honest, even more so when it came to Seungkwan. He had no problem asking you this question because that’s what he liked about you the most. You weren’t like other people—like him even—who beat around the bush and never mean what they actually say.

“Maybe not,” you say while holding back a laugh of your own.

The smile drops from his face in an instant, his smiling lips closing together in the blink of an eye. When his eyes open, they contain an unspoken depth, his expression changing into something more serious than you’ve ever seen from him before.

“Help me take this off, will you?”

“Why don’t you kiss me first before you demand such things?”

He smirks and claims your chin between his fingers. “Thought you’d never ask.”

You two always had that “will they, won’t they” dynamic for the longest time. It seems that tonight, they will. And they did.

The room smelled of sex. It was undeniable at this point to not acknowledge what had just happened between you and Seungkwan. In the heat of the moment and the throes of passion, you had both done things once unspeakable between the two of you.

If only you both knew what constantly went on in your heads the moment you two were separated from each other.

“So, is this the gift?” Seungkwan asks breathlessly, his chest heaving with exertion and his heart still racing at a million beats per minute.

“What?” Your mind was still swimming in stars, still coming down from your high as you curled yourself in his arms and folded against his warm skin.

”This.” He pulls you in closer and tangles your legs with his, endlessly craving for the touch of your skin on his.

You lightly jab his forehead jokingly. “You forget that you initiated all this with your hand-holding and sweet-talking about being honest.”

“Hey, I just wanted a kiss. You gave me so much more.” He nuzzled his nose against yours and, god, you couldn’t get enough of this Seungkwan. If only you knew that this is how he’d be with you, it would’ve been so worth it to tell him how you felt way earlier.

Wait. You haven’t told him how you felt. Not exactly.

But instead, you land your lips chastely on his. “There’s your kiss. Are you happy now?” He nods, but you could see his eyes and his smile being weighed down by impending sleep. He yawns, and you catch it as well and mirror his actions.

“Good night, sleepyhead.” With a final kiss from Seungkwan to your forehead, you both settle into an easy slumber, with both of you feeling lighter in your minds and hearts.

“Seungkwan.”

He stirs, sleep still overtaking his senses. “Hmm?”

“Seungkwan-ah.” You reach up to move his bed hair from his forehead.

“Mhmm?”

And for a moment, you forget what you were supposed to say because you were struck by the beauty of this unguarded version of Seungkwan. You trail your hand from his forehead to the apple of his cheeks, where you feel them move as he smiles.

“Could you turn on the heat? It’s getting a bit cold.”

He opens his eyes to the most beautiful sight of you in the near break of dawn, the first light filtering through the sheer curtains and starting to illuminate your room.

In response, as if by instinct, he leaned down to kiss you, much to your surprise. When he broke away, he could still feel the curve of the smile of your lips against his. “Why don’t I keep you warm, instead?”

He pulled you closer, the heat from his hand traveling across and over your body. Just as he predicted, you feel the heat rising on your cheeks as you recall the intensity and fervor of last night. But you could care less.

Wordlessly, you take him up on his offer, wrapping your arms around his neck and meeting him in another kiss. Wordlessly, he accepts this as your response and he parts your lips open with his to allow entrance to go in deeper, tasting you for all you are against the ecstasy of your tongue.

While his mouth plays with yours, his hands continue to roam the ebbs and flows of your body, from your neck, your breasts, your waist, and finally tracing the curve of your ass with his hands. He buries himself in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent, leaving open-mouthed kisses as he raises your one leg, allowing it to wrap around his waist.

In this position, your heated core was wide open for his evident arousal. It was as if the events of last night were not enough to satiate your wants, your needs, and deeper down, your true feelings. Your bodies stay flush against each other, skin to skin as if you could not come any closer. You move in sync, accompanied by the gasps and moans, the hitches in both your breaths, as you feel his fingers working their way down there dictating the rhythm that you two would move to while your own fingers clench to fist his hair.

If last night was desperate, needy, almost making up for lost time, this morning was deliberate, languid, almost lazy with the way his lips never left yours to swallow all the delicious sounds coming from your mouth. When he finally filled your awaiting entrance, your bodies felt like a natural fit with one another. Each thrust between your slick bodies felt like a resounding mantra in the stillness of the daybreak—a mantra of unsaid promises and unresolved thoughts spoken through actions with every moment that his lips latch, tug, bite at yours.

The light of the dawn filtered through your room, casting an ethereal glow on your bodies. Yet this morning, you both see nothing but stars. When you both come down from the heavens, you take the time to go to the bathroom, while he takes the time to turn on the heat despite your complaints.

“You’ll thank me later,” Seungkwan said as you returned to his welcoming arms. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, you tangled your limbs in his and let sleep take over your senses once more.

By the time you come to again, it’s 9 am. The sun was fully shining through your curtains to the point of almost blinding you. The urge to pee was overwhelming, so you disentangled yourself from the sheets in your sluggish state. Sitting on the toilet, you rub your eyes and feel the aches of your body settle in—along with other realizations.

Like the fact that you were butt naked. In your bed. With Seungkwan.

And you two did not just fuck last night. You made love with him in the wee hours of the morning.

Holy shit.

As you splash water on your tired face, you look in the mirror and see…an unexpected glow. You touch your lips, trailing your hand down your neck and your chest, recalling all the other places where Seungkwan’s hands caressed you. You start to smile, yet it is gone as quickly as it came.

Now what?

With resolve, you step out of the bathroom to face the reality of the morning. What greets you is the sight of Seungkwan propped up against the headboard, checking his phone, with his bed hair and bare chest turning to look at you. He smiles, one that reaches his eyes.

He is so beautiful.

His eyes travel across your naked body, and you suddenly feel shy. You look across the floor for the discarded shirt from last night, pulling it over you and grabbing a clean pair of panties from your drawer.

He just watches you throughout this charade.

“I…uh, went through some of your clothes. Borrowed a pair of shorts. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, that's okay.”

“For a moment, I thought you left me. I woke up to an empty bed.”

You stop, fully turning to see the amusement in his expression. “You may have forgotten that this is my room. If anyone should have left, it would be you.”

His eyes narrowed. “Did you want me to? Leave?”

You don’t answer, afraid that whatever comes out of your mouth will betray your sensibilities. Instead, you sit down on the empty space of bed beside him.

“Are we still telling the truth?”

One side of his mouth quirks up. “Always, I hope.”

“You should know that there’s a reason why I never wanted you to come over here in the first place.”

He physically winces, anticipating the worst from that statement. “And that is?”

“Because I don’t think I’d ever let you leave. That’s the truth.”

A sigh of relief. “Come here.” He closes the gap between you by clasping your hand and pulling you back into bed, encircling you in his arms.

You lay there together, your head on his chest as he mindlessly plays with your hair. He’d always been a handsy person—all his friends knew that—but most especially to the people he had taken a particular liking to. His fixation was always different with each person. With you, it was your hair.

“Would you like to hear my truth?” He asks.

You wordlessly nod.

“I’ve always wanted to do that with you.”

“Do what?”

“You know…last night, this morning,” Seungkwan trails off.

“No way.”

“Yes, way.”

Your eyes were as wide as a doe’s. “You…never made it obvious or anything.”

“That’s because I’m a decent person who doesn’t act on my primal impulses out of nowhere. Please, you’re too damn pretty and sexy for me to ignore you from the moment we met.”

You slap his chest. “You’re playing. Stop it.”

“I’m serious! It didn’t help at all when I found out that you listened to all the same girl groups that I did. You think I don’t see you when you dance? When you move your damn hips? I have eyes, you know. I’m a simple man.”

“Okay, okay. I see you, girl group enthusiast.” You smiled up at him. “I guess I’ll shake my ass at you more often, then.”

“Oh, please, you will ruin me.” He bites back a grin. “No, but honestly—beyond that,” he said as he looked at you pointedly, “you unlocked this little kid inside me again whenever I was with you, and…I realized I wanted to do more with you. And be more with you. It just grew and grew until it hit me that I just I always wanted you around.”

As if to prove his next point, he meets your eyes and doesn’t let go of your gaze. “If you let me in and let me stay, I don’t think I’d ever leave if you don’t want me to.”

You purse your lips to hold back the smile growing on your lips. Your heart was pounding, pondering the consequences of the next few words you were about to say.

“Well, if you say that then another truth I have is that I’ve always held back from you. I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed that.”

“I did.”

“Well, I guess I didn’t do a good enough job of hiding it.”

“Why though?”

“I couldn’t trust myself around you.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “Have I not made you comfortable enough around me? Have I not been the definition of a poster boy best friend?”

“Exactly. You think I could let you go if I mess up and start kissing you on a whim? Seungkwan, your friends can be full of shit sometimes. Believe me when I say that a lot of times, you’re definitely the hottest guy in the room.”

“Wow, you must love me a whole lot for you to say something like that.”

“What if I do?”

He stills. “Do you really?”

You give him a reassuring smile. “We’re still telling the truth, aren’t we?” But the truth also gives you away. You look down as your smile falters. “Friendship is always such a fragile thing to break. And I don’t think I ever want to lose you.”

“Like I said,” he says while lifting your chin up to meet his eyes. They were glowing, and you realize it reminded you of your own eyes when you looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror. It was as if you two were reflections of one another—the way you two always were without realizing it. “If you let me in and let me stay, I don’t think I’d ever leave if you don’t want me to.”

You could do nothing but smile.

And you hear both of your stomachs growl at the same time. You both laugh, loud, full, and deep-bellied, the only way you two do when you’re with each other. There were never any fake laughs if you were together.

You land a quick peck on his lips. “I’ll make you breakfast. Consider it a gift.”

You stood up to leave the bed, and you wait until it clicks in his head. “So you never got me a gift?” The disbelief on his face was almost enough to move you to guilt. But you had another ace up your sleeve.

“Why don’t you get your ass out of bed first and help me make breakfast so I can give you the real gift?”

He huffs. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I’m lucky you’re telling the truth.” You wink and leave him smirking. In wine there is truth, they say, and in truth there is a newfound sense of freedom he can’t wait to share with you.

357 notes · View notes

saddeneddimple · 4 months ago

Text

𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 — 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

𝑆𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛’𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑣𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑜𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠

Pairing: ot13 x fem reader

Genre: Suggestive, A little smutty, a little fluffy

Warning(s): suggestive content, mentions of more intimate/private parts, some sexual content (this is 18+ content. any interaction below the age will be blocked)

svt masterlist the bookshelf (main m.list)

a/n: the way i giggled at these esp the seokmin one PLSPLSPLSPLS also two posts in a week? who am i frl

𝑺𝒆𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒐𝒍

Lips. He adores the way his lips intertwine with yours, fitting each other perfectly as if they were made for each other. He loves small, cute pecks to long, tender and passionate kisses. But his all time favorite is when you’re both deep and hungry, you’re on his lap with your fingers running through his hair, his hands gripping your hips. The way your lips crash with desire, tongues fighting for dominance as small moans escape the both of you.

𝑱𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒂𝒏

Neck. He loves kissing your lips and will always kiss you as soon as there’s a sliver of opportunity, but he’s such a sucker for your neck. The soft, perfumed skin is intoxicating, the way you react is addicting to him. Feeling you squirm around as well as feeling your chest heave from the flustering heat accumulating in your body completes him. And when he includes his teeth. Oh boy. The way your breathing suddenly hitches and the way you pant, trying so hard to not let out any moans, eventually failing, makes him crave you.

𝑱𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒖𝒂

Your entire Face. He adores you, from your sweet taste to your scent. He loves those deep yet innocent kisses, his hands cupping your cheeks as you melt to his touch, the heat seeping from your skin, warming his hands. He loves scattering kisses all over your face, from your cheeks to your nose to your forehead, making sure every spot doesn’t go untouched by his pillowy lips. The way you react only makes him want to do it more, your shy giggling making him smile between kisses. Even when your face is flushed from its radiating heat as he’s above you, your bodies close and sweating, the way he scatters small kisses around your face, following the rhythm of his hips, those kisses ending on your lips, he just falls for you all over again.

𝑱𝒖𝒏𝒉𝒖𝒊

Shoulders. He loves sneaking his way behind you, his arms tightly wrapped around your waist, your body relaxed against his. He loves watching how easy you give him access to your skin, slightly tilting your head as he lowers his to softly kiss your shoulders, working his way up to your sensitive neck and returning back. If he really wants to be a tease, he’d softly nibble on the skin, your body jolting in surprise as a small gasp escapes you, your reaction only making him want to take it further.

𝑺𝒐𝒐𝒏𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒈

Nose. There’s something so loving and genuine when he softly pecks your nose, following with nervous giggling as both your faces blush, his turning more into a beet red. Every time he pulls you in for a kiss, his final move is always with a small peck to your nose, following with a tight, warm hug, never wanting to let go of your soothing and soft body. But the nose kisses aren’t entirely innocent either, because when he’s above you, your body trembling underneath his towering silhouette, he looks deeply into your darkened and lustful eyes before his lips crash onto yours. After sharing his deep and hungry kiss, he finishes with a small peck to your nose before he makes you scream his name.

𝑾𝒐𝒏𝒘𝒐𝒐

(face)Cheeks. He always greets you and says goodbye to you with a kiss on the cheek before his lips meet with yours. It’s the simplicity and sweetness behind it, the way he feels your smile form against his lips. Especially when he has you next to him, his hands sinfully playing with your body, your hips twitching as your legs tremble to his sleek fingers. He just watches your face, kissing your cheek in admiration to your beauty and your reaction to his touch.

𝑱𝒊𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒏

Wrists. Unusual from the normal placements people would usually kiss but he just loved it. From the fragrance your skin radiated off the wrists to the feeling of worship he had over you. He adored you, adored looking deeply into your eyes, kissing your wrist then quickly trapping your lips with his. He loved kissing your wrists as you were on hips lap while he sits on the couch or bed, watching you bouncing on him. His hands roaming all over your dripping body, reaching your hands as he pulled them to his lips, kissing them before he puts one hand to bind both your wrists behind your back, the other gripped on your waist as he eventually takes control.

𝑺𝒆𝒐𝒌𝒎𝒊𝒏

Fucking Everywhere. This man worships you. Entirely. He loves feeling every curve, every crevice, every inch of your skin goes untouched. He will kiss whatever is closest to him at the moment, from your lips to your belly to your legs, kissing your soft thighs. He hungrily kisses those thighs with so much love and desire as his pretty mouth is being worked on you, even savoringly kissing your soaked core, your entire body shaking to his lips pressed against your slick and sweet center, your bundle of nerves in shock to the small vibrations of his hums and the friction of his pretty mouth against it.

𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒚𝒖

Behind the ear. He loves teasing you, watching you melt against him and burst into nervous giggles, playfully pushing him away before your lips met with his. His pretty puppy eyes looking at yours, your lips reuniting and again finding the trail back to his favorite spot. Your reaction was his favorite part, listening to your breathing getting heavy as your body craves friction, your hips bucking up, yearning for his touch. Your neediness making him whisper sweet nothings in your ear, kissing right below it, giving you what you so desire.

𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒂𝒐

Eyes. Not butterfly kisses, but kissing right above your eyes or eyebrows. He loves the tender and sweet feeling behind the kisses, the way your eyes flutter when they open or close. He’s so gentle with his plush lips kissing your skin, almost as if he went any harder you’d break. At least when it came to kissing your pretty eyes. Even after making sure you were left shaking, he would ever so softly kiss over your heavy eyes.

𝑺𝒆𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒌𝒘𝒂𝒏

Stomach. He adores your body, from the way you were perfectly sculpted to the way you react when he interacts with your body. Everything about you was perfect. His lips traveled your body, always planting the most kisses on your lips and your stomach, his lips grazing your skin, your abdomen tensing to his touch, yearning for more. His tongue occasionally making paintings, licking its way lower.

𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒐𝒍

Forehead. He always cupped your cheeks, kissing your lips tenderly followed by a small trail of kisses to your forehead, his lips staying there a few seconds longer. He loved your reaction to the long forehead kiss, the connection it brought between you two, your sweet smile etched on your lips, a soft pink spread across your cheeks. Even above you as he inches deeper, he looks into your darkened eyes before his lips met yours, following the same small trail of kisses to your forehead, his forehead eventually colliding against yours, going deeper.

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒏

Hips. He also is a man who worships your body, his hands always caressing and feeling your soft flesh, always wanting to dive deeper into you. The moments where you’re standing in front of him, his body below you as he’s sitting down, his hands gripping the back of your thighs, kissing every inch of skin available, mainly focusing on your hips. It’s almost as if he is addicted to kissing them, soft whimpers escaping his lips as he kissed over the hip bone, softly biting into it, making your breath hitch as your fingers run through his hair, gripping it in the process.

349 notes · View notes

mediumgayitalian · 4 months ago

Text

Hazel thinks she hates New York.

It’s not Camp Half-Blood. She likes Camp Half-Blood, actually, likes the sweet-smelling strawberry fields, the rolling waves in the distance, the way every colour, every conversation or moment, just seems more. Louder, livelier. It’s only been a couple days but she’s fond of the place, even though the people are odd and the customs odder (seriously — who came up with the curfew harpies? Hazel is no stranger to demigod structural violence, but a group of demonic bird ladies let loose at a random time of “after the sun sets, usually” to kill and devour children and teens is a new level of weird even for her. Percy assures her that the harpy murder is alleged, as he has spent several summers in camp and has not seen it happen, but he is also an amnesiac and an enabler so what does he know).

It’s the stars, she thinks.

New York doesn’t seem to have any.

It was a shock when she was first brought back. How dim the night sky had become, how devoid, bereft. Uranus’ dome now pales in comparison to the dazzling Alaskan skies decades ago, even in New Rome, huddled away from California’s worst light pollution. Even in the middle of the Pacific, in quiet midnights aboard the Argo II, the sky seemed lonelier. She’s gotten used to it, for the most part, the tar-coloured skies, but New York is like the inkwells on the desk she shared with Sammy. They spilled them, constantly, clumsy hands taking the slap of the ruler in exchange for tapping fingers and quiet giggles, and the dark-stained woodgrain is a perfect amalgamation of the skies she watches now; stifling over the screened tent roof, silent as a packed grave. Unsettling.

She should be sleeping. Gwen’s snores beside her are familiar, and the ground is solid. A welcome reprieve from the months she’s spent at sea. But despite the exhaustion twisting in her limbs and bagging under her eyes, she cannot convince herself to drift. Her eyes remain stubbornly open, locked in with the stillborn sky, waiting, waiting, waiting.

Even the moon is dull.

Finally she can take it no longer. Careful not to wake her friend, she creeps out of her sleeping bag, wiggling out over the course of several minutes to avoid the loud rip of the zipper, The tent’s door she can’t muffle, so she opens it as quickly as possible, somersaulting out and zipping it shut behind her in under ten seconds. She holds her breath, hands braced on the taut plastic, straining to hear a shift, a sniffle, a snort of disruption, but there’s nothing. Gwen remains blissfully unconscious, snores steady and even. Good.

Sword firmly in her hands, watching warily for demonic chicken ladies (who are nowhere as sweet or cool as Ella, awful cousins are universal among species it seems) or whatever other horrible ‘features’ Camp Half-Blood forgot to mention to them, she picks her way out of the Roman encampment, through the strawberry fields, and towards the main.

It’s around three in the morning, she’s pretty sure. She can’t be certain, because she cannot see the sky, but she’s always had a knack for navigating the dark. Nico can, too. Perks of being an Underworld child, she supposes.

Hopefully Nico is asleep. (She replaced his cabin door with a solid brick of obsidian to force him to sleep, yesterday, so he better be, but he’s a slippery little brat and she does not doubt his ability to squeeze through the air vents she left for him, or something. His hair was probably greasy enough to slide him right through. He better have showered, or she is going to smack him. Hard.) If he isn’t, though, she wouldn’t mind his company. She is in the mood to complain about the modern world. And if he is, maybe she’ll go wake up Percy. Or wander around until the sun rises. Who knows.

She notices, as she wanders along the edge of the wonky cabin-omega, movement coming from the Big House. Most of the windows are dark, but the bottom floor on the left — the infirmary, she thinks — is dimly lit, conscientious of the late hour, and there is definitely someone moving around. She pauses, watching for a moment, and — yep. A blond boy, every couple of minutes, rushes past a window, stethoscope bouncing off his chest, new thing in his hands with every trip.

He seems harried.

Without much thought, Hazel pushes through the rickety screen door.

At first, he doesn’t seem to notice. Hazel is camouflaged, slightly, but the shadows, her black bonnet and dark sleep clothes blending in with the many shadows cast by shelves of equipment and gently swaying privacy curtains. The boy is busy, flitting from cot to cot, scribbling on charts and tripping over chords. He moves so quickly he is blurry, hard to focus on. It takes him almost a minute to stop, freezing in the dead centre of the overcrowded infirmary, and turn to face Hazel. He is tired, she notices. His eyes are darker than the bruises under them; glassy like black labradorite, and widen as they notice her.

“Oh my gods, you’re — you’re Hazel Levesque! Holy moly.”

“Hi,” she says, smiling slightly. “You look busy for this time of night.”

The boy waves a hand, returning to his fluttering — a little slower, this time, though. Less frantic.

“Oh, yes, well. Lots of things to do. Julia’s collarbone was totally shattered, have to keep monitoring that, and there’s a group who got drop kicked into a broken onager, their recovery concerns me, and we’re rationing nectar again, and I swear I’m always running out of bandages, and I keep getting that niggling feeling, you know, when — you’re forgetting something? Important? But of course you have no idea what, and — I’m sorry.” The boy twitches, freezing midway through changing an empty saline bag, glancing back over at her. “Oh my gods, are you injured? Fuck, of course you are, it’s the middle of the night and you’re here, obviously —”

“Wait, I'm completely —”

“Oh, no, you’re fine.” He sighs, a full bodied thing, and turns his attention back to the chart in his hands. “You’ve got an old riding injury ‘round your left patella, though. You should get that checked out.”

Hazel blinks.

She…does have an old knee injury.

It was a riding accident, when she was nine. She doesn’t remember much, only flying, warm wind kissing along her face, bubbling out of her lungs as she laughed and whooped and forgot who she was, what she was, forgot the stones popping up behind her. They couldn’t catch her anyways. And she remembers falling, wind at her back, instead, and she remembers Sammy’s face, and the panic that clouded it, and her mother’s shouting. She remembers cold marble and an oil-slick voice and cool hands on her forehead.

She blinks, shaking her head slightly. The blond boy has moved past her, now, pacing up and down the rickety cots, trailing his long fingers over bandaged foreheads and crooked elbows. His mouth moves softly and silently, hands glowing along, shoulder sagging, slightly, with every person he visits.

“You’re exhausted,” she observes.

The boy smiles slightly, finishing a whispered hymn before turning her way. “Who isn’t?” His fingers twitch, in absence of a task, and start picking at the bandage around his wrist, wrapping, unwrapping, wrapping, unwrapping. “Is your knee bothering you? Unhealed injuries last longer for demigods. Especially after battle. Something about unsettled scores, I don’t know. The concept pisses me off so I refuse to entertain it on principle, but I can ease the pain if you like.”

Her knee does twinge, actually. It’s a damp kind of ache, like a headache in a rainstorm, but it's old and familiar, and hardly even registers. It smarts far less than her heart, anyway.

Gaea’s gone.

So is Leo.

Leo is gone.

She swallows. “I’m okay. I’m used to it.”

“Three years ago, a man named Michael Moylon went to the ER for a ‘headache’ he’d been ignoring. Turns out he was shot in the head but was used to the pain, so he didn’t bother.” The boy stands starighter, scolding hands on his hips. Hazel stares at him. “So.” He pats a padded bench with a papery cover over the seat. “Let me take a look.”

…Camp Half-Blood will always be, Hazel thinks, a strange, strange place, with strange, strange people. It’s hard to believe she once thought the Apollo-descendants of Camp Jupiter oddities; it’s hard to believe she once found anyone odd. Even outside of Camp Half-Blood.

Gods, child-eating harpies. She really can’t get over it.

The medic wastes no time. The second she forces her feet to move, settling in on the cot, he is in action, tapping her pant leg gently so she rolls it up – which she does, flushing red and pretending not to see his bit-back smile – and prodding gently at the area, humming to himself.

“Jeez,” he murmurs, pushing the tip of her kneecap with his thumb until she winces. “You shattered the whole bone!”

“There is no way you could possibly know that,” she argues. “I broke it – gods, I broke it ninety years ago, almost. And it healed.”

“It healed ish,” the medic corrects. “By ish I mean maybe someone tied a bandage on it and you were on crutches for a week.”

Hazel has seen a grand many things, even for a demigod. She has faced Titans. She has faced Giants. She has won, in all of these fights, she has held fallen comrades, she has wept for them, she has wept for decades, cursing and loving her mother in equal measure. She has stood her ground in front of six of the most powerful demigods to ever walk the Earth and defended her brother. She has faced off her own Father, even, and the broken power behind his eyes. She has bent the Mist to her will. She has bent the Earth to her will. It is not cocky to say she is strong, it is not arrogant to claim she has seen all there is to have seen.

Still, the small pop of her gaping mouth echoes in the quiet, midnight infirmary, and the boy smiles, sideways and crooked, and shoots her a wink.

“I could tell you how often someone two hundred thousand years ago ate shellfish by looking at a fossilized tooth. Believe me, I know what a shattered patella looks like.”

Modern medicine is a wild thing. Hazel has found that a lot of her friends in modern times have no idea how good they have it, and how wildly medicinal science has progressed in the last century. Aside from machinery and accurate devices, the pure knowledge that is widely available is mind-blowing. Hazel still remembers the looks she got when recommending calomel to a stressed out mother of a colicky baby in a cafe – it’s not like she knew mercury was poisonous. She remembers dosing out her mother’s calomel solutions for her deepest depressions.

Still. There is a difference between modern medicine and near-divining her past with the barest touch of a bone through layers of skin and fat and muscle.

The boy hovers wide, scarred hands over her knees, waiting for her nod. As he rests his palm on her skin she sighs, quick and startled like the quick collapse of a carnival tent; the bright, clear heat of his hands sinks into the pores of her skin and settles deep inside her brittle bones, warming a cold she hadn’t realised she’d been harboring. He begins to sing, under his breath, first, but slowly swelling with the night breeze through the open windows, swirling around the climbing plants hanging from the ceiling and weaving through the stone fountain in the room’s corner, pulling her lingering pain away with it. Hazel watches, wide-eyed, as the shadows take shape, chasing the song, of a horse, red-eyed and panicked, and a small little wisp of a thing, weak and limp. With every lilting note, the shadows get softer, and softer, and softer, until they wash away in the fountain’s stream.

In the silence there is the warmth of the medic’s hand still on her knee. In the silence there is that same warmth, liquid, slowly pushing its way through her veins and blood, settling curled and tired in the marrow of her bones. In the silence there is, for the first time in nearly a century, a stillness, a total lack of the low, pulsating, ice-cold pain that has been quietly pushing from her knee for longer than it hasn’t.

“Can everybody do that here?” she asks, finally, breathlessly. “Or just you?”

Hazel makes no habit of the infirmary in Camp Jupiter, but biannual check-ups are mandatory and she is not immune to injury. Still. This is a relief unlike she has ever felt.

The waves his hand, pulling back, and grins. “I take it you feel better?”

She answers honestly. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt better in my life.”

There is an ache, still, home in the dead centre of her chest, a lump still growing in the back of her through, and should she think too long, her eyes sting. But Leo is not…Leo is missing. And he is troublesome, like his great-grandfather, and slippery, and she has more faith in her friend than in Death. The ache is not overwhelming. The ache is tinged with something spiked and fiery, fueled by the genuine strength she feels in her body for perhaps the first time in my life.

“Good.”

The medic twitches, slightly, as if he were about to reach out but thought better of it. He nods, instead, smiling, and walks back off to the end of the cots, where a monitor is beeping softly. This time, Hazel follows him, sliding off the bench and peeling the crinkling paper off her backside, stepping nimbly over taped-down cords and kicked-off blankets. She stands behind him, on her tiptoes, straining over his (too tall. People should stop growing after five-ten, she believes, except Frank who is an exception because he is cute) shoulders to watch what he is doing. He explains, around another muffled smile, each number and symbol, pointing to the freshly bandaged chest of the patient and muttering about reckless, thought-averse fools and internal bleeding isn’t real, nyeh nyeh nyeh and when I finally go insane and quit, they will have to beg for six business years to get me back I mean it.

“Are the other medics this…” Hm. Unprofessional is probably not the word to use, here. “...Spirited?”

The boy raises a perfectly-shaped eyebrow. Hazel flushes.

“The other medics are eleven and thirteen,” he says dryly. “And Kayla is currently over there –” he points to a snoring girl with dyed-green hair, who is bandaged in six different places and is sleeping upside down – “because she makes bad choices and has been demoted to assistant until I’m less mad at her, so.” He shrugs. “Spirited is what y’all get.”

“I didn’t mean to offend,” she tries. The boy just snorts.

“Y’r’gonna havta try a whole heap harder to offend me, that’s for damn certain,” he assures. “If I was really gonna quit, I woulda done it two years ago when they slapped the head honcho badge on my shoulder and told me to get crackin’.”

Hazel stills. Demigod life is a – wild thing, she knows, and most have not lived as long as she has, ageing like amber in the depths of the Underworld while the world stretches on ahead. Percy’s face when he realized demigods could live longer than eighteen still haunts her nightmares. Camp Half-Blood is a loud, lively place, that burns brightly over its layers of ashes and yells over the sound of weeping ghosts left behind. That much she can gather. It should not be strange to her for an eleven-year-old medic, or an army of teenagers. Her own camp is guarded by an eight-year-old.

But this boy still has stubborn baby fat clinging to his cheeks, for all his height. He cannot be more than fourteen. Fifteen, if she stretches.

The youngest head medics at Camp Jupiter are twenty-two. Regardless of demigod life, skills take time to learn, and stomachs and hearts take years to turn to stone.

“I’m – sorry,” the boy says, voice crackling like burning pyres. “I’m –” he forces a smile, a quick, strained thing – “I am, uh, spirited. Unprofessional. I haven’t slept in several days and I’m – uh, I don’t like working Austin too hard. He’s still learning, and he doesn’t like healing much, anyway.” He busies himself quickly with the patient he pointed out earlier – Kayla, the thirteen-year-old medic. It is quickly apparent that there is nothing to be done for her, and he stands there, back turned to Hazel, scarred hands twitching above her forehead until they settle, finally, featherlight, like he’s scared a touch will wake her. Like he’s scared a touch will hurt her.

His shoulders shake, slightly. It’s too dark for anyone else to see the twin droplets, splattering on the corner of her cot.

Hazel’s chest smarts something awful.

“Where are the other medics?”

She knows there are none before he answers. He must know that she knows, judging the careful steadiness of her voice, the fleeting touch of her finger on his clenched fist. She pulls back when his hands begin to shake, worse than before, and his finger worms under the bandages on his wrist, pulling and twisting, twisting, twisting. He stands close to Kayla, still. Hovering, careful. His lips part, and Hazel holds her breath.

“There were more of us,” he begins, hushed. His dark eyes track Kayla’s snoring. “I was the thirteenth. They were –” He looks up, suddenly, looks over, and the look in his eyes is like cracking ice, like a glacier that has stood for thousands of years breaking finally into the arctic sea and falling under its own weight to the sandy floor. Like the fractured flash of sky between lightning, like the azure glass shards of a Christmas ornament refracting back the twinkling candlelight. “It was so loud in here, once.”

Hazel tries to reconcile that, in her head. This boy standing at the edge of his younger sister’s hospital bed, his younger brother tucked safely away, awake for maybe the fourth or fifth day in a row. I was the thirteenth.

Hazel knows a little something about unlucky number thirteen.

“War?” she asks, quietly, remembering something Jason had told her, on guard on the Argo, about a Titan’s battle on two sides of the country. About an army of snake-monsters for them, and something on the other end. Something worse.

“Slaughtered,” the medic says hoarsely. Another tear traces the path of the first, low light flashing off the sheen of it. “First the – first my sisters, the oldest, then my brother, then – all of them, at once, at the same –” He chokes, on something, on the truth of it or the pain of it or both. Something bubbles in Hazel’s chest, thick and oily, something like horror and pain and hatred; a pit of the same tar that killed her the first time bubbling through her veins and burning the back of her throat. Twelve children. Her throat dries.

“All of them?”

“Every last fucking one,” says the boy, and the pain swells from him so thickly and ardently Hazel is half-sure each ghost is standing behind her, boring into his gaze. “Every last one. I watched them.”

Hazel watched. She held her eyes open for as long as she could when the tar swallowed them, when Gaea dragged them down. Her mother’s kiss burned hotter on her forehead than the boil of the earth exploding around them, and the shine of Marie Levesque’s guilty tears glittered brighter than the diamonds popping like falling stars everywhere Hazel touched. She held her eyes open until the heat dried them blind. She watched, as long as she could, her prodigal mother sink, her beautiful, broken mother die. She had thought she would feel something worse, something like satisfaction. Vindication. Nico told her they hold grudges. She had known it about herself before then. But the pain of her body ripping from her soul was secondary to the pain of realizing, to the pain of finally understanding that her mother suffered, too. Pluto’s wanting had cost them both, and Marie had only barely been able to apologize. She had never been able to make amends. And now she walked, like all souls do, along the beaten paths of Asphodel, reduced to her guilt, to her anger, to her wanting.

Hazel sits heavily on the one remaining cot. After a moment, the boy joins her.

“I don’t think it’s worth it,” he admits, quietly. He meets her eyes when she faces him, blue-black in the candlelight. “All – this.”

She follows his gesturing hands. To the bandaged girl, Kayla, to the bloodied, to the sheets pulled over small faces. To the brothers and sisters slumped exhausted by bedsights, tear tracks dried on young faces. To the faded pictures rubbed worn with mourning, gentle fingers.

They have never been thanked by the gods.

She’s not sure it would be worth it, either.

“There’s nothing that will bring them back.”

It’s not consolation. It doesn’t sound like it, either; to her own ears it sounds defeated. Agreeing.

“Do you think they’d even want to be back?”

“Probably not.” She swallows, thinking of Leo. Is he relieved? He’d insisted on being the sacrifice. She hadn’t fought him. She couldn’t blame him for wanting. “I wouldn’t.”

They sit in the non-silence. The medic pulls the bandages on his wrists until they are bruising; Hazel’s fingernails, unbidden, reach up to her lips, pick, pick, picking until salted iron dribbles down her chin, onto her pajama shirt. In the heavy stillness of the twilight there are people coughing, and snoring, and worse, moaning, groaning. Crying. Calling out for their mothers, for their sisters. Birds wail outside the open windows. Cicadas weep. Dryads murmur amongst themselves, sap dripping out of them in swathes.

“I know you’re a big-shot Prophecy of the Seven kid,” says the medic, smiling wryly at her. He sniffles, swiping a hand over his face; as the first rays of sunlight begin to stream in Hazel realizes he is spattered with a night sky’s worth of freckles. “But, uh. If you’re not busy, I could use a hand today. Every day, really. Whenever you’re free.” He exhales. "Sometimes it makes it a little bit worth it."

There is a veritable library’s worth of to-do lists for Hazel to work through tomorrow. Today. She’s a high enough rank that her presence and her direction will be missed.

Regardless, she smiles back.

“Yeah.” She reaches for his hand, and he releases his bandages, holding their palms together. “Yeah, I’ll hang out in here today.”

340 notes · View notes

orchidsarchives · 1 year ago

Text

Jason likes to read after patrol every night.

He has a routine, he’ll strip his gear, kiss your forehead, shower and have a quick bite to eat. Then, he’ll make a steaming cup of valerian tea and get into bed with you, with his current read in hand.

Most nights, Jason reads to himself, quiet and tucked into his side of the bed, careful not to wake you with any sudden movements.

He’ll read until his eyelids feel heavy, until his fingers become weak, unable to carry the weight of the book. Jason reads until his mind no longer registers the words on the yellowing pages of the old paperback.

When exhaustion slowly takes over his body, he’ll delicately place his bookmark into the novel. He’ll put it to the side and then snuggle further into the sheets with you.

Jason will pull your sleeping figure close to his, unable to stay away and his hands will make their way around your body. He’ll gently whisper sweet nothings into your ear, well aware that you cannot hear him. Then, he’ll let his sleep wash over him.

But there are some nights when Jason reads to you.

On nights where you struggle to find sleep, you stay up until he makes his way home from patrol. He’ll do his routine as if he’s on autopilot, almost robotic. Kiss, shower, eat and then into the bed with you and his book.

This time though, he’ll read out loud to you. His voice husky and laced with fatigue, lulling you to sleep. Your head lies against his bare chest and his fingers trace comforting shapes on your skin underneath your shirt.

Once he finds you dozing off, Jason will softly peck your forehead and continue to read to himself, until sleep finds him and takes over his body.

#writing this at 4 am because i can’t sleep boo #gn!reader #jason todd #red hood #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood imagine #jason todd headcanon #red hood headcanon #batfam

2K notes · View notes

cheolism-archive · 8 months ago

Text

an ode to hands and voice

✰ — boo seungkwan x reader ✷ — summary: a moment of seungkwan fucking you, inspired by his hands and voice. ✰ — wc is approx. 1.3k ✷ — genre: smut, established relationship ✰ — warnings: soft sex, intimate sex. boo seungkwan hand porn. unprotected sex, cumming inside. ✷ — rating: 18+ ✰ — note: requested by @strxwberry-skiess !! i hope you enjoy and i hope i did your request justice! this is a part of my follower celebration. also tagging fellow seungkwan enthusiast @haologram

"deep breath in."

you inhale, breath shaking against the stillness of the room.

"and out."

you exhale, body relaxing. as your body decompresses, sagging back against the bed, seungkwan pushes in.

you actively try not to tense back up as his dick pushes into your cunt. despite him having prepared you, having spent what felt like ages fucking his fingers in and out, in and out, you can still feel the slight burn of your pussy stretching around his cock. your toes curl and you can't help but twist your fingers into the sheets, biting down on your lip.

seungkwan lets out a shuttering gasp, his grip on the sheets on either side of your head tightening. he hangs his head as he stills his hips, his nose pressing against the curve of your cheek.

"gotta relax, baby," he says, voice deep and raspy. when seungkwan came home from practice his voice was already a little fucked. he got halfway through a cup of tea topped with honey before you, needy and pathetic in that too-cute way, stumbled into his arms.

and fuck, if you weren't cute and pathetic right not beneath him.

"you gotta let my cock in," seungkwan cooed, pressing a quick kiss to your jaw. "gotta relax your pussy, baby."

you nod, turning and pressing your face against his. you tried to mold yourself back into the bed; tried to make yourself present. the warmth of seungkwan's body was flooding into you, trapped between him and the blanket beneath you. the mattress was soft and plush, because life was full of denials but seungkwan would be damned if he denied himself a cloud-like bed to fall into every night.

you relaxed back into the bed.

seungkwan could feel your cunt loosen around him. no longer did your pussy have a tight grip on him, the sort that he was greatly reluctant to try and press against. he never wanted to hurt you; never wanted this to hurt.

and so, with your cunt relaxed around him, seungkwan continues to push in.

you arch up against seungkwan as he fucks into you, breasts pressing against him. he slips his hand down to one of your thighs, and then moves your thigh up, giving him more room to settle between your legs. your knee knocks against his side.

"keep spreading," seungkwan says. he settles against you, cock fully sheathed, pelvis pressed against your thighs. "let me move."

"don't," you gasp out. your pussy clamps down on his cock, and seungkwan can't help the throaty groan that escapes him.

"won't," he says, dropping his face to the crook of your neck. he breathes against your skin, inhaling your scent. "won't move 'til you say it's good."

you move one of your hands to his shoulder, fingertips pressing into his flesh.

"feels big," you say, voice breaking.

"feels," seungkwan echoes back. "you saying i'm not big?"

you roll your eyes at him, hand sliding up his shoulder. you settle your hand along his jaw. "you know what i mean."

seungkwan hums. he settles against you, relaxing into your body in turn. seungkwan takes a moment to admire you.

he moves his hand to your face. seungkwan trails his fingers, long and thin, along the soft curve of your cheek. his nails gently scrape along your skin, and seungkwan can't help but follow the path of his fingers. he slides his forefinger, lightly and slowly, to your chin.

seungkwan's touch is as light as a butterfly's kiss. it's the sort of loving, gentle touch that belongs only to that of a lover; of an admirer.

and how he admires you.

seungkwan trails his finger to your lips. he looks at the pale shade of his nail and compares it to the lovely hue of your lips. he watches as the plump flesh of your lips bends beneath the pressure of his finger, as your lips part, gently, in response.

seungkwan can't help but push his finger between your lips. your mouth is just as warm as your cunt, and just as he had slid his dick into your pussy he slides his finger into your mouth. your mouth is warm and wet and welcoming.

you take his finger eagerly, as if it were his cock into your cunt. he doesn't press his finger all the way in. instead he settles his finger along your tongue. his cock throbs as you suck at his finger, your lashes fluttering.

"fucking pretty," seungkwan murmurs. "you're so fucking pretty."

reluctantly, seungkwan removes his finger from your mouth. he trails his fingers down the column of your throat, watching. he continues to move his hand along your body, until his fingers are cradling the edge of your tit.

he can't help but follow the curve, his thumb gently swiping. impulsive, seungkwan goes to your nipple. he slides a finger on either side of your nipple, tugging softly.

your mouth opens in a sweet gasp.

"kwannie," you call out, arms wrapping around his shoulders. you shift beneath him, moving so your legs are wrapped around him.

seungkwan tugs at your nipple again. "ready?"

you nod.

seungkwan begins to pull from your pussy. he moves slowly, cock sweetly dragging against your walls. the slide is easy due to how wet you are, and he adores how your cunt flutters around his dick.

once the head of his dick is at your entrance seungkwan rolls his hips towards you. the movement is fluid, a smooth rock back into your pussy. he rolls his hips as he fucks you, the motion constant.

he's addicted to the way your pussy grips him, how smooth the slide is. seungkwan's hand grips at your tit, nails digging in slightly, lost in the velvet feel of your cunt.

"feels good," he gasps out. he can feel the rasp of his voice, can feel the dryness of his throat. "feels so fucking good, sweetheart."

your body responds so beautifully to him. your body arches up into him, your legs tighten around him in an effort to keep him close. your mouth is open in a constant moan, eyes squeezing shut.

seungkwan can feel his balls tightening, his dick throbbing. he wants to cum in your pussy so bad, wants to fill you up so much.

he can't help but let his thrusts carry away. seungkwan begins to fuck you earnestly. the slap of his thrusts are loud, sharp and stinging. he wants to cum, wants to see his cum spilling fro your cute pussy —

your legs begin to weaken around him, falling to the side. seungkwan moves his hand from your tit. he loops his arms underneath your legs, hooking your legs up over his arms.

he fucks and thrusts and feels his heavy balls tighten against him. you feel so fucking good; you look gorgeous; you sound divine.

you moan out his name, broken and high.

seungkwan feels his balls clench once more, and then he's spilling inside of you. it's like a string pulled taut has been cut. he keeps fucking you as he cums, relentlessly with one goal in mind.

even once he stops cumming he doesn't pull out. seungkwan lets his dick soften in your pussy. he moves his hand down to your cunt, releasing one of your legs. two of his fingers find your clit easily. seungkwan begins to rub at your clit, cunt drenched from your juices and his cum.

"you gotta cum," he says, voice hoarse. he frames your clit with his fingers, rubbing at the sensitive area around it. your pussy continues to clench down around his spent dick, and he has half a mind to pull out, the sensation bordering on too much, but fuck —

you cum with a loud cry, lips curling and torso arching off of the bed. seungkwan groans in response and lays his body on yours, keeping you caught between him and the bed as he continues to rub at your clit, pushing you through orgasm.

"that's it," he moans, throat sore from misuse, "cum for me, baby. cum."

#svthub #thediamondlifenetwork #ksmutsociety #k-vanity #svt x reader #svt oneshot #svt smut #svt fic #boo seungkwan x reader #boo seungkwan smut #boo seungkwan oneshot #boo seungkwan fic #✏️ — writing #🪩 — 5k #💎 — jupiter's seventeen

535 notes · View notes

princessleechan · 1 year ago

Text

You’re the man! masterlist

⚽synopsis: After your university cut your soccer team to prioritize the men’s team, it’s natural you have a falling out with your then soccer-star-player boyfriend and impersonate your twin brother at the rival university to play on their men’s team. Wait, it’s not? Oh well.⚽pairing: afab!reader x ot13 (??? Member) ⚽genre: humor, romance, crack, eventual smut ⚽series tags: MDNI, she’s the man au, revenge au???, cross dressing!reader, reader identifies anything but male, sports au, queer themes, university au, love-whatever the fuck kind of shape, tags will vary per chapter ⚽status: COMPLETE ⚽started: April 1st, 2024 - July 31st, 2024 ⚽Tag list: please reply to this post, send an ask, or dm to get updated

Profiles #1, #2, #3

Chapters

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

| 6 (Written 18+) | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |

| 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 (written) | 15 |

| 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 (written) |

| 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 |

| 26 | 27 + .5 | 28 | 29(written) | 30 |

| 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 |

| 36(written 18+) | 37 | 38 | 39(written) | 40 |

| 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 + .5 |

1K notes · View notes

schnitzelo · 9 months ago

Text

what's with them.....🤨

#boo soul eater jumpscare #soul eater #souma #soma #my art #I had a very nice day today until it went down hill #save me souma.. souma save me....#next time i should really just type the dialogue instead of making myself suffer by writing it

580 notes · View notes

kwnnies · 1 month ago

Text

apartment no.17 - 부승관

summary: moving to a new apartment seemed like an exciting thing, a breath of fresh air maybe; only then your peace is disturbed by the likes of an old friend and his extremely attractive roommate.

words: 7.8k

warnings: jeonghan, a few swear words, maybe a tad bit ooc? that's it i think

a/n: i'm a bit skeptical about the quality of this but!!! my friend liked it so that means it's not as bad as i think ^w^

‘i’ll finally experience some peace the moment i move out’ turned out to be the biggest lie you have ever told, and you’ve learned this the hard way.

it seemed almost too perfect, you thought. finally moving out of your family home with one of your closest friends, finding a spacious apartment not that far away from your workplace, said apartment not costing a ton of money so that you could actually live without worrying about making ends meet. two separate bedrooms, a closet big enough to fit all of your wardrobe and boxes full of sentimental things you just couldn’t throw away no matter how much you tried, even a nice view outside the windows. with the money you’ve saved up, it would be a waste not to buy it.

there had to be a catch somewhere, though. and, as it turned out, the catch in question lived right across from you, in apartment no. 17.

you looked over to umji, who tried her best not to react as yet another round of loud screams and laughter erupted from the other side of the wall, a soft sigh leaving her lips as she flipped through the pages of the book, fixing her hair so that it wouldn’t get in the way. it’s been this way for three hours already - noises growing louder and louder with each hour, much to your dismay. for a split second you thought that maybe a family with kids lived there; which would’ve been at least understandable, as children often tend to have problems with controlling their volume. but you also remembered umji mentioning how no kids live on the same floor as the two of you.

you raised your hands towards your head, fingers gently massaging your temples as if to try and stop the gnawing headache which has slowly been growing in intensity for the past thirty minutes. the noise was all too unbearable; and the slight buzz from the two glasses of wine you shared with your friend before didn’t seem to help either.

umji could only observe as you slowly stood up from the couch, annoyance gracing every inch of your face as you marched towards the door with an amount of energy that seemed way too big for a late hour like this. a second passed and you were out of your shared apartment, knocking- no, banging on the door across from you.

the door opened slowly, noises which were muffled by the walls now out in full glory, and you were met with with three pairs of dark brown eyes staring you up and down with curiosity and confusion, one of them quickly turning around to hush what seemed to be the rest of their friends with a loud yell. but it wasn’t him you payed most attention to.

it was the man right in front of him, his face a bit too familiar for your liking.

‘you have to be kidding me,’ you mumbled, a deep sigh leaving your lips as the man erupted into laughter, you following soon after.

yoon jeonghan.

if there was one thing you would’ve never expected, it would be to, in your adult life, neighbor with the same exact man you lived next to as a child, back when you still learned how to ride a bike with no extra wheels, said boy boasting about already being able to do it while riding alongside you (even though he was three years older than you, so it should come as no surprise that he acquired said skills much earlier), laughing each time you fell down. you loved him the same way one loves their siblings; you knew you could rely on him throughout the entirety of your childhood and teenage years, you knew you could come to him for reassurance or advice, which he would give you after a few minutes of making fun if your situation. safe to say he was like an older brother you never had.

although you still kept in touch with him well into your adult life, meeting occasionally with the limited time you had on your hands, you weren’t as close as before. and although you sometimes missed having him next door, you would’ve never expected for it to be true again.

the universe must’ve been really bored to orchestrate this.

‘missed me so much you had to stalk me down to my apartment?’ his words had that familiar sting of teasing to them and you realized that he hasn’t changed all that much throughout the years.

‘even worse’ you replied, trying to keep yourself from smiling at your friend as a little crowd started forming around jeonghan, some of his friends gathering around with curiosity as to what was happening. the music in the back got turned off for a second. ‘i actually live across from you. and i think the first thing i’ll have to do is file a noise complaint, my lovely neighbour.’

he smiled, almost proud of the snarky tone of your words, the tone that you obviously inherited from him. if inheriting traits from people you’re not related to was even possible, he thought.

‘we’ll keep it down’ he said, laughing at the surprise on your face as you thought of just how quick he agreed. no sly replies, no tricks. ‘but you’re coming over tomorrow evening. we have a lot of catching up to do.’

a sigh left your lips, knowing that trying to say no to his offer would be pointless - he’d end up making you come either way.

‘only if you provide me with some good wine.’

you kept your promise - showing up in front of the apartment no. 17 yet again, which would soon become almost a habit for you, this time in a far better mood than yesterday. this situation was all too convenient, as umji mentioned something about wanting to invite a guy she’s been seeing over to the apartment, and you weren’t exactly sure whether you wanted to be there for that or not. knowing your friend, you’d rather be out.

jeonghan seemed not to change almost at all; he was still the same boy you knew as a child, with the exact same personality and sense of humor. although you had to admit he was way more mature now, which wasn’t surprising - after all he was an adult now.

‘oh, i also forgot to mention’ jeonghan said between small sips of wine. ‘seungkwan should be back in like ten minutes, so he’ll probably join us.’

you tilted your head slightly, as if trying to assess whether you had any knowledge of someone of that name. jeonghan seemed to catch that as he put his glass down on the table.

‘one of my friends. he lives here.’ he explained shortly.

‘there’s someone in this world who can tolerate living with you? that’s surprising.’

jeonghan let out a chuckle, reaching for the bottle to pour you another drink. as if on cue, the two of you heard a shift of the keys outside the apartment, the door opening in one swift move as a young, brown-haired man entered the apartment, reaching up to get the bangs out of his eyes as he closed the door with the other hand.

he was wearing a black tee and shorts, a sports bag thrown over his shoulder. he was probably back from some sort of training - which you didn’t need to be sherlock holmes to deduce - and by what he was carrying you figured he played badminton. but that wasn’t exactly what you paid most attention to.

jeonghan’s roommate was cute.

extremely so.

‘talk of the devil’ jeonghan muttered. his eyes darted to your face for a second, then back to seungkwan’s. ‘i’ve told you about y/n before, haven’t i? my amazing and definitely not annoying childhood neighbor.’

seungkwan nodded as he took off his shoes, stepping further into the apartment and stopping right in front of you. he offered you a warm smile as he reached out his hand, and you swore you almost melted right then and there.

‘sorry for being so loud yesterday,’ he said almost immediately. you focused on the softness of his voice rather than the statement itself, finding it surprisingly pleasant. ‘it’s hard to not be loud when you have thirteen grown and drunk men roaming around your living room.’

you laughed at his words. cute and funny. noted.

‘the downsides of a big friend group. i can imagine.’

‘not that you’d know anything about that’ jeonghan’s voice echoed from beside you, and you didn’t have to face him to see the smirk on his face. it was almost imprinted in your memory by now.

‘i have friends, jeonghan. if you’re curious enough to check, one of them is probably getting dicked down in my apartment right now.’

seungkwan cackled quietly, trying to cover up his sudden laughter with a cough but failing to do so. his smile dropped, however, once he noticed a small detail that he hasn’t registered before.

‘is that- yoon jeonghan, is that my wine?’

jeonghan’s lips curved up into a sly smile and it was enough for the younger man to know the answer.

‘yah! i told you not to drink it, i wanted to save it for a special occasion!’ he said dramatically, as if he was in a scene of some k-drama. watching the situation unfold, you couldn’t help but giggle. ‘how could you betray me like that?’

jeonghan shrugged, standing up to pat his friend on the shoulders. he shot him an annoyed glare.

‘don’t bitch about it, i’ll buy you a new one.’

‘that one was from italy.’ he whined, his expression changing into a pout as he turned towards his room. ‘and i had it hidden in my room, too! you truly are a devil, yoon jeonghan.’

you let out a laugh at the scene in front of you, your eyes lingering on seungkwan as he entered his room and closed the door behind him. the moment it closed, jeonghan was already facing you, his signature smirk gone.

‘you were giving him the eyes.’ he muttered, tilting his head slightly. you pretended to ignore his comment, as if you had no idea what he could possibly mean, but jeonghan knew you better than anyone; of course he’d notice that you’ve found his roommate attractive.

‘what, can’t let a girl dream a little?’ you said, putting your wine glass down on the table. maybe it was because you were slightly tipsy, but you didn’t notice straight away that jeonghan was now completely serious.

‘y/n,’ he said silently, almost as if he was disappointed to have to be the bearer of bad news. ‘he’s taken.’

oh.

and so almost a year has passed, and you powered through it, trying to ignore your feelings to your best ability. you got to know your neighbors and their friends - mainly soonyoung and dokyeom, a bit better - which, unfortunately for you, only fueled your crush on seungkwan. it was still a secret, though; a secret which you have now shared with jeonghan and umji, as it was inevitable that your amazing roommate would find out sooner or later. she was also no stranger to the boo seungkwan from apartment no. 17. as it turned out, they worked at the same place and have been colleagues even before you moved here.

what a small world it is.

by default, you were also introduced to seungkwan’s girlfriend, and the fact that she was the sweetest girl you’ve ever met in your life made your blood boil. she was the epitome of perfection; not a flaw in sight, easily likeable, perfectly matching seungkwan’s dramatic personality. it was as if they were tailor made for eachother. everyone adored her.

well, maybe except jeonghan. and you, but you weren’t so outright about it.

you always trusted jeonghan’s judgement about other people: after all, he’s been right time and time again. even back at school, he could always clearly tell when someone’s intentions weren’t good, he always saw clearly through anyone’s bullshit. it’s like he had some sort of sixth sense, used solely to sniff out whether someone was a good person or not.

‘i can’t pinpoint it exactly, but i don’t trust her one bit.’ he said one day, during your weekly meetups, plopping on your couch with a bottle of beer in hand. ‘i know that they’ve been dating for like, what, six months now? but there’s something fishy about their relationship. it’s like it’s all too good to be true.’

now you were seated between jeonghan and wonwoo, laughter erupting inside the living room of your friend’s apartment as soonyoung recalled one of his many embarrassing stories from when he was still studying to become a dance instructor. mingyu and umji were sitting at the kitchen counter, preparing some intricate dish that mingyu wanted to try out on his friends, while dokyeom and seungkwan were trying their hardest to convince chan to join them in singing karaoke. weren’t it for the fact that apartment no. 17 was the only used apartment on this floor other than your own, you would’ve probably got a noise complaint long ago.

but you’ve grown to appreciate the chaos that ensued whenever you met up with jeonghan’s friends. not only did they accept you as part of the group almost immediately, meeting up with them also meant being able to see seungkwan; even if it wasn’t going to lead to anything, which of course it wouldn’t (you aren’t a homewrecker, after all). they were definitely a very interesting bunch - sometimes you wondered how did it happen that all of them even became friends, given how different they were from each other. maybe that was just the key to a good friend group.

you heard mingyu groan in annoyance, a displeased look on his face.

‘we’re out of alcohol. anyone sober enough to go to the store?’ he said, closing the fridge as he turned towards the group. you knew what was coming, given that you haven’t had a drink yet, so you stood up from the couch almost on impulse.

‘i’ll go. none of you are eligible to drive in this state anyways.’ you mumbled as you headed towards the door, already crouching down to put on your shoes. ‘any special wishes on the specifics of the drinks?’

you’ve got a few answers, ranging from beer to the ‘strongest thing you can find’, which made you cackle a little considering that it was soonyoung's request (and you all knew that he was a lightweight, no doubt).

‘wait,’ you heard jeonghan say the moment you reached for the door, opening it slightly. you turned your head towards the man, and by the look on his face, you already knew he was planning something.

‘take seungkwan with you.’

you sighed, praying no one had noticed your reaction as seungkwan made his way towards you, seemingly ready to go. you shot jeonghan a knowing stare; if looks could kill, he would’ve been dead by now. he only laughed.

the fact that seungkwan was in a relationship didn’t stop jeonghan from putting you in situations where you had to spend one-on-one time with him. why? you figured it was to taunt you; as he liked, no, loved doing it to all his friends when the opportunity arose. your crush on his roommate was a perfect excuse to do just that.

you quickly grabbed the car keys from your apartment as seungkwan waited for you in front of the elevator. when you finally joined him and the two of you went inside, the automatic doors closing behind you, you could immediately feel the silence taking over.

boo seungkwan was far from a quiet person. all of his friends said he was the biggest extrovert among the thirteen, and it was easy to see. he was always the life of the party; entertaining everyone around him, cracking jokes left and right, always willing to talk with everyone no matter the topic, always ready to lend a helping hand when in need. everyone who ever had a chance to met him had the very same opinion of him - he was an amazing, sweet, loveable guy.

and yet somehow when the two of you were alone it was completely different.

it’s like there was an invisible wall between the two of you, something blocking a normal conversation from flowing naturally. it did make you a little disappointed every time you thought about it, although you have long given up the hope of building a closer connection with boo seungkwan the moment jeonghan informed you of his relationship status. maybe your crush was supposed to stay just that - a fleeting feeling unable to bloom into something more.

the entire drive to the store was silent; you could only hear the music coming playing at a low volume, seungkwan humming the melody occasionally. throughout the entire drive you couldn’t shake off the feeling of seungkwan watching you; you didn’t dare turn towards him, too focused on the road. you shifted your focus from seungkwan to the shopping you were about to do. you were lucky that the nearest supermarket was still open at this hour. thank god to whoever thought of making stores open 24/7.

you parked right next to the entrance, both of you swiftly making your way inside the store. still, no words were exchanged as you walked around, trying to find the alcohol aisle before seungkwan finally caught a glimpse of it at the end of the store, taking the lead as he pushed the cart in the right direction.

‘how much do we actually plan on buying?’ you were almost startled seungkwan’s voice, the man finally starting a conversation with you as the two of you stood in front of the alcohol aisle, eyeing the various bottles displayed on the shelves. you thought about the answer for a second, turning your head towards the boy.

‘enough for all of them to be satisfied, but not enough to let soonyoung throw up in the kitchen sink yet again.’ you said, recalling the unpleasant memory. ‘that shit was a nightmare to clean.’

seungkwan chuckled quietly, that warm smile you adored so much appearing on his face, his eyes lingering on your face for a second longer.

‘noted.’

before he could reach for the beer bottles on top of the shelves, he heard his phone buzzing, reaching into his pocket to check who it could’ve been. you’ve assumed it would probably be one of your friends, their patience running thin as they wanted their drinks to arrive as soon as possible - but you were proven otherwise once you noticed his reaction.

upon seeing the contact name, which you didn’t catch, flash on his screen, seungkwan’s demeanour immediately shifted. you could visibly see him tense up, fingers almost immediately clicking ‘ignore’ as his smile fell for just a split second. he quickly regained his composure, though, his lips curving up yet again, softer and less convincing this time. you decided not to ask him about it; if he wanted to, he would tell you himself. but your mind couldn’t stop itself from wondering.

you pushed those thoughts aside for the time being. right now you had to focus on getting the alcohol to jeonghan’s apartment - or else you would have all your friends sending you death wishes.

you tried to stay out of other people’s business, you really did. but with a roommate and best friend as nosy as umji, it was almost impossible to do so.

it was genuinely impressive how much she knew about other people’s lives - you could say she was your own personal gretchen wieners, providing you with gossip and drama whether you asked for it or not. an old colleague was getting married? she knew. your ex situationship fumbled another girl? she knew. that one professor from your college turned out to have a romance with one of his students? she made sure it was the first thing she told you after entering the apartment. so when you opened the door after work and saw her face almost buzzing with excitement, you knew that something interesting must’ve happened.

‘good information for you, not so good for the man of your dreams’ she said, motioning for you to close the door, as she turned her head towards you instantly. ‘i have reasons to believe seungkwan broke up with his girlfriend. scratch that - i know they broke up.’

you didn’t know whether you should jump with excitement or feel bad for your neighbour. instead, you just gave umji the look.

elaborate or else i might explode.

‘she came to our workplace today. i was just finishing some paperwork when i saw him storm off to the bathroom like he was trying to hide from someone. cue a few seconds later and she’s there, all dolled up, somehow even more than usual, listening to mingyu’s poor attempt at convincing her that he was sick and had to clock out early or something.’

umji sat down on the couch, running a hand through her hair.

‘my take is,’ she continued as she got comfortable ‘she did something to betray his trust really bad, and now she’s trying to get him back while he very clearly doesn’t want to and is avoiding her like crazy.’

‘aren’t you two friends?’ you said, reaching for the glass of water you left at the coffee table. ‘you could just ask him, you know.’

you knew that breakups were a really vulnerable thing. still, you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting to know the full story - the tiny glint of hope was still there in the back of your head. you felt bad for thinking like that, but unfortunately, curiosity got the better of you.

‘oh, i didn’t, but mingyu did. from what i overheard, he said that it’s a little complicated and that’s why he doesn't want to bring it up to his friends.’

you let out a chuckle, finding it amusing just how selfless your friend was with the snooping around.

‘well, no wonder. he’ll never hear the end of it if jeonghan finds out. he’s been skeptical about her from the very beginning and-‘

‘holy shit!’ umji squealed looking at her phone, making you jump in surprise at the sudden loud sound. she quickly stood up from her seat, running off to her room. ‘i’m late! okay, i would love to sit here and chit chat with you, you know i would right? but i have to leave in like thirty seconds or else i might be late to my date. love you, bye!’

you didn’t even have enough time to process what she said before she was out the door, leaving only silence (and a dirty dinner plate) behind her. a chuckle left your lips. classic umji.

you shot her a quick text of ‘stay safe and call me if anything goes wrong’ and stretched out, thinking of what to do now that you were left with this information alone, with no one around to talk about it with. so you did what everyone would do.

you were in front of jeonghan’s door in no time, a soft knock as you waited for him to open. you were ready to blurt out the entire formula of ‘you were right again’, following that with the explanation of the entire ordeal, but you were glad you held it in.

boo seungkwan opened the door, eyes widening slightly in surprise as he saw you standing in front of him. he must’ve just gotten out of the shower - his hair was still wet and a little messy, and you had to for yourself not to stare at him too much.

‘oh, hi’ you said quietly, somehow not expecting him to be the one to open the door for you, even though he lived in this apartment just as much as your best friend. ‘is jeonghan here?’

seungkwan shook his head, a soft smile on his lips.

‘you just missed him. he went out like half an hour ago to discuss some work stuff with seungcheol.’

‘oh, i won’t bother you then-‘

‘you’re not bothering me’ he said quickly, words blurted out faster than soonyoung when he tried to showcase his rapping skills after two beers and some whiskey. ‘you can come in. if you want to, of course. i’m actually quite bored so if you have nothing else to do then it would be nice to have some company.

you never complied so fast.

seungkwan suggested ordering some take out, complaining about how his stomach has been empty for the last few hours, and you were happy to agree to his suggestion, quickly agreeing on the food and opting for the most cliche way of spending time together; watching a movie.

you’ve (barely) managed to talk him into putting on one of the final destination movies, despite his many protests (which sounded like a child trying his best to persuade his mother not to go to the doctor). you convinced him it ‘wasn’t that scary’.

seungkwan was hiding behind a pillow before the movie even started.

‘oh come on, i’ve only explained the plot! the movie hasn’t even started yet.’ you whined, trying not to laugh at seungkwan’s displeased expression. ‘you’re just being dramatic.’

‘and you’re trying to make me have a heart attack so you can have your precious best friend jeonghan all to yourself.’ he said, his words muffled by the pillow on his face. the scene was almost comedic, you thought, deciding to torment him a bit more.

‘at least it’s not the one where a guy’s insides get sucked in by a pool’s draining system and then they get sprayed put everywhere-‘

‘can’t we watch cocomelon instead?’

you chuckled slightly, plopping down onto the couch, right next to seungkwan.

‘if you’ll get too scared, i’ll consider it.’

he finally complied with the most dramatic sigh you have ever heard in your life, the sound in itself making you giggle yet again. seungkwan kept clutching the pillow in his hands as the movie began, ready to use it to cover his eyes at all times, shooting you a glare each time you held up your laugh at his reactions.

after around twenty minutes or so, seungkwan’s phone started blowing up.

at first you thought it was his friends; you were after all aware of the infamous group chat with his twelve friends that would blow up with hundreds of messages due to the sheer amount of people in it.

but seungkwan’s expression changed to a displeased look, and this time it wasn't because of the movie.

his eyes kept moving from the tv screen to his phone, a small, almost inaudible sigh following each. in result, you watched as seungkwan finally put his phone on mute, standing up so he can leave it somewhere out of his view.

‘everything okay?’ you asked quietly as you noticed him sit back down, his mood slightly changed. seungkwan looked over to you, his face expression changing to a smile.

‘yeah. it’s just,’ he hesitated for a little, as if deciding on whether he should confide in you with this information or not. after a short pause, he decided to continue. ‘my ex won’t stop bugging me, you know? well, i suppose you do know already.’

you tilted your head slightly, as if not understanding what he meant.

‘umji isn’t really slick with her eavesdropping, you know.’ he mumbled. ‘and knowing her, she’d probably yap to you first.’

well, he wasn’t wrong.

‘sorry for that.’

‘don’t be. it’s not your fault.’

‘can i ask what happened?’

seungkwan let out a small chuckle, his eyes darting away towards his hands.

‘we started dating- well, fake dating first because she tried to get rid of a guy that wouldn’t stop bugging her. i felt bad for her, and i wasn’t interested in anyone at the time, so i agreed to it.’ the movie seemed to be forgotten already, your attention solely on seungkwan and the story he was telling.

seungkwan seemed like the person who would agree to a fake dating situation out of pure pity; his friends often mentioned how he’s too nice for his own good, and you couldn’t disagree. he was always extremely empathetic towards others, and as much as you viewed it as a strength, at times it was the exact opposite.

‘it wasn’t all that bad; she’s sweet, funny and all, but i thought we agreed on it being just a deal that would last for no more than a year. but when that weird guy finally stopped bugging her and i tried to call things off, suddenly she would find every excuse imaginable to keep me next to her for longer. she wouldn’t even listen to me when i tried to give her my reasoning! the only thing that i could do was to just try and ignore her. unfortunately for me, she knows where i work. and even worse: where i live. i’m surprised she hasn’t tried to come down here yet. except for leaving multiple letters in our mailbox downstairs. then there’s also calling and texting me every day and-‘

‘is she a psycho or something?’

seungkwan chuckled.

‘yeah. insane girls dig me, i guess.’ he fixed his hair, a few strands sticking to his forehead. ‘unfortunately for her, i like someone else.’

oh.

seungkwan’s confession definitely caught you off guard, but it has also made you extremely curious of the details. of course, there were a few possibilities of how this situation would unfold:

1. the, at least in your opinion, less possible one - the mystery girl that seungkwan mentioned turns out to be you, cue a sweet love confession and living happily ever after with three dogs two cats and jeonghan (because he is part of the package, unfortunately)

2. it’s a different girl, and upon finding out you will drown in agony yet again, having to listen to him talk about someone he likes while being painfully aware that it’ll never be you.

you thought of what to say next, weighing the options while taking into consideration the possible outcomes as fast as you could, trying not to let the silence between you and seungkwan linger for too long. the most logical approach would probably be not to ask, slowly changing the topic of the conversation to avoid any awkwardness from both sides. but logic, as it often was the case with you, got quickly swept aside by a wave of curiosity.

‘oh really? i wonder who that could be.’

you tried to sound chill, and you prayed to god that seungkwan didn’t notice the slight change in the pitch of your voice as you spoke. he averted his gaze yet again, eyes falling down to the floor, all of a sudden very interested in the rug that has been in that same place for over two years now.

‘well, i guess i can tell you.’ he mumbled, and you swore you’ve never seen him this shy before. you always believed seungkwan to be the loud, extrovert type who’s always extremely outspoken and draws attention all the time: and you mostly weren’t wrong. but behind that was a different side of him, one that you wouldn’t see often. a side much more vulnerable, much more calm, almost as if he switched personalities with someone else.

seungkwan cleared his throat, turning his head to face you with a small smile. he scooted a bit closer, as if to tell you a secret, and only then have you noticed how close to him were you sitting, arms gently brushing against each other, faces closer than ever before. you could almost feel his breath on your skin, the entire situation making your face flush with a light shade of pink that you hoped seungkwan hasn’t noticed.

you expected him to explain who the mystery person was. what you didn't expect, however, was for boo seungkwan to lean in and kiss you.

in a different life you might've taken that as a sign of you finally getting your chance; kissing him back, getting your happy ending after months of unreciprocated feelings. and yet as much as you wanted to pull him closer, move towards him, your body betrayed you. you froze on the spot, paralyzed and unable to do anything other than sit there in utter shock, which alerted seungkwan to move back, a look full of panic and regret starting to appear.

the boy opened his mouth, eyes scanning your face. he was ready to say something, but the sound you were met with was surely far from his voice.

‘guess who’s back!’

yoon jeonghan.

you almost jumped at the sound, quickly followed by what seemed to be bottles clanking in the bag and seungcheol’s quiet greeting as he entered right behind your friend. jeonghan immediately sensed that something was happening upon noticing the displeased expression on your face and the slight flush on seungkwan’s ears; a detail that even you haven’t noticed. you turned towards the tv, ready to grab the remote and pause the movie, only to notice the end credits rolling. time sure flies fast.

‘weren’t the two of you supposed to discuss some work stuff?’ seungkwan asked awkwardly, hand motioning to the bag his friend set down on the kitchen counter, as if to suggest they were using work as an excuse to drink together yet again. jeonghan chuckled, opening one of the drawers to search for a bottle opener.

‘we finished early. sorry for interrupting your date, lovebirds.’ seungcheol couldn’t help but cackle at jeonghan’s comment. your face heated up almost immediately, head quickly turning towards seungkwan who was ready to deny his roommate’s claim, but jeonghan was faster. ‘don’t explain yourself, i don’t wanna know. join us for a drink, will you?’

the two of you complied, having no other choice, and even though you weren't the only ones in the room, you could feel the atmosphere change; seungkwan appeared more quiet, avoiding eye contact with you, almost as if he wasn't fully present in the conversation.

you couldn’t help but sigh, pulling out your phone to quickly answer notifications from umji, opening your chat with jeonghan to send him a short message, making your friend chuckle, his signature smirk appearing as he spotted the notification on his phone screen.

‘i hate you more than words can describe.’

umji hasn’t stopped laughing for five minutes.

‘oh, jeonghan really knows how to fuck with you two. it’s almost as if he did it all on purpose.’

‘you're focusing on the wrong thing, umji!’ you whined, turning to lay on her back, a displeased look on your face as you covered it with a pillow. ‘did you not hear me when i said that he kissed me? do i have to repeat myself again and be even more embarrassed? he kissed me, and i didn't even react- god, why did i not react at all?’

‘i did, don't whine. have you spoke to him since then? small talk doesn’t count.’ umji questioned as she plopped on the couch, laying down next to you. the grimace on your face only grew larger as you shook your head.

it’s been over three weeks since that evening and you and seungkwan haven’t exchanged a single word or text. you tried to blame it on the different work hours, the piles of paperwork you had and the time consuming team projects seungkwan had to deal with, but deep down you were aware that what happened has surely been at fault as well. despite your busy schedule, trying not to think about it was impossible.

if you bumped into each other on the elevator, seungkwan would politely meet you and practically sprint out the moment the doors opened. as time went by you noticed that he even started taking the stairs sometimes, giving the excuse of ‘getting more exercise’ when questioned about it by jeonghan. whenever someone mentioned going out for drinks or meeting at someone's house to spend some quality time together, seungkwan was either a no show or avoided you like the plague; it was an unbearable thing to experience, but you've learned to bottle it up so that you don't turn everyone's mood sour.

umji broke the silence, noticing your long lack of a verbal response.

‘to be perfectly honest, i think the two of you are just fucking stupid. well, him mostly, but you know what i mean.’

‘huh?’

the girl sighed.

‘you two clearly like each other.’ she explained, dragging you up to a sitting position. ‘instead of talking to each other and clearing things up, you tiptoe around it and pretend nothing has happened. and i can understand everything, truly, but he's acting like a high school girl avoiding her crush in the hallway. no offence, i love you both, but if you don’t corner him in some way and talk it out i will ask jeonghan to do it for you, and you know he will make a show out of it.’

‘you wouldn’t do that.’ you looked over to your friend, who shrugged in response.

‘desperate times call for desperate measures.’ she smiled innocently. ‘anyways, it’s your turn to do the laundry today, love. the basket isn’t going to get itself downstairs to the laundry room, you know.

upon hearing you groan, umji couldn’t help but crack a laugh. getting the laundry downstairs and then back to your apartment had to be on of your least favorite house chores to do despite not being as tiring as some of the others. you hated the laundry ever since you were young; maybe because you were always the one to do it in your house, taking a plastic chair from the garden to stand on so that you would even be able to hang the clothes to dry, or maybe because jeonghan tried his best to make you fall from said chair whenever possible, blaming it on the wind each time. as the two of you grew up he stopped his antics, but it was safe to say that upon any mention of the laundry your expression still turned into an almost comical grimace.

the laundry room in your apartment complex was located on the first floor, and so you opted for the only logical option; the elevator. while inside, you couldn’t help but think of seungkwan. maybe what umji was saying was right - maybe you should’ve just come up to him and talk instead of drowning in agony and waiting in your room. but then again, with how much he was avoiding you, it wasn't as easy as it sounded.

your thoughts were consumed by seungkwan at this point; about how to approach him again, how to tell him the truth about your feelings towards his. the universe had a funny way of working, though, and it certainly did not want to give you time to plan it out.

you saw his face first thing when the elevator door opened; here stood boo seungkwan in all of his glory, black shirt and shorts along with his all time favorite navy blue cap. you assumed he was back from a run by the outfit and the beads of sweat on his forehead.

seungkwan seemed just as surprised as you were, eyes darting away from your gaze instantly.

‘oh, hi-‘

‘could you help me carry the laundry?’ seungkwan was ready to greet you and leave it at that, but you didn’t give him the chance, cutting him off before he finished speaking. the man turned around, taking a quick look at you and the heavy-looking laundry basket in your hands, and the answer was obvious.

neither of you uttered a word throughout the walk, the silence between you absolutely unbearable; you could physically feel the weight of the words that haven’t been said for the past few weeks, hovering over you and making it impossible to function normally around one another.

seungkwan awkwardly put the basket down on the ground, right next to one of the many washing machines in the laundry room.

‘thank you.’ you offered him a smile, trying to soften the atmosphere at least a bit. a sense of relief washed over you when you saw him smile back; you missed that sight a lot during the past weeks, so, although it was a small thing considering the whole situation, it made you more joyful than you would like to admit.

he stood there for a few more seconds, unsure of what to do with himself before eventually turning back towards the door.

‘i should go back to my apartment now, i guess.’

seungkwan didn’t even manage to take three steps before he felt your hand on his arm, gripping it lightly.

‘wait.’ your voice was quiet as he turned around to face you, confused and curious at the same time. you took a deep breath as if to gain some more courage through it before you continued. ‘can we talk? about, you know, that evening-‘

‘ah, that!’ seungkwan’s demeanor changed visibly at the mention of that particular situation, an awkward laugh leaving his lips. ‘yeah, about that. i’m sorry for doing that, you know, kissing you and stuff, i should’ve told you that i like you first instead of acting up on it like a hormonal teenager and ruining the mood. it’s stupid, you can forget all of that really-‘

‘seungkwan.’

‘-and i can understand if you don’t feel the same way, you know? i didn’t want it to be awkward for you at the functions so i distanced myself a bit but it’s all good, we can still be friends if you don’t mind but then again i can totally understand it if you don’t want that to be the case-‘

‘boo seungkwan.’

‘what?’

before he knew it, your lips were on his.

seungkwan was definitely caught by surprise, and yet his hand instinctively went up to rest on your cheek as the other found its way to your waist, pulling you closer and deepening the kiss. it felt as if the two of you were letting out all the tension from the past weeks; all the words which haven’t yet been said conveyed in one action. he felt your fingers running through his hair and he couldn’t help the low hum of satisfaction leaving his lips.

you were practically melting in his hands, trying to keep yourself from smiling as your lips worked swiftly against his, wanting to savor this moment forever, drowning in the pleasure of a simple kiss.

‘you said that it’s stupid and that i can forget all of it.’ you repeated his words, breaking the kiss for a quick gasp of air. ‘it wasn’t stupid. and i certainly do not want to forget it.’

seungkwan smiled, eyes sparkly, glimmering with a childlike joy and you swore he never looked more beautiful. he didn’t say anything; instead kissing you again, letting his actions do the talking for him.

‘this whole thing feels like a dream i’m going to wake up from in a second.’ he muttered in between kisses, not wanting to stop it just yet. you couldn’t help but chuckle at his remark.

‘should i pinch you so you find out?’ you mumbled, reaching for one of his hands and intertwining your fingers with his as you took a step back, smiling playfully at seungkwan, both of you visibly flushed.

‘nah. i think one more kiss will do the trick instead.’

‘are you sure you packed everything?’

you turned your head towards seungkwan who was anxiously pacing around the room and you. couldn’t help but chuckle. you smiled, getting up from your sitting position to approach him, a reassuring smile on your face.

‘a hundred percent sure.’

‘what about sunscreen? and toothpaste, have you packed toothpaste?’ seungkwan continued rambling as he stood in front of you, taking your hands in his. he was caught off guard by your sudden laugh, head tilting to the side. ‘what’s so funny?’

‘you’re cute, kwannie.’ you mumbled, leaning in to give him a quick peck on the lips. ‘i have checked it a few times to see if i have packed everything, so you don’t have to worry. and even if it turns out we forgot something, we can buy it when we get there.’

seungkwan seemed more relaxed after hearing your words, lips curving up into a smile as he wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug, placing a small kiss on the top of your head.

‘you’ll have plenty of time for smooching and hugging and whatnot once we’re at our destination, lovebirds.’ jeonghan’s voice echoed from behind you, the man leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed. ‘we have a plane to get to now, you know.’

you sighed dramatically, loosening the hug and eventually stepping out from your boyfriend’s personal space to go close your suitcase.

‘remind me, why are we taking you with us again?’ you asked, pretending to be annoyed with your friend’s presence.

‘because you both love me very dearly, obviously.’ jeonghan muttered, rolling his eyes, and you could hear seungkwan laughing behind you at his roommate’s statement. ‘also, me and seungkwan are a buy one get one free package. you signed up for that, so take it or leave it.’

‘sure, whatever tickles your fancy, jeonghan.’ you laughed, walking past him in the door. ‘remind me to find you a date so that you stop following us like a puppy.’

‘just call seungcheol up and the problem will be solved.’ seungkwan muttered, the three of you making your way to the elevator. jeonghan was ready to deny his friend’s words but he stopped himself, a sigh leaving his lips.

‘i introduced you two to each other and you make fun of me like that? you two are really something.’ his words earned a laugh from both you and seungkwan, which seemingly irked jeonghan up even more. ‘thank god i have perfect blackmail material for both of you.’

both you and seungkwan turned towards him at the same time, jeonghan’s signature evil-looking grin plastered to his face. the elevator doors opened and all three of you stepped inside with your luggage.

‘oh, and one more thing.’ you mentioned as the elevator stopped downstairs, ready to step out of it the moment the doors open. ‘since i’m driving, i’m choosing the playlist.’

the chaos that ensued after this statement could only make you laugh, seungkwan and jeonghan arguing over how your playlist is shit and it should be one of them who gets to control the aux, the discussion then drifting towards who’s going to be the passenger princess (as if the answer wasn’t obvious already). looking at the two of them bickering, you only thought one thing.

this is going to be a long, long drive.

#boo seungkwan x reader #seungkwan x reader #boo seungkwan fluff #seungkwan fluff #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #boo seungkwan #seungkwan #— kwnnies writes

195 notes · View notes